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writingroom21 · 4 months

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Okay imagine this reader goes in a all boys school pretending to be a dude to cover up her brother but soon rafe later knows she's a girl since she's in the guys shower room😫

A/N: I literally love this idea so much. She's The Man is one of my favorite movies.

Boys Bathroom

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(wrap it up), p in v, overstimulation, squirting, oral (f receiving), fingering, semi public sex (communal bathroom), (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 3.6K

The plan was simple. You would go to the school for two weeks and then swap places again. It shouldn’t be that hard to fool everyone since the two of you are twins. Since your parents found out they were having twins they got the two of you matching things. Your cribs, toys, clothes were all bought to match.

The only downside was one of you is a girl and the other is a boy.

When the news was broken to them, they had mixed emotions. On one hand they get the best of both worlds with one of each. The other is that they planned on having the same gender twice. They tried to look past it and throughout childhood it was fine. Your dad had the perfect little boy to play catch and watch sports with. Your mom had a little angel that she could dress up and show around.

It was all perfect until you hit puberty. Max, your brother stayed the perfect son that he always was. But you had become the wild child of the family. You weren’t really wild, just not the picture perfect daughter they had in mind. In middle school you started to not want your mom to dress you, leading to arguments about how you dressed.

Then now in highschool you are focused on being an artist, which isn’t an ambitious enough job for them. You would think that after their divorce they would stop agreeing with each other. But no they will always agree on one thing, you are too much to handle. They just don’t like how outspoken you are and how you will not conform to the version of you they want.

They focus on you so much they don’t even realize that it’s Max they should be worrying about. Sure he gets good grades and he never gets in trouble, it doesn’t mean he’s not doing things. You are always covering for him so he can sneak out of the house. Driving him around after he got so drunk with his friends that he can’t function. They don’t see that side of him so they worship the ground he walks on.

They love him so much that they are now sending him to a prestigious all boys school. Max has been complaining about it all week since they told him. It’s a boarding school so he will be under 24/7 supervision. Which is a no in his books. Max has done everything basically to try and get out of this to no luck. Leading us to the moment the plan was formed.

“Come on please. Just do this one thing for me.” Max pleads at the end of your bed. You continue reading your book ignoring him and his weird request. He says your name to get your attention. “I’ll get you something when I come back. A token from Bora Bora sounds nice right?” You scoff at his audacity. “Dude I’m not going to pretend to be you so you can go on some vacation. It wouldn’t even work, you're a guy and I’m not.” Max throws himself on your bed, face planting onto the sheets. “If you do this for me I’ll get mom and dad to lay off your art school decision.” The book drops from your hands and you stare at him. You don’t have to think, getting them off your back is much needed. “Fine.”

The wig itches your scalp as you fix your clothes making sure your binding doesn’t come loose. The last thing you need is for it to come undone and your boobs come out. It;s the second day at the school, everyone seems to be buying that you are Max. Your best friend had shown you how to place wigs on, making sure that it can’t get loose. It seems to be staying in place so you can’t complain. You have to get used to squishing your boobs so much but it’ll be okay.

Your parent’s had splurged for Max to have his own dorm so you get to relax in your own space thank god. It would have been perfect if it weren’t for the boy next door. You had been unpacking when a knock interrupted you. Alright show time. You open the door to be greeted with one of the hottest guys you have ever seen. He has to be at least six feet tall, with hair you just want to wrap your fingers around. Don’t even get you started on his blue eyes.

You were so caught up with checking him out that you didn’t notice he said something. “Hello?” He questions with this weird look. “Huh?” You clear your throat and make your voice deeper. “Sorry, what did you say?” You stand up straighter, trying to make you look taller. “Said I’m Rafe. I'm in the room right next door.” He points to the left.

“Nice to meet you, I'm.” Your name almost slips out but you covered it with a cough. “My name's Max. Want to come in.” Rafe shrugs, entering and looking around your room. There’s not really much to look at. The walls are bare and the clothes are all put away. The desk has books for the classes you’ll be in and unfortunately a box of pads. Rafe spins around to you.

“Dude why the fuck do have those?” He practically shrieks. He’s pointing behind him and you follow it to see the box. Fuck you had forgotten to put them away. “Oh I have a twin sister that likes to prank me. She always packs something embarrassing in my bags.” You try to explain. Rafe listens as you fumble through your words, kinda weirded out that some dude has chick products.

“You have a twin?” He really doesn’t believe you. Instead of explaining further you pull out your phone, finding a picture of yourself to show him. Rafe looks at the photo and then at you trying to find similarities. “I can see it.” He looks closer at it again. “You know she’s kinda hot.” A blush forms on your cheeks. “Thank you.” Your eyes widen when you realize what you said.

“I mean she would say thank you or something dumb like that.” You laugh off. Rafe just nods at you slowly making his way towards the door. He can’t wait to get out of this room, something about you just isn’t right. “Right. Uh I gotta go. See ya man.” He was out of the room as soon as the words left his mouth. Leaving you there hoping you didn’t give yourself away.

The next few days you saw Rafe everywhere. He was in two of your classes, English and Biology. You’re thankful that your English teacher had assigned setting by last name. You were far away from him but your eyes would still find him. Looking at the back of his head and averting your eyes when he looks back at you. It didn’t help that he decided to be your lab partner for biology.

He sat down next to you, throwing his books down without saying a word. He doesn’t know why he can’t stay away. Rafe feels like something is wrong but at the same time he wants to figure out what. It’s the reason why he sat next to you and why he notices the things you do. He tries to play it off as if he gets close to you that he’ll likely get with your twin. If only he knew it was actually you.

The two of you watch each other in the cafeteria as you eat. Eyes meeting and looking away just to look back. At this point Rafe thinks you're gay, he has nothing wrong with that, it's not his type though. His friends are talking around him but his brain is playing a game of tennis. Throwing ideas out left and right.

Maybe you are just socially awkward and that's why you act like that around him. Or you are from some freaky conservative family that sheltered you for too long. All his thoughts just keep playing in his mind, every interaction on display to dissect. This game of cat and mouse continues for the first week you are there. You are just counting down the days until you can leave.

The stress of not getting caught has been eating you alive. Both of your parents have been texting you to go to their house since you weren’t there the following week. They think you are still staying at the other parents house. A risky plan but they only talk to each other when you do something they don’t like or when Max does good in something. The idea of them finding out has been eating you alive.

You had called Max, anxiety getting the best of you. “What do you want?” The call is a little fuzzy, his international plan seems to be only doing okay. “You need to come home like now. I can’t keep doing this.” You can hear people talking in the background of his call. He says something to them and the noise dies down. “Listen it’s just one more week you can do it.”

“Max no you need to come home. Mom and dad keep asking me to come home. What if they find out?” If he was there right now he would slap the back of your head to have your senses come back. You’ve always had the flare for dramatics in his eyes. “Relax mom and dad arent going to find out. I’ll be back before they even notice. Just one more week.” You give in knowing that he won’t come back.

In the hallway Rafe was making his way to his room after coming back from a run. He was in the middle of taking his headphones off when he heard voices coming from your room. Curiosity got the better of him and he moved closer to the door, resting an ear on it to get a better shot. He heard it all, from the begging of your brother to come back to him saying he’ll be back in a week. What he can’t really understand is the voices.

Without a doubt he believes the female voice to be you, Max’s twin sister. What he can’t wrap his head around is the male voice on the other end. In his mind he knows that it’s you, it had to be. But the voice sounds different, the tone and octave aren’t the same that he’s been hearing. It's confusing to say the least. He goes to his room when he hears the call end, piecing together all the information that he knows. Which isn’t much.

You get awkward around him when he tries to talk to you in class, acting like a pre-teen who can’t talk to girls. Now that he thinks about it there’s a good chance you are gay. He catches you checking him out in English and the lunch room. Always tables away with your eyes glued to him. Then there are the times where he will see you blush at something he says. Rafe knows he’s a good looking guy. Girls were constantly throwing themselves at him before his dad sent him off to this shit hole.

He ignores the rest of his thoughts as he winds down from his run. Taking the necessary post workout vitamins and shakes he has. During this time you had made your way to the bathroom. Having to share a communal bathroom has not been ideal for this situation. The only times you can shower is super early in the morning and late at night. Since you are not a morning person, night showers it is.

Peaking your head out your door you check the hallway to make sure no one is coming. Once the coast is clear you book it to the bathroom, running into the shower stalls. The stalls don’t have doors, just two curtains. You would think for the amount of money it takes to go here they would have better showering options. You strip in the first section letting the water heat up. When the water is hot enough you get in. Even for the lousy coverage they do have nice showers.

It was large enough to have double the space needed. There was a detachable shower head that had amazing water pressure. Plus a little bench to keep your stuff on not only in the changing space but the shower as well. Let’s just say that these showers have been the highlight to all of this mess. You get under the running stream, the water coats your body. Warming you up as you stand under the stream.

You go through your routine. Washing your hair you start to hum to a song that’s been stuck in your head. Getting lost in the moment you sign the lyrics softly, switching to different songs that randomly popped up. You were so distracted that you didn’t hear that someone had walked into the bathroom. Rafe had come in to wash away the sweat from his run when he heard singing.

He stopped for a moment when he realized it wasn’t a guy singing. That or this poor guy’s balls haven’t dropped. He walks closer to where the sound is coming from. Making sure to keep his footsteps light. The last thing he wants is for the person to hear him and stop. He stops in front of the stall where the voice is coming from. Yeah there’s definitely a chick in there he thinks. Without really thinking about what he’s doing and how he’s close to becoming a creep. He pulls the first curtain aside, walking in. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

You let out a small scream, scared from the sound of Rafe’s voice. You stand there frozen not knowing what to do. You’ve been caught, the person on the other side obviously knows you aren’t a guy. “Well?” You let yourself grab the curtain, pulling it around you so you can look at the person. “I’m so sorry. It’s a really long story actual-” Your words die when you see who it is. Rafe.

He’s as shocked as you are, both of you have wide eyes. “Your Max’s twin.” Then he says your name, to double check he had it right. “What the fuck are you doing here.” You want to answer, you really do. But his towel is hanging low on his waist, his toned stomach on display. That’s when it clicked to him, Max wasn’t gay because it wasn’t Max. It was you.

It all makes so much sense now. “Max wanted to go on vacation so he had me pretend to be him.” You don’t look him in the eyes. Mostly out of shame of being caught, the other being that you are too busy checking him out. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like without it on. A pink blush graces your cheeks at the thought. The reaction is noticed by Rafe.

He then realizes you are naked behind that curtain. Your wet body is right there for him to grab, only separated by thin plastic. He looks you up and down, mostly seeing your silhouette due to the curtin being slightly white. His dick is getting hard just thinking about you and how wet you must feel. He covers himself with a hand the other holding his shower stuff. “So you’ve been pretending to be him this whole time?”

“Yup.” You clutch the plastic to your chest, the water hitting the back of you. “Well this is awkward now.” He scratches the back of his neck looking at the ground. “I told you that I thought you were hot.” He laughs, shaking his head. When his hand falls back to his side you take it in yours. Hoping that your bicep can help the plastic keep you covered. “It’s okay. I think you're hot too.”

Maybe it's the fact that he has a pretty girl in front of him or the fact he hasn’t been laid in a while since being her, but he’s about to lose control. Fuck he’s been so desperate that he imagined you that night after seeing your photo as he masturbated. This is honestly a dream come true for him. He laces his fingers with yours, placing his things down.

“You know I read somewhere that we should be saving as much water as we can. Mind if I get in with you?” Rafe never read that anywhere. The only reading he does is when he’s texting or doing school work. You will never catch him reading something about climate change or whatever. You smirk as you look up at him, dropping the curtain to take his towel off. “Mhmmm. Wouldn’t want to be wasteful.” He leans over you, his height allowing him to see all of you as he looks down.

Your hands graze up his thigh, fingertips dancing along his dick. One of his hands cups your face to bring you in for a kiss, the other plays with a nipple. He backs you up to the wall and deepens the kiss. His hand moving lower to rub your clit. Your hand tightens around him, a moan slipping your lips.

He pulls back to watch your face, wanting to absorb every moan you let out. From the side of his eye he sees the shower head. He smirks down at you, pulling his hand back and taking yours off him. “Is everything okay?” You’re worried something happened and he wants to stop. “Yeah pretty girl it is. Why don’t you sit on that bench for me?” Even though it was a question he meant it as a command.

You hesitate at first, concerned about how sanitary it is. Then you see the look in those pretty blue eyes and your concerns vanish. Sitting down, you watch as he takes the shower head down, switching the stream setting. He’s probably going to regret this later but he kneels down on the tiles. Positioning the shower head between your legs, the strong stream hits your clit. You didn’t see that he adjusted the water temperature so it wasn’t burning hot.

“That feel good?” Your hand flies to his shoulder, nails marking his flesh. “So good.” You moan out, trying to be mindful of your volume. Rafe gently moves the head around, creating circles on your clit. It feels so fucking good. He leans over you, attaching his mouth to one of your nipples. He sucks on it while his unoccupied hand finds your entrance, teasing a finger in you.

Rocking the finger back and forth, he adds a second when he feels you relax around him. The sensation of his mouth, finger, and water is too much. You are biting so hard on your lip to stay quiet that you’re bleeding. You release your lip with a wince, the sharp sting radiates in your bottom lip. Rafe looks up at the sound, eyes clocking the red coming from the cut. “Poor baby.”

He licks the blood, giving a quick suck to your lip to make sure he got everything. “It’s just too much for you, isn't it? Hmm?” He taunts as his fingers increase in speed. Your climax is right there, you can feel it in your fingertips. “Please Rafe. I” You sob rips it’s way out of your throat, your orgasim over powering. You are physically shaking from the intensity but he doesn’t let up. He keeps the water right where it is, his fingers increase their pace. He goes back to sucking on your nipples. You try to tell him it’s too much but all that comes out is moans.

It feels like your orgasim is never ending. Then with one more stroke to your g-spot you were gushing. Rafe takes the shower head away, still fingering you to get you to squirt more. You keep drenching him, his fingers now rubbing your clit furiously only making it worse. He drops the shower head, his hand shooting up to cover your mouth. Silencing you moans as the last bit comes gushing out of you. You’re spent, body limp from that earth shattering orgasim.

“That was so fucking hot.” Rafe bends down and starts to lick you clean. Dying to get a taste of you. You push his head away from how sensitive you are. Your clit feels like it’s on fire. He pulls you up and turns you around to bend over on the bench. He’s not going to last long, he was close to blowing his loud just watching you. There’s just no way in hell he’s giving up his only chance to fuck you.

Before you could protest he’s already slipping in. You’re so wet that he slides right in and bottoms out. He gives you a second to adjust and then he’s ramming his hip into you. You’re still sensitive so your next release builds up quickly. He wants to be embarrassed from how fast he comes, he really does. He just can’t find it in him to really care.

You feel so good wrapped around him, your walls constricting him so tight. He barely had room to keep fucking you as you second orgasim ripped through you. He quickly followed, pulling himself out and jerking off so he could paint your ass. It’s okay because he’ll wash it off of you in a second. You get up after getting your bearings and the two of you wash off. “That was really fucking good.” You dream out loud.

Rafe gives you a kiss, nibbling on your lips. You wince due to the cut. “Sorry.” He gives it a kiss better. “Same time tomorrow?” You smile and nod.

Safe to say the following week was spent sneaking off at any given chance you had.

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #drew starkey smut #outer banks smut #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe

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lauriegraham01 · 1 year

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forever & always | erik lehnsherr

pairings: erik x reader, (cherik x reader if you squint)

summary: it's been years since erik abandoned you on the sands on cuba. when fate - or rather a friend from the future, logan - steps in and forces your paths to cross, what feelings will ensue?

w/c: 2,272

a/n: follows the events shown in days of future past, inspiration drawn from "forever & always" by taylor swift. been working on this one for the past week, apologies for the delay, life can be cruel but the storm only lasts one night.

The brightness of the sun was blinding as its rays bleed through the curtains of your room, shining in your eyes prompting you to wake up with a groan. Reaching out for Charles youre disappointed as you feel nothing but the cold sheets where his side of the bed laid empty. A headache settles in within your head, throbbing unforgivably. As you look over to your nightstand you read your clock.

2:47 p.m. Another day wasted away in bed.

You had gotten little sleep the night before. Scenes of sand plaguing you in your dreams echoing the trauma from all that you've lost.

You're on a beach in a Cuba. You don't know yet that it's the end of the world- the end of your world. Black spots cloud your vision. You're losing too much blood. Footsteps staggered as your breathing comes out labored- trying to make sense of what happened.

Erik.

Charles and you had been caught in the crossfire of his war against humans and now you both were paying the price for it.

"Erik?!" Your voice rings clear in his head. He exhales a shaky breath, one that he can't seem to breathe out enough. Charles laid in his arms paralyzed and betrayed. His heart broken at the pain he's caused and remorse washes over him as he sees the man in his grasp slips further away into a world of unfathomable pain. Leaving Charles within Moira's grasp he then makes his way to you. Discarding his metal helmet in the process.

"Y/N." Erik cautiously places his hands at your side. Taking in how much blood seeped through your suit.

“Erik what’s happened to Charles? Is he alright?" With eyes widened, you wait for him to bring some clarity to the chaos that happening.

“Y/N stop. You’re losing too much blood," Erik said carefully. Looking down he sees your hand pressed to your side. Carefully lifting it, he lets out a sharp gasp as he sees the tear in your suit where the bullet pierced your skin.

A choked cough escapes your lip as a bit of blood rushes through the side of your mouth. You feel your knees buckle underneath you and Erik catches you in time, placing you in his arms as you both sink to the sand.

“Erik?” Your voice rings within his head, even telepathically your voice sounds strained, hurt. “Did you do this?”

"I’m sorry, my love,'" it comes out a whisper. Even without your powers you knew exactly where his mind was at. By the solemn expression on his face and the distant look in his eyes you knew that he was leaving.

"Erik, please," you plead.

"I can't stay here. Look at all that I've caused."

"Erik, don't do this. Stay."

"I cant." He says through gritted teeth, the pain sharp on his tongue like a blade.

"You can. You have a family here, you have people who care and love you- I love you Erik."

His face was taut, twisted in a sea of emotions as he thought of the path that he was walking down- and the love that he would lose in the process.

"This is a war that I have to fight alone. I have to go down a road that you can't follow me on."

"Erik, please." You place a hand on his cheek and he closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. Burning the feel of your touch for what he believes would be the last time.

"I'm sorry my love."

He takes your hand and places a kiss onto it before walking away, fading into view with your heart breaking with every step he takes.

"Charles?" You call to him like a ship lost at sea.

"I'm right here. I'm right here darling." His voice rings out softly in your head. By the labors of his breath you know that he's fighting through his pain. You shiver as you feel a coldness drape over you, slumping further into the sand as exhaustion wins its fight over you.

“I’m scared.”

"Stay with me. We'll make it through this together." Charles voice fades out as your vision fades to black.

It truly was a miracle that you even pulled through at all. Hank managing to save you within an inch of your life. An unpleasant feeling sits deep in your stomach as you try to shake off the scenes replaying in your head. Before the guilt of wasting the day away consumes you, you rise up out of bed and make way for the kitchen. The halls were quiet now, faded were the days where students once roamed freely. When the war in Vietnam began, students and teachers alike were being drafted and many never returned home. Wallowing in his grief, Charles closed the doors to the school.

So you and Hank stayed behind in the mansion. Hank tinkered away on his own plans and research and you remained by Charles side as you both tried to process and move through each others grief. When Hank created a serum that gave Charles the ability to use his legs again you had thought things would get better, but time would reveal how wrong you were. Things ultimately took a turn for the worst, as Charles became dependent on the serum and became an alcoholic, he had turned into a version of himself that you never thought possible. He was short-tempered and full of rage at any given moment. Hank got the worst of it, and at times you thought about leaving but you knew that you wouldn't- Charles knew that you couldn't.

Yet, it would be wrong to put the entire blame on Charles for the way things were. The truth was that you too had turned to your vices to quiet the voices within your own head. Falling in love with little thin white lines and drowning yourself in the bottom of bottles, you too had spiraled into your own world of self-destruction just as Charles had. Your relationship hadn't necessarily been the most stable it's been either. It seemed that you and Charles were constantly at each's others throat nowadays but it wasn't always bad days. Despite the screaming matches, both of us turning to our vices, there was still something tethering us together-whether it be love or a trauma bond was becoming unclear as time passed.

As you enter the kitchen, you note the bottles and needles still littering the kitchen table. Charles must've been up all night-again. Fancying a tea you turn the stove on as you fill a kettle with water. you feel the house rumble just a bit. Looking towards the ceiling you can make out heavy footsteps as though someone were being chased. Just then a yell can be heard following a hard crash. Following the source of the disturbance, you enter the foyer where Charles, Hank, or rather Beast, and a strange man come into view.

"Charles? What's going on here?" Making your way across to the staircase where Charles sat on.

"Nothing darling this gentlemen was just leaving," with a scotch in hand he waves to the strange man.

"Afraid I can't do that because I was sent here for you." Taking a closer look at him you note that he's rather tall. He carries himself confidently, head held high in his brown leather jacket.

"Well tell whoever it was that sent you that I'm...busy," Charles trails off.

"That's gonna be a little tricky because the person who sent me here...was you."

"What?" Charles and I let out simultaneously.

"About fifty years form now. Look I kno-I know, stay with me," he pleads with us.

"Excuse me?" Crossing your hands over your chest you look over to Charles and you both share a puzzling look before facing the stranger in front of you again.

"Fifty years from now like in the future fifty years from now ?" Charles quips.

"Yeah."

"I sent you from the future," Charles asks amused.

"Yes, Charles," he says with a roll of his eyes, growing aggravated by our refusal to believe him.

"Piss off," Charles spits bitterly.

"Charles..." you place a hand on his shoulder.

"If you had your powers you'd know I was telling the truth."

With that you use your powers to enter his mind, not expecting what was awaiting you. Hazed memories of the man you now know is Logan, consumed your senses as you traveled within his world of memories. Fear melted on your tongue as you saw the horrors of the reality that the future held, pain and genocides lurking within every corner and within the midst of it-hope. Hope that the future could be rewritten. Voices and faces so familiar yet so unknown, as though you've known them, a version of them.

Leaving his mind, you stumble as you adapt back to this reality, piecing together the meaning behind Logan's memories. Charles immediately stands up to catch you before you fall.

"y/n?" Charles calls, voice shaky as he holds you. Your breath comes out shaky as you cling to him for support. "Charles he's not CIA." Looking up at Logan he meets your gaze with understanding eyes, grateful that now someone believes him.

"y/n-" Hank calls out doubtfully.

"Hank, I know what I saw," you affirm sternly.

"Are you alright? What are you talking about?" Charles desperately searches your eyes for some kind of clarity.

"I'm fine, Charles. He's not CIA or FBI. I got in his head and I-", the words seem to die on your tongue. How do you explain what you saw without seeming mental? "I saw you...but older. From the future."

You swallow the lump within your throat. Charles furrows his eyes in confusion, not knowing what to make of your revelation.

"Erik too. I saw all of us, together preparing for what I fear may be our doom."

From then you managed to convince Charles and Hank that Logan was indeed telling the truth and that he needed our help in ensuring the survival of mutants. The four of you ventured on the plan that Charles, from the future, had set out. Which led you to where you were right now, on a plane seated next to Charles with Erik in front of you. Breaking him out of the Pentagon had been no easy task, but with the help of a new speedster friend, the lot of you succeeded with somewhat minimal damage in the process.

"y/n I-"

"Shut up," you cut Erik off.

He puffs out a defeated sigh as he looks up at you with those pleading eyes of his. You had imagined what it would be like to see Erik again. You spent the best of years waiting for him to come back, to fix what he had broken. You knew you should've given up when news got out of his attempted assassination of the president, but it was moot. A part of you still loved Erik, a part of you still saw the good in him.

"Look I want to apologize for what I did."

"For what exactly? Cause there's a long list of things left unsaid," Charles shoots back bitterly.

"Charles" you mutter and he backs down. You know how hard this is for him too, seeing Erik. Having him within arms reach yet him being worlds away from the man that you two knew and loved.

"He's right," Erik says sitting upright in his seat, "I did things and people got hurt in the process."

Your eyes look sharp and steady into the empty parts of him, heart heavy with the hatred of his own beliefs and the pain that its inflicted.

“I’m sorry Charles for what happened, I truly am. Not a day passed where I let myself forget it, I never meant to hurt you."

The anger practically radiates off Charles as his leg anxiously bounces even faster. He then climbs up from his seat before storming off passing you and Erik until he disappears from view.

"He'll come around," you mutter.

"I know," Erik sighs. "Charles has a flair for the dramatics."

Your lips betray you as they curl into a small smile. Locking eyes with him you feel the guard you had fought so hard you built to distance yourself from him, rumble threatening to drop into ash.

"I missed you everyday, y/n."

"Erik please-"

"I couldn't escape you even if i tried. You know that better than I do."

"I thought I knew you, now I'm not so sure," you whisper barely loud enough for Erik to register.

Slumping further into his seat, the guilt settles deeper in his bones. He knows he'll never forgive himself for what he did that day on the beach. Yet, sitting here in front of you he wants nothing more than to be able to be loved by you again.

"I couldn't save you.." he croaks. Eyes glossy as tears began to pool his eyes.

"That didn't mean you had to go. Erik, we could've fought through it, together."

“I was too blind to see that I hurt the ones I love. I carry the weight of my crimes every day."

"You don't have to carry it alone." Hesitantly you reach your hand across to grab his. He's still warm to the touch just as you remembered, rubbing smooth circles over his knuckles with your thumbs, you savor the feel of him, having been deprived of it for so long.

"There's still time to make things right."

"I'd like that." Bringing your interlocked hand to his lips he places a kiss on top of your knuckles.

#erik lehnsherr x reader #magneto x reader #magneto imagine #cherik x reader #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #xmen #xmen movies #marvel #xmen fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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folkloresthings · 1 year

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TOLERATE IT / FA14.

in which the older sister of lando norris finds herself teetering dangerously towards the precipice of her brother’s, significantly older, colleague.

( fernando alonso x norris!reader )

track one: gold rush. track two: delicate. track three: labyrinth. track four: false god. track five: happiness. track six: the 1. track seven: daylight. track eight: lover.

✩⡱ warnings: age gap! reader is 25, fernando is 41.

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yourusername back in london town

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landonorris mum asked if you’re coming to dinner on sunday?

⤷ yourusername tell her yes, i’ll bring dessert, and please teach her how to text

user queen is back in the same city as me i might cry

lewishamilton i’ll be around next week, we should grab coffee!

⤷ yourusername only if you bring roscoe

⤷ lewishamilton yes ma’am 🫡

user im going to miss her in the paddock :(

⤷ user fingers crossed she’s back after the break

it was rather refreshing, to be back in your own apartment after weeks of living hotel to hotel. knowing where everything is, cooking for yourself, spending every night under your own covers. granted, after nights spent close to fernando’s side, your double bed felt much emptier than it did before.

with the summer break begun, the lack of work was leaving you with little to do. and the apartment had been sitting empty for weeks, desperate for a deep cleaning. so, clad in an old shirt and some shorts, you got to work. halfway through wiping down the entire kitchen, your phone rang, silencing the nineties hits playlist you’d had on.

hurrying over in your fluffy socks, you glanced down at the ringing screen. fernando. you hadn’t seen him since that morning lando had shown up in your hotel room. frankly, after your conversation with your brother, you fled the country as quickly as you could.

“hi,” you greeted him tentatively, after answering the call. he was quiet on the other end, your heart picking up its pace with every moment of silence.

“you left without saying goodbye,” he eventually speaks, voice monotone and heavy. you curse him mentally for being so unreadable, so plain when he wants to be.

you sigh, a finger rubbing your brow bone as you settle yourself on the couch. “i’m sorry, ‘nando.”

you weren’t sure of what else to say. you glanced at the time, ten minutes past eleven, wondering what time it was where fernando was. still in belgium? back home in spain? he wasn’t here, and that seemed to squeeze at your heart.

“so, what does this mean?” the question you had been dreading. the question you had asked yourself the whole plane ride home, and every moment since.

“i don’t know,” you murmured, truthfully. “it’s so complicated. if… if we keep this up, we’ll only get attacked. and lando will constantly be on edge — i don’t know if he could ever really accept it.”

“we could make him—” fernando begins to argue, and you can hear the frustration in his voice now.

“please, just listen.” he falls quiet and you lean back into the cushions. “i won’t be able to live knowing my brother didn’t approve. i can’t lose him, ‘nando, he’s my best friend. but…”

your lip wobbles, a tear slipping down your cheek. one you quickly wipe away, willing your emotions to get back in shape. fernando notices the shake in your breath, and his heart breaks when he realises he can’t do anything to help.

“but… the time we spent together, it was wonderful. you’ve taken my whole heart and i’ve happily let you keep it. it’s not something i want to let go of.”

“can’t we have both?” fernando asks, ready to beg you to stay. “lando will come around. and who cares about the press? we’d have each other, that’s what matters.”

“and what if it goes wrong?” you ask, almost too sharply. “what then? i can never come to a race again, because i won’t be able to face you? or we make it awkward between you and lando? he really looks up to you, fernando.”

“what could go wrong?” he asks, though he knows the answer. he knows about his own mistakes, and the reputation that came from it. but he would never dare break your heart, for it would only ruin his own.

“fernando…”

“mi amor, please…” he doesn’t care how desperate he sounds, because he is desperate. desperate to love you, to have you forever. “at least let us try.”

you consider it for a moment, you really do. torn between the possible love of your life and your baby brother, the hellish debacle of the century. but blood ran thicker than water, right?

“we never should have started this,” you brave the words, though they stab you in the process. but you know the only way to do this is to hurt him, to give him a reason to stay away. no matter how it kills you. “we can’t go on. it’s not like it ever could have worked, and you know it’s true.”

“no,” he replies firmly, holding himself together. “no, i’m not letting you go that easily.”

“i’m sorry, fernando. try and enjoy your break, okay?” you click the red end call button before he can reply, turning your phone off and sinking into the cushions, body soon racking with gentle sobs.

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lando.jpg home sweet home

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user back with the y/n content, the people’s princess 🫶🫶🫶

pierregasly y/n’s cooking 🔛🔝

carlossainz55 i want a norris family dinner rn

user Y/N’S SO CUTE

fernandoalo_official enjoy ❤️

writers note: whoopsies. this is short sorry i’m super duper busy atm 💌

#formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 instagram au #formula 1 x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso #fernando alonso instagram au #fernando alonso x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lance stroll x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader #mick schumacher x reader

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thefreakandthehair · 9 months

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(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.”

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now?

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son.

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust.

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong.

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself.

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.”

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight.

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging.

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!”

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off.

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can.

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.”

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks.

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?”

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace.

It’s only then that Steve speaks.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them.

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree.

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge.

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen.

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain.

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow.

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him.

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #(whispers): yeah so my mom fell off the wagon after 18 years at her fucking work party and this is basically just what my day was #our relationship has always been strained but since she got sober there was at least some contact?#anyways #replace wayne with my grandparents and this is just all projection baybee 😙✌️#super not cool with it BUT that's why there are some content warnings here you don't see from me very often 💕

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 months

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Far atop the dusty downtown of Strangerville stood what felt like a different world. During the decades of the gold rush Eastern settlers had flooded the town and the settlements around it, displacing the people of the land even further as they dug into it for their own ends. The ones who succeeded ended up here, in Shady Acres, where they could look atop the empire they drilled into the ground.

Now, most of the houses sat abandoned, left to the disrepair of time and the harsh desert sands as the promise of ever greater riches took their owners further West to California and Oregon. There were little signs of life on the streets other than a lone truck making its way up the hillside, inhabited by two people who still weren’t quite comfortable being alone together anymore.

Gio directed Jo to pull to the edge of the cliff face, overlooking the town they had just driven from. She struggled to get the turn just right, but it was better than her other practice attempts, so he gave her a quiet smile of approval as she shifted the gear into park. Even from inside the metal truck they could hear the wind howling. It had been their constant companion on these near silent journeys up this road the past few weeks.

He knew that the road further West was filled with places like this, miles and miles of winding curves and jaw dropping heights that would take a steady hand on the wheel. Antoine had taken one look inside the car and immediately refused to learn how to drive it. So burying whatever remaining fears and anger he had deep inside, Gio had gotten in the passenger seat with Jo and offered to teach her how to drive.

With every lesson, he knew that he was essentially giving her the tools she needed to leave him, the one thing he had been so afraid of that he was willing to lie and cheat to prevent it from happening. Now he felt like all he could do was sit by hope every inch he gave or silent acquiescence would serve to bind her closer to him rather than push her further away. Still in the back of his mind his fears kept nagging, so much so that as the day for her to leave came closer he couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

The wind kept howling, threatening to drown out his voice as he reached toward her. “Jo, mi raccomando…”

She braced herself for the same apology about his lie over the loan that she already had memorized. What more did he want her to say? She had stayed, hadn’t she? Stayed outwardly for Violette but really, quietly and inwardly, for all of them. Because she loved them all, but more than anything, because she loved him.

Only how was she supposed to tell him that? That she had fought back every instinct to leave so that she could stay with him, even if the price to pay to do so was that she would never trust him again. Because he had shown her that she had been wrong about him. He could hurt her, just as well as any other man she had ever known could. Except now that she had let him inside, now that she loved him, he could hurt her all the more. So she had to compensate somehow, to regain some sort of ground to stand on or she would be left weak to him doing it all over again.

“You don’t need to answer, okay?” Her head stayed turned just as he knew it would, and her hand went to the wheel as though the steady the car from the roar of the desert wind. It grew stronger as his voice grew more emotional, shaking the car and whipping across the top of the mesa.

“I can’t make you forgive me for any of what happened, but I’m sorry I didn’t support you and Antoine going on tour, or even really put you in the position where you could have chosen to do it for yourself and not to save us from some choice I made. I just…every time you walk out the door I’m afraid you won’t come home, that you’ll find someone or something else and I’ll never see you again.”

The sun was hitting directly in her eyes, mingling there with the stinging of tears that she tried her hardest to hold back. Only it was too bright, and she couldn’t possibly fight it, so one small tear after another rolled down her face while she stayed staring at it.

Whatever else he said after that was inconsequential as she let the sunbeams dry her unexpected tears; because he had already broken through her carefully constructed armor, made brittle by anger, restlessness, and love. But he couldn’t know that, or it would make everything she had done up to this point meaningless. The portion of the farm that was now hers, betraying Antoine, Zelda’s pained resolve, Violette’s angry confusion. She endured it all in some effort to regain control and hope for her own life; only it was so tenuous that she was convinced a few stray tears could undermine it all, so she made sure her face was completely dry before she turned to face him.

By the time she did so he had gone quiet and only a sliver of his profile could be seen. The rest of him was pretending to study the desert landscape, visibly struggling to adhere to his promise that he wouldn’t speak again until she answered him.

As it always did in moments like this, his vulnerability astounded her. He had meant every word he said, and he had spoken them without pause, trusting her to meet him halfway despite her track record of never having done so before. He had signed over a portion of his lease with a clenched fist only to climb into the passenger seat of his own truck, giving patient instructions with an anxious edge as she drove them further and further from town. Every choice he had made was in pursuit of some twisted idea of love, all the while she was guided by some nebulous idea of strength, the undeniable compulsion to never feel trapped again even if her own love had tried to temper it time and time again.

Jo reached over to touch his face and turn it toward her own. He gave no hesitation as he leaned into her touch, no questions and no judgement for the streaks on her face that must have still been visible from up so close. “Gio, look at me. I’m going to come home, okay?”

She left out that she wished this wasn’t home, some place she had no connection to or hope for, one filled with harsh desert winds barely keeping failed dreams afloat. A land of drought and struggle so incessant that it had almost worn down even her will. Some days it still felt like it was trying to accomplish what it nearly had when she was afloat in that bed, miserable and useless.

But shielded from it all inside the confines of his truck, with only his earnest expression and kind but well worn hands to anchor her down, suddenly it did feel like home. Or at least he did. So in a rare moment, she spoke without a single ounce of pretense or calculation, letting the need to keep herself in control float away on the howling wind. “I promise you, I’m always going to come home. No matter what.”

#1934 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta

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shitsndgiggs · 2 months

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A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE!

Part 1

SECOND CHANCES (Part 2) - KENAN YILDIZ

In which Kenan tries to make up for his mistakes

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

A year had passed since that horrible day, and life with Kenan had transformed in unimaginable ways.

The icy barrier that once separated us melted, giving way to a warmth and connection I had never anticipated.

What started as an arranged marriage filled with resentment and coldness had blossomed into something genuine and beautiful.

Today marked our first anniversary, a milestone that felt surreal given the turbulent beginnings of our relationship. The thought made me smile as I got ready for the evening Kenan had planned.

He had been acting secretive all week, dropping hints about a surprise but refusing to give any details.

His excitement was endearing, and it warmed my heart to see how much effort he was putting into making this day special.

I slipped into the dress he had chosen for me—a stunning, deep blue gown that complemented my fair skin and dark hair. Just as I finished getting ready, I heard a soft knock on the door.

"Y/N, are you almost ready?" Kenan's voice was tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Yes, just a moment," I replied, giving myself one last look in the mirror before opening the door.

Kenan stood there, looking incredibly handsome in a tailored suit. His eyes widened when he saw me, and a proud, admiring smile spread across his face. "You look beautiful," he said softly, offering his hand.

"Thank you," I replied, taking his hand and stepping out into the hallway. "You look very handsome yourself."

He led me downstairs, and I was stunned to see the living room transformed. Candles filled the space, casting a warm, romantic glow.

A table was set with a lavish dinner, and soft music played in the background, creating an intimate atmosphere.

"Kenan, this is amazing," I said, touched by the effort he had put into the evening.

"I'm glad you like it," he said, a hint of shyness in his voice. "I wanted tonight to be special. To show you how much I appreciate you giving us a second chance."

I squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You've shown me every day. This is just the icing on the cake."

We sat down to dinner, and the conversation flowed easily. We talked about our favorite memories from the past year, laughing at the silly moments and sharing our hopes for the future.

It was a far cry from the tense, uncomfortable silences that used to fill our home.

After dinner, Kenan stood up and offered his hand again. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with affection.

I smiled and took his hand, letting him lead me to the center of the room. He pulled me close, and we swayed to the music, lost in the moment.

As we danced, I felt a sense of peace and happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"Y/N," Kenan whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I want you to know how much you mean to me. I know I hurt you, and I can't change the past, but I promise to spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

I looked up at him, my heart swelling with love. "Kenan, you've already done so much. I see the effort you put in every day, and it means the world to me. I love you."

He leaned down and kissed me gently, his lips soft and warm against mine. "I love you too," he whispered against my lips. "More than I ever thought possible."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and tender moments. As the night came to an end, we found ourselves sitting on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. Kenan looked at me, his expression serious.

"Y/N, there's something I've been wanting to ask you," he said, taking my hand in his. "I know our marriage started under difficult circumstances, but I want to renew our vows. I want to make new promises to you, ones that come from my heart, not obligation."

Tears welled up in my eyes at his words. "Kenan, I'd love that. Renewing our vows would mean the world to me."

He smiled, pulling me closer. "Thank you, Y/N. For everything. For giving us a chance."

We sat there in comfortable silence, savoring the moment. Our journey had been far from easy, but it had brought us to this place of love and understanding.

And for the first time, I felt truly hopeful about our future together.

#football imagine #football x reader #turkiye #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz

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babyangelsky · 2 months

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Back in March when I was doing the BL Challenge (brought to us by the lovely @negrowhat), I mentioned in my post about Korn Theerapanyakul that it isn't often that we get an actual villain who isn't just a love rival in a BL. The presence of an antagonist in a story doesn't necessarily make them the villain and not every story calls for one either. That being said,

Jak is a villain.

I want to break down this shot because it tells us a lot about the dynamic at play and Jak's point of view.

There's a lot going on here. The first thing my eye is drawn to is the line between them (and how Mut is just slightly crossing it since he stepped into the lion's den). Once you see that, the differences between both sides of that line become more obvious.

Mahasamut is dressed in a dark cool color and he's in shadow but his face is catching the light. The flowers, fireplace, candles, and TV behind him feel warm and homey. Fitting for a cafe. On the other hand, Jak is dressed in a warm light color and he's sitting in the light but his face is in shadow. The windows behind him and his positioning makes it feel like he's sitting at a desk in a corner office in a high rise instead of a cafe.

I weirdly wish they'd shown us when they arrived at the table because I would bet you anything that Jak sat down first. He's the older one, he's relaxed, etc. It makes sense for him to have sat first which means he chose that specific seat and the only reason I mention it, and really the only reason it matters, is that it tells us how Jak sees himself in this situation.

He's sitting there in the light in his dad sweater telling Mahasamut about wanting to fulfill his role as Tongrak's father and that he's so sorry about his behavior in the past and wants to atone for it and it's all bullshit because look at this man's face.

It is completely shadowed, just like his intentions and his agenda whereas Mut's is completely in the light.

And the difference becomes even more stark once Jak tells Mut to break up with Tongrak.

Jak is spewing nothing but ill-intentioned bullshit and Mahasamut sees it for what it is and makes it clear that he isn't going to fall for it, which is why things devolve.

Now. Just so we can get it out of the way, yes, obviously Mut should not have agreed to that meeting. He shouldn't have engaged and should've put the baby in the car and driven in the opposite direction. I was screaming at my screen for him to do just that, as were many of us I'm sure. However, I have to point out that it is not inconsistent for him from a character writing standpoint to have agreed.

Lest we forget, he said this to Tongrak last week when he was explaining why he turned Prin down when she tried to buy him.

"But Leah the dad is so much worse how could he not see—!" I know. Trust me, I do.

I'm gonna put on my baseball uniform and go to bat for my man for a second though because I think part of the reason that he agreed to talk to Jak is that he vastly underestimated him. And to be completely fair to Mahasamut, I did, too.

If I had to guess, I would say that he was expecting to be dealing with someone cut from the same cloth as Prin. Maybe a little worse since he knows what Jak has done in the past but certainly nothing he couldn't handle. Mahasamut is not a reckless or a thoughtless man. I don't believe for a second he would've even walked in the building if he didn't feel confident that he could deal with Jak.

The problem is that Jak is very much not cut from the same cloth as Prin.

I noted in my expressions post that it looked like the only time Jak was actually feeling something was when he accepted Prin's offer to destroy Tongrak but that's not entirely accurate. Having gone back to watch his scenes, there's a second instance where genuine emotion peeks through.

There's such a cold rage in his expression when he reproaches Tongrak for choosing his mother and cutting ties with him. And make no mistake, he's not angry because he loves his son. We already know that he doesn't. He's angry because in his eyes, he lost to a woman he felt nothing but disdain for.

If Tongrak and Kwan had chosen Jak over their mother, do you think Jak would be out here causing problems? No, he would've flat out ignored them. He wouldn't bother keeping such close tabs on Rak and his relationships because he would've already won and if he's doing it now, it's because he wants to win.

This is a game to him. This is fun for him.

His son is terrified and begging him not to hurt an innocent little girl and a young man and Jak's response is, "Don't be greedy."

He tries to force his son to choose which one of the people he loves most in this world gets to be safe but the choice isn't really a choice. He says he'll choose for Rak and he already has. Jak had already had Mahasamut beaten by the time he comes to see Tongrak and we know that because Mut's injuries have been treated when Rak gets home and Vivi is already there.

Matter of fact, the only reason Jak is even here talking to his son is because his attempt to convince Mut to leave has failed and he knows that going to Rak won't fail. He knows his son is afraid of him and he knows he can use that fear to get what he wants, which is why he brings up the uncle doctor.

Although we've gotten little of Jak so far, it's safe to assume that he is not a man who makes empty threats. Tongrak knows this, too, which is why he becomes so panicked when the doctor is brought up. We as the audience don't know who this doctor is but we can surmise from Tongrak's expression that he's important enough to be used as a weapon by Jak.

Until this point I don't think Tongrak realized that his father had anything to do with whatever happened to this doctor, he looks genuinely surprised. But all Jak had to do to prove how serious he is about his threat is mention the man. That's all he does. Rak puts the pieces together himself.

And here is where I bring up next week.

If you can look at this man's face as he rips the contract and think for a moment that he's going to try to push Mahasamut away for some flimsy petty reason, I am here to tell you that you are dead wrong. If I so much as SEE the words 'noble idiocy' I'm going to kick off.

Because we know that by the time Tongrak picks up this contract to rip it, Mahasamut has already been beaten twice and that Jak made a barely veiled threat to have him killed. Rak is rightfully terrified of his father and afraid for his boyfriend's life and wanting to keep Mut safe and ALIVE is not noble idiocy.

Now is it going to work? Smart money says no, wild horses couldn't drag Mahasamut away. He loves Rak too much to take any threats lying down. But as much as I understand why Mut talked to Jak, I understand why Rak wants to keep him safe even more.

Jak didn't accept Prin's offer because he wanted to help her. He doesn't give a single shit about her agenda except to mock her for it. He agreed to destroy his son because he wants to, because doing so will allow him to win and get back at his ex-wife. The money is just a bonus.

Jak is a Villain.

#rewatching jak's scenes does not get any less brutal fyi #there are only two reasons why something is hard to watch:#because it's done poorly or because it's done well #and this was done very well #love sea #love sea the series #meta #conversations with leah

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charliedawn · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can I request how the Slashers will react to their favorite nurse having an engagement ring on her? And they actually fell in love with her. (Also, can you add Five please 🥲, he's very much my comfort character.)

Five Hargreeves :

Five was the first to know.

He knew just by looking at you. The way you almost glowed and were smiling from ear to ear all week made him suspicious. And then, the coup de grace…The ring. He was sitting at his own private bar when you joined him and his eyes were immediately drawn to the shiny ring. Suddenly, everything clicked and he stared at the drink in his hand…his hand shaking slightly.

"…So, you found someone ?"

He was happy for you, or at least he tried to convince himself he was.

He wished you would say no. He wished you would realise how much you meant to him at that exact moment…but you didn’t.

Your smile almost burnt him when you answered affirmatively. He took a big gulp of his whiskey—savouring the burn. He knew it was impossible. You were a nurse. And he was…just a kid. You would have never seen him as anything else. And it made him rage against himself for even entertaining the idea you would ever consider a future with him. Physically, he was too young. And mentally ? He was too old…You would have never worked.

So, he smiled and raised his glass to you.

"Congratulations, Y/N. You deserve it."

Once you were out of the room, that glass went flying across the room to end up shattered against a wall…shattered like Five was.

Jack Torrance :

Jack is good at hiding his emotions—even from himself. He had spent weeks wondering if he should ask you out on a date. He had spent his time thinking and planning and rehearsing what he would say and do. He thought it would be his moment to shine and leave all the bad shit behind…But then, he saw the ring.

"Hey. That’s a…That’s a nice ring you got there."

He smiled and said he was happy for you. And you believed it. Of course you did. Because, he was a good comedian. The best. He had learnt to just drown his emotions when he died, because if he was to feel anything…He’d lose himself. He had to suffer the loss of his family, his career, his life…What was one more loss to the lot ?

However, once you were out of the room ? He lowered his glass and his shoulders shook as he gripped the glass tightly in his hand to breaking point…He was too late. Again.

"Damn it…"

That was Jack’s true reaction to the news. He was disappointed for sure. He knew he should have acted before…But, what was the point ?

What would you have done with the ghost of a past long forgotten ?

He just started drinking again and chuckled bitterly at his own misery. He had wished for a better end, but that end had just slipped through his fingers like a dream…He would maybe write about it later ? But, what was the point ? He could write his feelings, but you’d never read them.

Pennywise :

You were at the dinner table and when Pennywise sat in front of you, he could feel that something was different. The other slashers were strangely quiet, so of course he’d have to ask.

"Why is everyone so quiet ?! Please. Tell me someone died !" He snickered, but nobody answered. Finally, he looked at you and tried to find the reason for the sudden silence…You then showed him your ring.

"Pennywise. I am engaged.", you announced with a smile. His own smile dropped.

He knew perfectly well what engagement meant. He understood now why all the others were so quiet. He could read their emotions. All of them were disappointed…He just didn’t know why until you had shown the ring…

"…Congrats."

"…Thanks."

That was the most awkward congratulations you had ever heard. He glanced back at your hand. Even though he had tried to sound genuine, he couldn’t bring himself to smile again. It was the first time you had seen Pennywise so serious.

He then decided to avoid you. You didn’t understand why, but he simply vanished. He didn’t even show up at meals anymore…

When something upsets Pennywise, he tends to avoid it. So, he decided to avoid you. He knew it was a childish and nonsensical reaction to the news…But, he couldn’t being himself to care. Because, he understood perfectly the feelings of the other slashers.

He never thought he would have to deal with emotions again…But, it seemed like he was wrong.

Michael Myers :

Michael stayed silent. He had nothing to say…

Well, he normally doesn’t say much, but this time you could actually feel the awkwardness in the room. He knew he didn’t have the right to dream…but, he still did. You were the only one who truly understood him and that Myers had ever spared. He wanted you to love him. But, it didn’t matter at the end…

He wrote down on his notebook:

Congratulations.

Even you could feel that he didn’t mean it, but you didn’t comment on it. However, he didn’t expect it when you removed his mask and stared at his face—studying his features. He wasn’t smiling. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were dark.

"…Michael.", you muttered softly and raised your hand to stroke his cheek…but he grabbed it before you could.

"Don’t."

He could see the pity in your eyes and it hurt more than anything. He then retrieved his mask and walked away. He couldn’t pretend to be happy about the news. And now, you knew about his feelings too.

Bo Sinclair :

Bo was working on a car when he asked you to hand him a tool. When you did, his eyes caught the ring around your finger and he suddenly forgot all about the tool. He grabbed your arm and stared at the offensive jewel in frightening silence.

"…Bo ?", you called him after a while.

When he saw you with that ring, it made him tick and realise that you had a life outside of the hospital—one he had no idea about. And it made him mad. You had never seen him so quiet before and he didn’t answer. He finally released your arm and left without a word. After that, you had trouble catching him and when you eventually did ? His reaction wasn’t the one you expected.

"…Whatya want from me, Y/N ?! A congrats and pat on the fuckin’ back ?! Alright. Congrats ! And hope you have a great life with yer fucker !"

He took out his frustration on you. Bo usually handles his emotions with his fists and his words. But, of course he wouldn’t come to hands with you. So, he’d either ignore you or be harsh with his words. Or, he’d go out to a bar and start a fight. Anything but confront you about his feelings and confess that he was jealous.

Jason Voorhees :

Jason was angry. The moment he saw the ring on your finger, he knew what it meant. His mother had carried hers for years and he had inherited it. He thought you’d be the one carrying his ring, but it seemed he had waited too long. His reaction would first be denial before he would suddenly break everything in his path and try to start a fight with anyone he’d come across. Jason doesn’t handle emotions very well and most often than not, he’d break things in order to let his frustration out.

He spent hours in the forest chopping wood and no one dared come to check on him—except you.

"Jason…?"

He didn’t answer, but he was there. You could hear him breathing and you sighed before sitting on a log. You waited for him and soon enough, he sat down next to you and you noticed how his whole body seemed tense.

"Jason…It’s not because I am engaged that I will forget about you, you know that right ?"

He still didn’t answer. He was doing his best to remain calm and when you moved to touch his shoulder—he recoiled from your touch. It was the first time Jason was reacting this way with you. And what he did next made your eyes widen in shock. He retrieved his mother’s ring from his pocket and wordless put it in your hand.

By the time you understood what he meant to say, he was already gone.

Freddy Krueger :

"~How sweet…"

He gave you the best fake smile he could muster before turning around and leaving. Truth is ? Freddy was the less angry out of all the slashers. He doesn’t believe in marriage or engagement or anything…The only problem he had with you being engaged was that he had lost his chance getting into your pants. Or, that’s the reason he’d give to anyone who would ask. Because of course you’d be faithful. You were the only person in the hospital who ever gave a shit about him.

You were kind and honest and fuckin’ perfect. So, of course Freddy didn’t stand a chance in hell. You were the complete opposite of him. You were an angel and Freddy was a demon. And that made him love you and hate you even more. It hurt…But, it didn’t matter. Because, he was already broken to begin with.

Norman Bates :

He thought he had a chance, but the moment he saw the ring…something snapped in Norman. It started with a twitch of his jaw and suddenly, his smile was gone. There was nothing left in his gaze than an intense emptiness—a void which seemed to swallow you whole. He took a step forward and for the first time…You were scared of him.

There was something murderous in his eyes—something dark.

When he leant forward, your heart hammered in your chest, but he simply smiled knowingly before kissing your cheek.

"Congratulations, my little angel."

There was not a single word in that sentence that he truly meant, and you both knew it all too well. But, you smiled and tried to hold back the tears. You left and Norman was left with his regrets.

Penny :

"Why ?"

You turned around to face Penny. He was the last one. He didn’t understand, but his expression changed to cold numbness as he repeated.

"Why, Y/N ? You know how we all feel about you…That ring. You knew what that ring would do to us…So, why ? Why hurt us like this ?"

You had always suspected Penny to be smarter than he pretended to be…but you didn’t think he would be the first one to figure it out. Your expression softened as you tried not to cry.

"I’m sorry, Penny. Turns out I wasn’t as special as you all thought I was…"

It was simpler this way…It was better than to admit that you were scared. You thought you were past the fear…but, it seemed not. There was still a fear to be conquered. You had grown too attached to the slashers. And of course you knew how they felt about you, but so did you. You felt so strongly…but, you couldn’t do anything about it.

You were human. And you still had a life outside of the hospital. They couldn’t understand…but, you hoped that with time they’d understand. You only had one life, and you couldn’t give them false hope. You couldn’t be with them forever, and that ring was a reminder. Not only for them, but for you as well.

Penny snarled and grabbed the hand where the ring was to glare at it. He hated it. He didn’t want to see you belonging to someone else than him…It affected him more than he cared to admit.

Suddenly, he wrapped his hand around your ring finger and you suddenly felt a sharp pain. He released you, but then you heard a series of metallic sounds hitting the floor. When you looked down, your eyes widened as you saw your ring—shattered in pieces.

You looked back up at him, but he was gone.

The message was clear though.

He would never accept it…

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 2017 #pennywise 1990 #slashers #pennywise x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #jason voorhees x reader #five hargreeves x reader #jack torrance x reader #norman bates x reader #bo sinclair x reader

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soap-ify · 9 months

Text

simon can't be with you anymore.

cw gn!reader , angst , hurt / no comfort, simon doesn't know what he's doing.

notes streets said that it's angstmas !! didn't know that it existed until recently. anyways, since i'm having the worst week of my life, i'm gonna ruin it for simon too.

maybe simon was being stupid.

he probably was. not that he could think of any other options besides leaving you.

his work was too dangerous, and the next deployment was probably going to be his last. especially after the recent briefing he went to where the captain spoke about the upcoming mission — a highly risky one. in fact, even the most skilled like ‘ghost’ was bound to either get severely injured or just die. probably the latter. especially since he wouldn’t be with the rest of the taskforce 141 in the fucking warzone.

just a sacrifice for the better of the world, yeah? even though a part of him didn’t want to. fuck the world. you meant so much more to him. but he had chosen this job right. he had agreed to the mission.

and after all, he never considered himself deserving of you, deserving of this relationship he had with you. he knew he was somewhat of a distant boyfriend — barely opening up about his own feelings or past. at least he had shown you his face. you didn’t deserve someone as dangerous as him, someone so… damaged.

he didn’t want to die knowing that you’d be waiting home, all sad and lonely. he didn’t want to leave you like that, but at the same time, he didn’t want to stay and just watch this sweet bubble you two were in shatter. in both ways, he had to leave you. he had to somehow make this less painful, to make it easier for you to move on.

god, he was an asshole. he knew he was. he spent the week just distancing himself from you, responding to your words with nods and grunts while barely reciprocating to your affectionate touches. his heart was breaking more and more everyday, noticing the pained look in your eyes.

he couldn’t keep doing this for much longer. eventually, he had to end this, and he did.

“we can’t be together.”

his words hit you like a brick. literally on a random friday evening. not so random now, it seemed.

“what do you mean, si…?” your voice got quieter with each word, uncertainty towards your own state of mind flooding inside you while a lump formed in your throat, restraining you from properly even speaking out. your eyes stared at him in pure confusion and heart, noticing how he was cladded in his uniform, how he wore that damn skull mask balaclava — building up those walls again that you had managed to break so easily with your love.

simon hated this. he didn’t want to see you so confused and defeated. he had to stop himself mentally from doing something irrational. he was doing this for you, for your own good. though hearing you call him ‘si’ seemed to somewhat crack his composure.

“look, we can’t be together. s’too dangerous. too risky for you. you never know when i might die.” soon, but he held himself from saying that. you didn’t need to know about his deployment, not at all.

“w-why so sudden?” your voice cracked as you tried to properly make sense of his words, emotions taking off your being while you tried to hold in the tears that had begun to sting your eyes.

too dangerous, too risky — maybe somewhere in your heart, you had known that a day like this would come. simon riley was too careful about safety, too dedicated to his work while simultaneously being madly in love. suddenly, all of his sudden distant behavior made sense, and you felt somewhat stupid. stupid for, well, everything.

he was the plague that had infected you, and now he needed to leave so you could heal.

but you never thought of him like that. he was your rock, the anchor that held you from slipping away into loneliness that had always somehow stuck with you throughout your life, a sting that only simon could soothe. it was simon who would craddle you in his arks every night, it was simon who would listen to your rambles. it was simon who your heart was so willing to give love to.

and now he was going to leave.

simon had expected you to scream, to somehow target your anger and frustrations at him. he wanted you to yell at him, he deserved it.

but you didn’t. you sniffled, beads of tears beginning to roll down your cheeks as you took a wobbly step back, too exhausted to fight back or anything.

you didn’t blame simon. how could you? even now, you couldn’t find a flaw in him. too in love? maybe.

as silence filled the living room of the apartment you used to share with him, he slowly picked up his duffel bag and sighed, trying to keep his brown eyes cold and unfeeling, to make it look like he didn’t feel remorseful, to hide his heart was threatening to tear out of his own skin.

“i’ll always love you, simon…”

you said after a few seconds, causing his head to turn over to look back at you — your eyes teary and puffy while your cheeks were streaked with tears, his hands aching to wipe them away. your voice was weak, reluctantly defeated. you know that there was no point in stopping him.

i’ll always love you too, he mentally thought, though never said.

"one final kiss...?" simon froze at your request, knowing that if he were to look at your face any longer, he'd actually stay. he sighed and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away, brown eyes hardening up.

he gave you a final nod and exited the apartment from the front door, leaving you alone all over again, your heart torn in pieces as you fell down on your knees, shattering into pieces that no one was going to bother picking up now. only simon could, but he was gone.

simon riley had died three months after that, and you never found out. for you, ge had just disappeared, leaving no traces behind.

just a memory that you were afraid you’d forget eventually, forget his touch and his voice, forget his face — just a memory that was going to bury itself no matter how hard you may try.

#i don't know what i am doing #literally writing everything EXCEPT the simon oneshot i am actually supposed to be writing #evilly ruins simon's life.#teared up while writing this #WHO GETS THE REFERENCE HERE !!#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #rurufic

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chiibinomonodamon · 5 months

Text

WHO WANTS TO HEAR ME RAMBLE ABOUT GAY FURRY DEMON SEX? XD

(damn, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say....)

Okay...so I see some Stolitz confusion and bashing online and I need to type up a defense here because I won't be able to sleep otherwise lol

I consider myself to be a Ship Critic and someone who takes shipping rather seriously.

What I mean by this is, I like to analyze and break down romantic relationships between fictional characters because it's just interesting to write for me. I especially take delight in friendly debating with opinions that I strongly do *not* agree with.

Let me start off by saying I am NOT a "this ship is awesome because gay furry sex lol" type of girl.

FAR from it. I'm generally more passionate about hetero ships between human characters (because I can relate to them more) among other reasons. So if you wanna dismiss my defense as "shallow fangirlism", you can forget about that lame excuse.

I fell in love with Hazbin Hotel when it was finally released in February and suffered waiting for each new two-parts per week. During that time, I decided to watch Helluva Boss as well, after a friend showed me a particularly soul-crushing clip (Moxxie's childhood trauma about his mother).

Yes, I like funny sex jokes as much as the next goofy adult but scenes like this, scenes that carry a very heavy emotional weight are what really get me in the end, even moreso when VERY little dialogue is exchanged. I knew I had to watch the entire episode run after seeing that the creators had a talent for this.

I saw people asking:

"How did Stolas go from using Blitz as a sex toy to being painfully in love with him?"

Oh I can tell you. I can tell you the EXACT moment this is revealed. But it's not spoon-fed to you; it's quite subtle actually and this is why lots of people miss it.

See, one of the strongest talents Vivenne has shown me is that she REALLY knows how to get her characters to communicate their feelings to the viewers JUST from their expressions and body language. These can be 'blink-and-miss-it' teeny little scenes and it may require a couple rewatches.

But since people demand time stamps for all information others post here, I'll rewatch a few scenes from S1 E7 'Ozzie's' as I'm typing this.

'Ozzie's' remains to be not just my favorite episode of HB...but probably my favorite episode of any adult-targeted animated show outside of Japan (aside from S2 E7's Mid-Season Special)

It has this huge reveal for both Blitzo and Stolas.

We'll first address Blitzo's irrational, stalkerish behavior of Moxxie and Millie.

He's obsessed with them. He finds both of them very attractive, fantasizes about threesomes with them and is constantly inserting himself into their personal lives.

Why?

Because they have everything that he badly badly wants for himself.

They have the perfect marriage and he is trying to live THROUGH them.

This was hilarious to me at the beginnning of the show but it's slowly revealed that it's one of the most tragic and depressing things I've ever seen. And it's scarily realistic too.

But you know this already so let's move on...

Blitzo follows the couple to Ozzie's but he can't get in without a date. So he calls up Stolas and yes, this is very low but he doesn't realize how much this means to Stolas (hell, I'm not sure even Stolas realizes it himself!) but the owl man is giddy with joy, he rushes over and they enter Ozzie's.

When Ozzie and Fizz mock Moxxie for being so sappy towards his wife, this strikes a chord with Blitzo (because they're his IDEAL relationship) and he speaks up to defend them.

NOW PAY CLOSE ATTENTION; THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART:

Fizz, still holding onto his past grudge turns on Blitzo to humilate him:

"Some nerve you got commenting on a relationship"

Time Stamp: 11:37

As Fizz says "-ship", Blitzo VERY QUICKLY makes eye contact with Stolas who has a look of panic on his face. Blitzo is seeking VALIDATION from Stolas in this sharp, subtle second of screentime, as if to ask

"Well, ARE we in one?"

And then what happens next...Stolas remains silent, Blitzo's ex joins in to announce how selfish Blitzo was in bed with her, tearing him down further. Stolas stands up like he's going to put a stop to it but then Ozzie notices him and interrogates him about sleeping with Blitzo.

Blitzo looks incredibly ashamed and guilty as Stolas blushes with similar feelings...and hides his face behind his menu; HIS BIGGEST MISTAKE IN THE SERIES SO FAR.

Time Stamp: 12:24

The look on Blitzo's face as he grits his teeth and darts his eyes away basically says

"Yeah, I should have known...boy am I an idiot for trusting him to stand up for me".

(look how SHOCKED he is...wow, this hurts fr ;_;)

This is a silent betrayal on Stolas's part. Afterall, his reputation is on the line, so if he were to defend Blitzo, it confirms they are in fact, dating. He chose his pride over Blitzo and Blitzo is crushed by this betrayal.

Moxxie finishes his song and kisses his wife tenderly. Stolas watches this and also wants to have an affectionate moment with Blitzo (who is rightfully glaring daggers at him) and tries to reach for his hand.

Blitzo rejects his touch and suggests they leave. As they do, Blitzo still looks furious and hurt. Stolas is now realizing how badly he screwed up with a "What have I done?" face (13:41)

He even looks disappointed with himself.

After Blitzo drops Stolas off, he thanks him and tries to smooth over the awkwardness with sweet talk but Blitzo just rolls his eyes in disgust and pulls on his face like "I don't want to hear this bullshit".

He responds coldly and curtly, "Yeah." Stolas makes more suggestions to spend time with him, which just makes him even angrier and he snaps

"I'm not fucking you tonight, okay!

I'm really just..." (14:28)

he pauses to wipe a tear because at this point he can barely hold it together (top notch voice acting and animation directing btw)

"...not in the mood, Stolas."

Stolas still tries to talk him into doing couple things unrelated to sex.

Blitzo's face switches back to anger and frustration because Stolas isn't getting the message so he goes for the blunt tactic;

"Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but YOU wanting ME to fuck you, okay?"

(14:42)

"You make that really clear all the time."

(again his voice sounds like he's about to break down)

"But I-I just can't do it tonight, okay?"

(Finally meets his eye)

"...I'm sorry."

I believe this is code for "I'm sorry we're even in this situation and how your reputation got damaged. " Or, more painfully, "I'm sorry I'm such an embarrassment to you".

Stolas replies "Okay" and takes a deep breath to compose himself. They say goodnight and depart.

An important note here is that Stolas calls him "Blitzo" instead of "Blitzy" to show more respect.

As Blitzo zooms away coldly, Stolas looks up at the sky with tears in his eyes, surprised at how much it hurts.

He then sits down with his head in his hands in anguish...because he's getting that

"Oh...no. These feelings are real" epiphany.

And as if this wasn't enough angst, Blitzo collapses onto his couch at home, goes through the memories on his phone and starts sobbing.

I'm going to be real with you; this is the most heart-breaking shit I have ever seen in an adult show of this type. It's also the first time a show of this type got me to cry.

The last six minutes have revealed so much information without spoonfeeding it to the audience because the show RESPECTS its audience.

To recap:

*Blitzo takes Stolas on a first official date to use him

*Stolas is extremely happy about it

*Blitzo gets humilated and looks to Stolas for validation

*Stolas betrays him and breaks his heart

*Blitzo snaps that their relationship is nothing more than lust-driven sex

*Stolas realizes he's actually in love with Blitzo and it's a huge problem because (he believes) that it's unrequited.

*Blitzo breaks down because the ONE person whom he thought would protect him didn't do so.

So these two are convinced that neither one loves the other...while the irony is, it's quite the opposite.

Because if Blitzo REALLY didn't feel anything towards Stolas, he would not have gotten this emotional.

Yes, they are both lonely...but I really don't think that's all there is between them.

So..........we know WHEN they started falling...now the question is why;

I think the answer's quite simple; single-target affection.

It was mentioned in S2 that Stolas and Stella did sleep together ONE TIME...but Stolas didn't enjoy it at all. He is stuck with a wife who hates him so much that she put a HIT on him...and a daughter who thinks he's a loser. Blitzo is pretty much the one person in his life who is able to make him happy. That one small, bright spot. He enjoys the sex with him but he also simply enjoys his company, as shown in Ozzie's episode. He is thrilled to simply talk to him about his day...and do anything else that couples do. They're complete opposites. Stolas is an intellectual but naive and sheltered. Blitzo is poorly educated but cynical and street-smart. Opposites attract...though this is likely more from Stolas's POV than Blitzo's.

In other words, Stolas is into bad boys xD lmao

In Blitzo's case, Stolas is the only character who shows him physical affection which he desperately craves. He's pretty tsundere about it most of the time...but I think he actually does enjoy that attention...especially when he's always getting disrespected by Moxxie and Loona..and quite a lot of people around him. BUT he's too scared to get serious with anyone because of past trauma and he also believes that no one could possibly love him as a person. :(

Reasons I Think This Love is Real

Aside from what I pointed out in the Ozzie's episode...there's quite a lot of evidence, esp from Stolas's POV.

After he realizes he's in love, he goes to Asomodeous for an ALTERNATIVE method for Blitzo to use so they will no longer sleep together. He wants to set Blitzo free. Which means he DOES truly love him because love is about being generous to the other person. He COULD be totally selfish about it but he isn't.

Asomodeous mentions how against love potions he is and Stolas agrees. He thinks that's out of the question.

'Look My Way' music video. Lol I don't have to say anything more.

In S2 E6 OOPS

This exchange at 16:57

Fizz: Seems your taste has gotten more 'regal', lately?

Blitz: Yeah, well unlike you, I fuck who I want WHEN I want. I'm not gonna be tied down to some big blue-blood asshole.

Fizz: You coulda fooled me the way Prince was cozying up to you at Ozzie's.

Blitz (gets very defensive) HEY! Stolas only cares about have a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his mattress, okay!

It's nothing...(gets hesistant and looks away)...you know...

(Fizz gives him a 'bitch please' look xD)

"it's nothing else."

Fizz: Then why were you even there?

Blitz: OTHER very important reasons of course.

Fizz: Whatever. I don't actually care.

Blitz: Stolas is just a loud, thirsty BITCH!

(Fizz is rolling his eyes again)

Blitz: He loves feeling the thrill of getting dicked by the lower class.

It's a novelty to him.

Fizz: LITERALLY just said I don't care!

Blitz: And then he'll call me and try to see how my day was!

And he'll pretend to care about me and comment on my photos laugh at my jokes...

Fizz: (Smirking) OH! That's definitely your clue right there that it's all bullshit!

Blitz: I KNOW, RIGHT??

Fizz: (Making a 'What in idiot' expression, shaking his head)

Blitz: HE'S JUST A FAKE, PRIVELEDGED ASSHOLE...

Fizz: Sounds like you just hate him for being a prince!

No one (laughs) and I mean NO ONE pretends to care that much just for a cheap lay.

All right. IF ANYONE knows what real love is like, it's Fizzaroli...who is in a very HEALTHY relationship with Asomodeous. He recognizes the signs because he's IN that place. He sees it...and he's annoyed that Blitzo keeps denying it and brushing it off...yet clearly can NOT stop talking about Stolas (amusing irony)

To sum up (this freaking essay lol) 'Stolitz' ABSOLUTELY has the potential to be pure and true...these two just need to communicate...or Stolas has to PROVE to Blitzo that he's serious about his feelings in another way.

There is no doubt that this ship is 100% endgame and is a case of the 'Earn Your Happy Ending' Trope. I look forward to the rest of the journey. Ron is putting my feelings about Stolitz in a perfect phrase:

#shipping #helluva boss #blitzø #stolas #stolitz #blitzo x stolas #stolas x blitz #vivziepop #animation #man they really have a firm grip on my heart #it's so strange to me lol #OH THE ANGST

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shadeysprings · 10 months

Text

A Toast to New Beginnings

—Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary — Reconnecting with your childhood best friend was supposed to be a wonderful experience—until it wasn't.

Warnings — noncon/dubcon, drugging, implied kidnapping, childhood best friends to lovers with a dark twist, possessive Bucky and more that I could have forgotten.

Word Count — 1.7K

A/N — My second entry for @thebasementspouses The 12 Men of Christmas Writing Challenge. And it was such a thrill to write for Bucky again. As soon as I was able to choose what item to pair with him, my mind just went berserk. I mean, how could you not?!

Shoutout to my beta @sgt-seabass. But all mistakes are mine alone.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

“It’s really good to see you again, Bucky.”

The smile you give him is mirrored on his face as he takes your empty plate, stacks it with his, and places them in the sink.

It’s been years since you last saw him, years since you ran away from home and established a new life in the city. You thought he would be angry for leaving him, your only friend in your small town, after you had both promised to be there for each other no matter what.

Though life back then was tough and unpredictable. And as a teenager, it gave you no choice but to leave everything behind, to escape the hardships. Including him.

The years seem to have worn on him with the way he’s grown. You couldn’t believe that this is the same Bucky you knew who roughed up the kids that made fun of you, and stole lollipops from the local store just because you wanted them. He was reckless back then, a bad boy as the old women called him. But now, he seems like an entirely different person and yet at the same time familiar. Like home.

Gone is the long hair you’ve always known him to have, recalling how he beat up the boys who teased him for it, and loved how his mother would comb it out for him despite saying how much he disliked it. Now, his hair is neatly trimmed with the shadow of his beard just kissing his face. He’s also grown bigger; muscles bulged from his shoulders and arms, almost making his navy henley shirt too tight for him.

Guilt suddenly swirls around you, twiddling your fingers together as you remain seated at table and watch him tidy up the kitchen. You even take the time to observe his apartment—a complete bachelor’s pad. But you can’t help but notice the small touches he’s added that reminds you of his childhood home.

He’s never brought up the past once since you met last week by chance at the grocery store. Never once has he shown any emotions of betrayal for what you’ve done. But with you, it’s all you’ve been thinking about after parting ways and agreeing to his invitation to reconnect.

“You remember my mama’s eggnog back then?” He says, disrupting your train of thought, a smile still ever present on his lips when you look up at him.

You smile once more, the memory washing over you like a wave. “How can I forget? She always made mine with chocolate.”

“You always were her favorite,” he laughs heartily. “Liked you more than her own son.”

“Well, she always did want a girl. And I’m the closest thing to a daughter she’ll ever have,” you say with equal mirth.

“Yeah, yeah. Go sit on the couch.” Bucky instructs with a playful inflection in his voice. You stand from the dining table, already making your way to the living room. “I’ll bring you a mug before I give you your present.”

“Present?” That surprises you.

Taking a seat on the couch, you finally notice a small red box sitting on the low coffee table, your name written on the card. You didn’t know he was preparing something for you, and you came to his place empty handed. If the situation were different, if this were to happen in the past, you would have teased each other about it. But with so much time wedged between the both of you, you can’t help but feel another bout of remorse and realize how much things have changed.

“Here you go.”

You look up at Bucky and take the offered mug, the warmth radiating in your palms. He joins you on the couch, a mug for himself in his hand, and a smile grazes his face when he takes a sip. His blue eyes cast over at you, curiosity present.

“You’re sad.” He says, turning in his seat to face you completely. “Did something upset you?”

Placing your drink on the table, you clasp your hands tight and stare blankly into nothing. Of course something upset you. Everything since Bucky came back into your life upset you. It wasn’t because he was part of the past you wanted to forget but more so because you abandoned him.

Yet here he is, making you meals and your favorite drink, the gift adding to the pain that you desperately keep hiding deep in your chest.

“Bucky— I—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” You look over at him when he interrupts, his mug now sitting beside yours. “You did what you had to do, I know. It took time to accept it, but I eventually did.” His hands then envelop yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. There’s a slight smile on his face, the same one that always brought you comfort whenever something troubled you.

Slowly, he reaches over to give your cheek a gentle pinch, ultimately making you chuckle at the childish gesture. Your mug is placed between your palms, and he takes his all the same, sipping on it before nodding in your direction.

“Go on. Mama’s eggnog always makes you feel better during the holidays,” he urges.

“Well, she always made mine special,” you respond, sticking your tongue out playfully at him, and take a heavy gulp of the warm beverage. But your face twists when you swallow, a sour aftertaste scattering on the surface of your tongue that makes you look at your mug, then at Bucky.

“Is something wrong?” He asks in concern.

“No,” you say, trying to appease him, but the cough you release lets him know otherwise. “Just— I don’t remember it being this bitter.”

“Shit. I must have added too much cinnamon in it.” There’s a frown on his lips as he stands from his seat, holding his hand out for the mug. “I can make you a new one if you like. Probably hold back on the cinnamon this time.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” You tell him, schooling your features as you take another sip. “It’s still good. But maybe I can have a glass of water with it?”

“Already on it.”

You take another mouthful as he leaves for the kitchen, hoping to get used to the bitter aftertaste. But it’s an endeavor you stop, placing the mug back on the coffee table and instead reaching out for the red box to guess its contents.

But your heart begins to beat at a rapid pace, hands shaking uncontrollably, and you gasp when you feel your muscles tighten then loosen altogether, making you lean back against the cushions of the couch like a wilted flower as you try to decipher what’s happening. You try to call for Bucky to help you in your mysterious ordeal, but no matter how hard you try, no words leave your lips. And in just a matter of seconds, you’re rendered helpless and incapacitated.

Your eyes widen when you see Bucky return, eyes cast down on you as he sets the glass of water beside your mug. He says nothing, not even questioning how you’ve come to be this way, yet there seems to be no sense of urgency permeating through him. And instead, he lets out a chuckle when he takes your legs from the floor and lifts them up to the couch.

“Well, what do you know! It does have a fast reaction time,” he says with a grin, taking a seat at your side and reaching over to caress your face.

What? He did this on purpose? But why?

Confusion runs wildly in your head as tears stream down your cheeks. You feel nothing yet everything all at once; the sound of his heavy breaths when he leans closer, the heat that flutters on your skin when he grazes his fingertips against it, and the sight of his intense stare, how the blue of his eyes grow bolder, the concern and, dare you say, love in them earlier replaced with hunger, possessiveness and something darker.

“After years of waiting, I finally have you, my Dove.”

That name.

It’s been years since you’ve heard it. And it was only him and his mother who called you as such. The name that used to bring you joy each time you heard it. Yet now, it elicits fear in your chest.

Sapphire orbs bores into your eyes while his hand caresses your cheek. “Unlike before, I won’t let you go that easily.” His hand snakes down to your neck, then lower to your breast, taking a tit in his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “In all honesty, you did this to yourself. If you never left me, we would never be in this situation. We could have been married. Living a simple life on the outskirts of town. Maybe even here in the city.” Releasing your breast, he pushes his hand lower, skating down your blouse and stopping just at the edge of your jeans. With deft hands, he undoes the button and pulls down the zip, your chest pounding as you foresee the coming events, wanting to kick him away from you—but it’s no use.

You no longer see your childhood best friend, your protector through the years. What you see is a stranger, a monster, here to haunt you through the next.

He’s strong, pulling the fabric off your thighs and tossing them haphazardly to the ground. He then stands, eyes raking over your body, and you’re once more stricken with fear when he starts to undo his pants.

“Now, I’ll make sure that you never leave me,” he continues, kicking his pants away and taking your legs in his hands, lifting them over his shoulders as he kneels before you.

You do nothing but watch in horror and feel his ministrations when he pushes your panties aside and presses his thumb against your clit. He rolls it slowly, teasing, dampening your cunt with each stroke he makes, pulling at the pleasure you desperately tamp down, but all your efforts are useless with your body subdued.

He lines his cock against your cunt, feeling the way he rubs the tip against your folds, taunting to penetrate at any moment.

“This time, I’ll make sure we’ll be together forever.”

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #a toast to new beginnings #tbschristmaschallenge #mcu #tfatws #sebastian stan characters #shadeysprings fics

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rocketturtle4 · 7 months

Text

City of Stars is starting to drive me a little crazy…anyone else??

Okay so I have no idea how many people are watching this show but this weeks ep (#6) cemented for me that this show is intentionally playing with us, the BL audience, and our expectations of BL.

We have been presented and consistently shown mature, down to earth characters who express their emotions, communicate, help each other, mess with each other, and basically act like rational adults.

And yet this week for a full 2 minutes, I fully believed Krom had taken one look at the strange man in Fueangs bedroom and run straight back home with his mother’s caution echoing inside his head.

But he didn’t and Feaung explained and later we even got Krom being UP FRONT about his insecurities!!

I felt a bit like a new faen being put through trust exercises by my too good to be a true lover.

This was the most extreme example but it’s done it in a ton of other ways too, just in this ep we had things including

Ooops sent the wrong clip, will the friends explode and ruin the relationship

Will Feaung be mad that the friends know

Oh the parents know, now what??

Unequal understanding of the date! Now what?

You know how many of these caused explosions? NONE

Last week we had “Feungs big secret” as a driving force for concern but the show turned that on it’s head too!

And it did it by making fun of everyone being able to sing

This show is picking up the BL tropes, the BL mold and showing it to us like: THIS? This is what you’ve been dealing with in the past? And don’t get me wrong, I have a spreadsheet that just hit 165 BLs to very much prove I like the model.

But this show

This show is taking a trope and making it real,

or making fun of it,

or both.

Have I lost you?

That guitar scene at the end was a great example, Thai BL boys seem to take guitars wherever they go and pull them out at the drop of a hat. This show:

Made fun of that trope by making Fueang bad at singing

Added depth to that trope by making it a result of childhood trauma

Threw in some communication

And voila a guitar scene that was an emotional HIGH, regardless of your opinion on singing.

This show is saying TRUST ME, we aren’t going to steer you off a cliff,

(even as it laughingly might grab you by the shoulders and push-pull you at the edge just to see you panic for a moment lol)

I am having a very good time with it, I have no idea how we’re going to pan out, and given the reoccurring fakeouts I am now highly suspicious of it’s intro scene in ep 1. But I am seriously starting to trust this show. I feel like I can take my hands of the rails throw them in the air and enjoy the ride

Anyone coming?

(Don't get me wrong, the tropes are stil everywhere)

#City of Stars #City of Stars the series #Thai BL #rturts is wondering

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

Text

Lie to Me: Part 2[***]

Dark!Cassian x reader

Summary: With plans for your husband and dear friend, Eris, to take the throne, you’ve kept Cassian’s secret to yourself. With the turbulence of navigating Court politics, your husband’s private alliance with the Night Court needs to be maintained more carefully than ever, meaning that at least for now, no one will know that their General ever put his hands on you.

Warnings: Cassian gets forgiven, dub-con but it’s pretty soft, mentions of past non-con, smut, tiny sequin of angst, emotion hurt/comfort?

Word Count: 7,424

-Part 1-

“I’ll go,” you answer simply.

Sharp caramel eyes run over you appraisingly, and you hold still beneath his attention. He leans forward on his desk, discarding the reports and instead propping his chin on interleaved fingers. “That’s much too dangerous,” he replies after a pause, “now more than ever I need you by my side. Even if it’s for the sole purpose of having my court see us together, we need a united front. You’ll stay here.”

“Eris, this is likely a pivotal moment in your lifetime. In the history of the Autumn Court even. I don’t believe this is a task that can be delegated to someone we don’t trust entirely,” you reason, keeping your spine straight, eyes locked on his. “If their General will be travelling too, we need to show our trust. I am the perfect person to send—they know we trust one another, so sending me will be a show of good faith. On top of all this, I know what to look for. Excluding us, only one other person knows, who we trust, and he needs to stay here. It is far more important that you are shown to be well protected and untouchable than for your wife to be at your side.”

He levels you with a hard look, decisions passing through his mind, taking in your arguments. Eris sighs, at last leaning back into his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “It is the more sensible solution, isn’t it?” He relents, at last allowing the exhaustion to show on his features, head tipping back into his chair. A sad smile curves the edges of your mouth, stepping forward to rest your hand on his shoulder. “It’ll likely only take a week or so, no longer. I’ll be back before you know it.” Eris scoffs, but doesn’t try to remove your hand. “I’m not some moony eyed husband,” he reminds sardonically, “I will manage a few days relieved of your presence.”

“Mhm,” you reply skeptically, “sure.”

Eris shoots you a glare, but it’s lacking the sharp flame that he usually puts into it. He relents, hand settling atop your own, one of the few displays of open affection he allows, rare but appreciated. “Be as efficient as possible,” he reminds, watching you quietly. “I don’t like having to share you with that brute so often.”

Fighting the discomfort that’s squirming beneath your skin, you force a smile. “I assure you, husband, you have nothing to worry about.”

————

“You’re late,” you say neutrally, eyes sliding open to mark the approaching figure.

“You were early,” Cassian counters, grinning broadly as he saunters into the clearing, sharp hazel eyes checking likely for the fifth time there are no unexpected guests. “I arrived at the minute we agreed on, so really you’re the one who wasn’t on time.”

“This alliance is important,” you reply, watching him warily from your seat on the ground, back propped against a tree, arms outstretched to perch upon your knees, bag leaned beside you on the broad trunk. “It’s discourteous and inconsiderate to not arrive at least a few minutes early preemptively. It sends a message.”

“You think I have all the time in the world to simply accompany Eris’ whims?” He asks rhetorically, an easy grin on his mouth as he approaches you, stopping a sensible distance away. “I have my own duties that had to be taken care of for it to be possible for me to accompany you. Isn’t that enough?”

You get to your feet, watching him distrustfully as you stretch your arms far above your head, loosening the taut muscle. “Illyrians giving you some trouble?” You ask neutrally, an edge to your voice, marking his hazel eyes that seem to be pointedly remaining locked on your own, not for a second dipping lower as they once used to. In a way you once enjoyed. “As troublesome as usual,” he answers vaguely, caution entering his gaze despite the curve of his soft mouth.

You hum in response, shucking the bag back onto your shoulders, easing out the straps and tying them across your front to evenly disperse the weight. “That’s good to hear,” you say blandly, and he walks closer once you’ve finished, preparing for the long journey ahead, travelling to the unclaimed land of Under the Mountain. Seeking the Weaver’s cottage that has been left hopefully abandoned for some time, remaining uninhabited.

“Nobody saw you?” You ask, and even to your ears it’s a low jab. Of course he wouldn’t have been followed, it’s just a cheap shot to remind him what he’s done. Of the betrayal he’d forced you through.

Cassian recognises this, something shameful flickering in his gaze, chin lowering by an almost invisible angle. “Nobody saw,” he replies quietly, eyes locking as acknowledgement passes through his features, regret inseparably intwined. “All it takes is one person, General,” you remind lowly, staring him down.

His throat rolls, but he nods, dipping his head. Understanding the conversation is no longer about his journey, simply that it is a superficial front for more serious topics. “Maybe one day it’ll come to light of its own accord,” he says quietly, hazel eyes swirling and deep.

“Until then,” you reply, pushing flame into your gaze.

“Until then,” he repeat, nodding.

————

It’s the second day, and you’re waiting silently in a clearing for Cassian to return from the marketplace with food for supper.

Between the two of you, you mutually came to the conclusion he would be less recognisable, both for his familiarity in subtlety, and the likeliness that the Fae filling an exchange hub would hopefully not be the kind to be well acquainted with warlords. You pull your cloak tighter, air still heavy with the crisp ice of the Winter Court, and this will be the last time you pass through a town before reaching your destination, hence replenishing food supplies for the next forty-eight hours.

Privately you had hoped to be the one to go into the market as you have visited before, and would have liked to pass by a few familiar destinations. As well as some newer establishments.

It feels strange to think you would be entitled to a bed in the asylum.

During Amarantha’s reign, Viviane, who had temporarily assumed control of the Court in the High Lord’s absence, had opened a shelter for any who could make it, irrelevant of the Court they hailed from. Anything from grieving the loss of a loved one, to have been taken advantage of—everyone was welcome.

Despite what had happened with Cassian, it didn’t feel right. It was different. How could you compare your own experience with some of the traumatising stories others had been put through during Amarantha’s dominion? It was wrong, but… It hadn’t been that bad. You’d lived, come out of it without scars, or any deformations—that was enough to separate you from the people within the asylum.

A twig snaps, and you remove your attention from the white dove perched upon a frosty branch, to the towering Illyrian approaching you. The fire continues to crackle away, having used your magic to set it ablaze without need for fuel—lucky, seeming as you would’ve had a hard time finding dry kindling, given the snow that’s thick on the floor. While he’d been away you’d also been tasked with clearing patches for each of you to sleep, a noticeable distance apart, though each are sizeable enough to comfortably accommodate your respective body masses.

After supper—that he prepares, and you notice he gives you the larger portion of—the two of your drift to your cleared spaces, setting up the bedrolls and unfolding the thick blankets that were specifically fashioned with Winter Court temperatures in mind, fleece thickly layering the insides with insulation spells woven between the thread. Yet even with every advantage, the cold seems to be finding ways to infiltrate, despite the warm clothes, the heat contained within your body, the crackling fire that should be providing some level of warmth.

Before long your teeth are close to chattering, stomach spasming with cold, toes and legs curled and pressed flush together as you huddle tighter.

With an irritated sigh, you shove the blanket off, the icy temperature instantly setting deeper into your bones. “Cassian, move over,” you mutter reluctantly, sending a wave of heat to melt a pathway in the snow so you can tread across without freezing your feet off, carefully moving your bedroll to tuck beside his.

He makes no comment about the use of his name at last, just shifting over as much as he can, opening his blanket to overlap with your own, and you settle down, putting as much distance between you as possible. Still, the cold doesn’t abate, unable to siphon his warmth from the proximity. “You know,” he tries quietly with forced lightness, strain evident, “you should probably come closer. You’ll get frostbite.”

“I’m fine,” you bite out stiffly, curled tight, able to see as your breath fogs before you. He’s silent, but you can practically hear his hesitance, the pause in his voice, both of you knowing he’s right. “I won’t…I’m not going to do anything,” he whispers, voice thick and heavy. “So you can come closer. You need to warm up.” You grit your teeth, blowing out a breath, before rolling over to his side, Cassian having already pulled his winter blanket over more, allowing you to take in the heat he’s warmed it with.

“You’ve given me too much,” you manage quietly, disliking the proximity you have with the male, the possibilities at last dawning on you as a potential reality. It’s unlikely he would be able to succeed, but… “It’s fine,” he replies stiffly. Your brows narrow, pushing up from the bed, seeing his left wing exposed the other side of him, sticking out from beneath. You glare down at hazel, simultaneously angry at him for so blatantly causing himself to suffer, as if it will serve as penance, and frustrated at him for doing something so foolish. He’s always been the kind of male to put people he cares about first, even if it hurts him sometimes.

You pull his blanket further onto your side, and he hisses as the icy wind kisses the sensitive skin of his wings, flinching at the cold. Still he doesn’t complain, and you don’t doubt he would allow you to take the blanket entirely, feeling he deserves the night of pain. But despite everything, you know he isn’t that bad. You’re the only one he’s wronged in that way, and you can excuse it for one night, reminding yourself forcefully of the good he’s done until this point. You’re old enough to know life isn’t black and white, no matter how desperately you wish it was—how much easier things would be if there was a straightforward answer to your enigmatic relationship.

So despite having dragged his blanket away, so his left wing is entirely uncovered, trembling slightly as it tucks tight to his back, you shift your own blanket to cover it, leaning over him to make sure he’s sealed in, while remaining wary of touching the intimate expanse. Silently, you settle back beneath the thick duvet he’s already heated, wordlessly shifting closer, fighting the tightness that seizes your muscles as his arms tentatively wrap around your body, shifting beneath your rib cage, gingerly pulling you to his chest, your head ducking beneath his chin.

Aching familiarity pierces your breastbone, nostalgia for the times before he’d chosen his path, destroying centuries of friendship, bordering on something greater; something deeper. How many nights had you fallen asleep haphazardly on his bed, only to wake repeatedly in this very position, having subconsciously slotted together in your sleep, a strange magnetism that would connect you.

“These blankets are less that satisfactory,” you mutter, silently pointing your finger in foolish attempts to soothe the conflicting feelings burning in your gut.

“The shop owner must have lied about their insulation,” he replies thickly, and you can’t decide whether you believe him or not. A month ago, you wouldn’t have doubted him for a second, but now you’re not so sure. You hum, and it’s clear he can detect your indecision, body shifting ever so slightly. His scent wraps around you, at once comforting and unsettling, the contradiction of emotions he seeds in you feeling like whiplash.

“Did you manage to find the store I mentioned?” You ask, needing a distraction from his encompassing touch, hyper aware of every place your bodies are connecting, skin tingling beneath his heat. “Sure did,” he responds stiffly, “your directions were spot on.” You don’t know if you imagine his fingers inching higher, his palm flattening over your spine, his head dipping so he can nose at your scent, but it sparks an ember of intensity across your chest, emotions concentrating into something difficult to contain, but you can’t figure what.

“You saw the asylum, then?” You ask shortly.

His body tenses at your back, pounds of muscle locking, breath hitching briefly before easing out. “I did,” he murmurs hoarsely, but you can’t quite muster the energy to feel bad for what you’re doing, even if for all purposes of the trip and alliance you had sworn you wouldn’t bring it up again unless you were in danger. You hum, settling tighter in his hold, “I wanted to visit.”

Cassian freezes, large frame stiffening, head dipping to peer down and you can feel the light tremble in his hands. You wonder if perhaps he’s finding this as torturous as you are, though for a different set of reasons. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, the apology weak and broken. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats, shaky hands holding you carefully, as if you’re going to shatter and dissolve in his arms should he make a single wrong move.

The confession catches you off guard, anger burning in your veins, hands flattening against his chest to feel how his heart is pounding wildly, inclining your chin to stare up at him, so close together. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers, one hand tentatively rising over your arm, moving to cup your jaw, scared you’ll jerk away. You don’t, too frozen stiff with shock, and his palm settles across your skin. “I swear it,” he breathes, brows curved with pain, “I regret doing it. I don’t know what came over me. You know— You know I’m not that sort of person,” he tries to plead, while you remain speechless.

“I hate to break it to you, Cassian, but you made yourself that sort of person,” you spit lowly, bottom lip wobbling. “It was wrong. You clearly understand that if you’re apologising, but chose to do it anyway.”

“Then why did you agree to come on this mission with me. You can’t have not known,” he whispers.

“Because I have a duty,” you hiss. “Everything I do is to help Eris, to help the people who are forced to suffer in my Court. You know this. Don’t pretend it’s a surprise.”

He stares at you, eyes marginally widened, lips parted and you stare back.

“You thought I’d forgive you?” You breathe hoarsely, utterly disbelieving.

He’s silent, rendered temporarily mute by shock and despair. Then: “was it really that bad?” He asks weakly. And yet fury fails you, the broken dissonance in his question, asked so sincerely. “I trusted you,” you whisper, too taken by emotion to shield yourself. “You led me on,” he breathes pleadingly. “For years, decades, you led me on.” His brows curve, lips carved in a regretful line as he stares at you with hot eyes. “You didn’t trust me,” he whispers brokenly, “you just liked knowing when the day came for that— that piece of shit to take the throne, you’d have Rhys’s ear through me.”

Your eyes widen, lips parting in devastation but he gives you no room to speak.

“I thought you felt the same as I did,” he bites out, “I thought there was time to figure something out, to get you away from him, so you could be with me. We could be together.” His hold has tightened on you significantly, and you know you should be terrified of his loss of control, but instead you’re paralysed as his heart shatters before your eyes. “But that wasn’t the case, was it?” He asks, voice breaking. “Did you find it funny? Did the two of you laugh together when you told him how blindly in love I am with you? I bet your conversations were rife with jokes about it. About the mongrel bastard who thought a purebred lady might see something in him that was worth a damn.”

Hot wells gather in his eyes, ready to spill over no matter how he tries to master himself, how much he tries to blink them away. “I was so stupid,” he breathes brokenly, forehead pressing to your own as his lids squeeze shut. “So stupid for even thinking you’d pick me over him. For trying to be better—”

“Don’t do that Cassian,” you manage to hiss, sadness and rage twining together into something wicked and inconceivable. “Don’t hide behind your poor self-esteem like that. Don’t try and manipulate me into feeling sorry for hating you.”

The General flinches, breath stuttering as if you just jabbed him in the throat, like you’d just smacked him in the face.

“I trusted you,” you whisper, eyes feeling hot, “and you broke that trust. If you had just waited—”

“I waited decades,” he hisses, unaware of the bruises he’s putting into your skin from how desperately he’s holding you. “I waited centuries for you, and even when I thought you felt the same I never made a move because I knew you wouldn’t give yourself that freedom out of some fucked-up sense of loyalty to him.” You practically recoil in his arms, but he brings you tighter to his chest, hearts almost pounding against one another from how flush you are.

“And that somehow entitled you to me?” You breathe. “Your actions are your own, General, no matter what you try to tell yourself. You knew what was going to happen, that I was already married, how else was it going to end?” Tears slip out but you shove them away with the palm of your hand. “Maybe things wouldn’t have gone anywhere, but they could have ended better,” you say shakily, “because we were good together. There was something between us. I did love you back.”

“Then why didn’t you come with me?” He groans in pain, hot water splashing on the bedroll.

“Because that’s not what I’m needed for,” you cry. “For fucks sake, Cassian, put yourself in my position. I love my Court, and I can see it becoming a place of safety and wonder, and I truly believe Eris can do that, but I need to be there for it. Surely you can understand that. If not my loyalty to him, then loyalty and love for my home, and a dream for a better world.”

The words hang taut between you, bare and bloody, beating with a faint fleshy pulse, ripped and torn from the warm heat of wet tissue.

“Why did you do that Cassian?” You whisper, staring up at him, searching for an answer in the male you once trusted and loved.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, clutching you tighter like you might leave him right then and there, turning without looking back.

“I’m sorry.”

————

The next day passes slower than the previous two combined, words from the night before haunting your travels as you breech the lands Under the Mountain.

Having found the Weaver’s cottage, thankfully vacant, you’d been unable to summon even a spark of relief upon locating the object you’d entered this mission to find. No matter its importance, your heart was silent in your chest.

You’re able to make a good pace, and reach a small cabin contained within the unruled lands, having been standing longer than you can remember, seemingly as belonging to the sinister forestry as the strange creatures that lurk there. There’s hardly enough energy for talk, spent from a long night of arguing, emotions flayed raw.

From the other room you hear Cassian swear, the entirety of the small hut comprised of two tight rooms. You instinctively follow to the sound, spotting the single bed that’s the object of his startled aggravation. Hazel eyes hesitantly turn to you, but you hardly have the energy to care, just shaking your head, turning to make for the kitchen.

“One more night,” he hears you mutter bitterly under your breath, his heart fracturing a little more from the harsh words, so clearly resentful.

Supper comes and goes, and eventually it’s time for rest. The numbness has been given time to thaw, and once again you find yourself dreading his presence, being in such close proximity to the male who’d so brutally betrayed you. But it’s just one more night, then you’ll go your separate ways: him back to his Night Court, and you back to Eris.

Eris, you remind yourself, the Autumn Court. Your reasons for why you’re on this mission, facing him again. It’s for your Court.

“I’ll be on guard,” Cassian says from behind you, leathers removed, leaving him in more domestic clothing that tugs at your heart strings. You’re ashamed to admit you’d once dared to fantasise about running away with him, living together in a cabin that would have ideally been larger than this, but you wouldn’t have complained.

“Don’t bother,” you reply dully, pulling the covers back, unable to look at him. “You’ll wake up anyway if there’s a hitch. Rest.”

He doesn’t argue with your reasoning, whether because he’s privately glad to have one more night beside you, or because he knows you’re much too tired to deal with more abrasion, you can’t tell, and realise you don’t particularly care.

Once again he presses up against you, arms wrapping around your body needlessly, no longer in need of being kept warm. Neither of you comment on it, despite how strange it would seem were either of you consciously recalling the recent events. But it feels natural and familiar in a way both of you crave in that moment, wishing to be returned to how things were so you don’t have to deal with how things are.

Cassian’s head dips slightly, nose brushing the crown of your head and you hear him inhale quietly, as if ashamed to still be needing you so greatly in spite of everything that’s happened. Feeling undeserving to even be indulging in your scent, but it’s been a month since he’s seen you, and he somehow doubts the meetings will increase at all in frequency. This very well might be the last time he sees you for a long time.

He wonders if he’ll be expected to attend the ball that will inevitably be thrown once Eris becomes High Lord and you his Lady of Autumn.

Not quite a Queen in their eyes, but something similar.

He peers down at you then, huddled reluctantly to his chest in order to both be able to fit on the bed, and laments with his entire soul.

Do you think you’ll be able to forgive him one day?

The silence of the cabin stretches between you, and he feels your muscles begin to lose their tautness. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I hardly know how I feel about you now, even having had a month to sit with it.”

Horror rushes through him, realising he’d spoken aloud, but you raise your head to look at him, silencing his words with a single glance. “No matter what you’ve done, I never meant to lead you on,” you murmur, “I’d thought the end result would be obvious.”

“Some people get happy endings,” he whispers, chest tingling beneath your touch. You remain silent, and he feels his stomach drop through the floor.

“You know I hate myself for it,” he says thickly. Honestly.

“I don’t want…” Your expression shows conflict, brows scrunching together in a pained look. “I hate you a bit, too.” Ice slices through his heart at your words, his torment reflected in your own features. “You know I never meant to hurt you,” he whispers, and you can feel the words echo across your mouth. “But you did hurt me. And you hurt yourself more in the process,” you reply, “so what was the point?”

“I didn’t want him to have you,” he breathes at last, the true motive finally being brought to light. “He has everything. He doesn’t need you.”

“So that’s what it comes down to,” you muse bitterly. “Possession.”

“I wanted to love you,” he whispers, lips brushing your forehead, and you’re startled by how close he’s gotten, hazel bearing down on you. “I still do.”

“I’ll burn you alive,” you threaten, voice cracking at the imagery, hands heating on his chest.

Cassian dips lower, brow pressing lightly to yours. “You could burn me to cinders,” he answers, hands sliding over your own, keeping your palm over his heart. “If you told them—any of them—they wouldn’t be angry. Not with you, at least. You could get away with it.”

“It would tear them apart,” you whisper, hands increasing by degrees along with the pace of your heart. “If it would even begin to fix anything between us…” he murmurs, hazel locking deeply with you. “Let me burn.”

His mouth grazes yours, then he’s pressing down firmer, committing like it’s his final act, hands losing their tremors, holding you like you’re the one made of ashes. Like you’re the most precious thing in his world, about to be set ablaze and forever lost to the wind. The decision is passed over to you—he’s made his stance. As twisted as it is, he’s showing willingness in his own way, resigning himself from the torment of choosing, of navigating all the endless angles and spikes that seem to perpetually be dragging you apart.

Heat stings at his chest, singeing his clothes, and he hisses into your mouth, heart pounding wildly in what’s possibly the most reckless move of his life, waiting for the fire to consume him whole.

Your mind whirs with conflict, he’s committing the crime right before you, but it’s so soft and tender, and something you’ve yearned for almost as long as he has. His eyes have slid shut, but you watch him, skin flushed as he plies your lips apart, brows narrowed in concentration, taking every last detail in, down to the stitching pattern that’s running beneath his fingertips.

The smell of singed cloth filtrates through the room, smokey and burnt, and your hands have broken through his shirt, bare palms burning against scar-slashed skin, packed with muscle and the heat of life—heat that’s barely an ember in the face of your flames, licking from your fingertips with desire to devour him. His heart is beating against your own, mouth opening with wet heat, latching flush with you as his hands stroke your sides reassuringly.

It’s okay to let him go.

Your hands jerk away, trying to shove at him but the tender hold is deceptively overpowering, and he keeps you tight to his body, tongue dipping in as he angles your mouth, diving deeper. You squirm, desperate to wriggle free, to run from the choices he’s presented you with: either choose him or follow through with your protection. An impossible conundrum.

His hand glides up your spine, arcing beneath his touch, palm tilting your head back as his lips leave your mouth, lowering to your throat. “Cassian,” you gasp, blood pumping through your body with fear. “Don’t do this again.” Yet he simply guides your hands to return to his chest, as if reminding you of your power to stop him, the power you have over him. “No matter what happens,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing down to your collar bones, “I’ll continue to love you after tonight. No matter what you do, or who you pick.” His mouth reaches the neckline of your top, and his palm skates across the bare skin of your abdomen, ducking beneath the fabric. “You’re strong enough to survive on your own, now.”

“Cassian,” you cry softly, not wanting to force the betrayal upon Eris in order to survive it yourself, yet seemingly unable to return it to the male before you. You’re certain he can feel the violent trembling of your fingers, the way heat surges and flickers as your power spasms with indecision, emotions flashing through you with such forceful velocity real sparks zap against tan skin. His hot mouth latches over a space below your jaw, tingling with feather-ish energy, his roughened palm sliding over the bare skin of your waist, trailing up your spine as he gently brings your shirt with him, the fabric catching beneath your breasts.

“Don’t make me choose,” you whisper, shaking as his touch returns to your front, dipping beneath your arm to graze intimately across your rib cage. “I can’t kill you, Cassian,” you breathe, tears welling even as frustration warms your body at your own inaction. If you’re stumbling here, how will you ever survive as Lady of Autumn? But this task is far more difficult than anything you’ve ever been forced to deal with, finally coming face to face with his emotions, feelings that have been quietly left to themselves for centuries, gently shunned back into the darkness so they wouldn’t have to be acknowledged. Now they’ve developed, having only grown stronger with neglect, learning to thrive off what little he’s been given, concentrating into something verging on poisonous. Proving potentially deadly now to both of you.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, palm rising higher, and you gasp as he cups your breast, thumb softly grazing your nipple. “You’d be right to.”

He pushes your top up the final way, pulling you indulgently closer, shuddering slightly as he feels the softness of your breasts flush to his chest, pressing with delightful fullness. Your heart stutters, tremors fluttering through your body, an unfamiliar heat traitorously gathering in response to the soft touches.

You slide your left hand away from his chest, right palm remaining over his heart like a safety net, shaky fingers stumbling higher over the muscle of his shoulders, rising to thread through the black, silky hair he’s at last let down for the night. Cassian’s lips falter on your throat, temporarily rendered immobile by disbelief, unable to understand the meaning of your touch.

“Sweetheart?” He breathes shakily, brow resting on the crook between your shoulder and neck. Heat surges across the skin of his chest, stinging with short, burning pain at his pause, and he stutters back into action, heart pounding wildly, fingers taking the tumbling trip down the trail of your sternum, passing lower, digits grazing the soft skin of your abdomen.

Your hand grasps his hair tighter as he slides lower, shifting in the bed so you’re once again tucked beneath his chin, and you gasp as he cups your heat, having silently slipped beneath the band of your nightwear.

For one night, you realise you’ve decided. For one night, alone together in unruled territory, where there is no higher power present save for the Mother, no laws to obey nor unspoken rules to follow. In terrain where creatures and beasts from folklore and fairytales cohabit organically, through violence or coercion, you allow yourself to join them in their brutal form of existence. To alleviate the burden on your shoulders, relieve yourself from the pressure of seeking a right solution, and resign to a night of freedom.

His fingers prod lightly at your entrance, and your hands connect at the nape of his neck, releasing him from the worry of pain, allowing him to move without the hindrance of burning fingertips. For the first time since he’s put his hands on you tonight, he fumbles, caught off guard from your acceptance after centuries of being lead to believe you would never allow this to happen.

“Cassian,” you breathe tersely, and he stumbles again at the heat in your voice, swallowing thickly as he meets your eyes. “I might not’ve been able to do anything before,” you whisper, maintaining enough distance to hold his gaze as your right hand slides from his back, brushing against his throat, and you can see from the strain in his features his instincts are roaring for him to defend himself, having already been burned by your fire. “But if you lose interest now because I’m willing…” Your palm heats, enough flame rising to your skin to bite at his windpipe, eyes prickling as his throat stings. “I’ll cook you from the inside out and have you served as a coronation dish.”

The General shivers, though it has nothing to do with fear. He can see the bleak conviction carved in your eyes, the grim strength rolling from your palm, ready to follow up on your threat should he prove himself to be morally irreparable.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he breathes, lips brushing, nose grazing against your own, close enough he could swear he feels the flutter of your lashes against his skin. The heat recedes, throat feeling cool as you release him, hands threading through his hair, eyes locking heatedly and you incline your chin. Cassian groans softly, at last lowering his mouth to yours, latching over top it with sweet relief, pleasurable aches blossoming in his lower body as you respond.

His fingers slide between your legs, thigh raising to swing over his hip, and you pause when his digits press inside, lips parting, allowing him to dip his tongue in and taste you. Arousal coalesces in the pit of your stomach, a soft sound of pleasure fluttering into his mouth as he curls inside of you, having you roll down onto him, sweet noises of intimacy being swapped between your bodies.

One hand trails down his chest, wrapping around his wrist, wanting to pull him away. Cassian pauses, drawing back from your mouth, tan skin hot and flushed as he peers at you quietly, irrationally worried you’ve had a change of heart. “I want to feel you Cassian,” you whisper, unbothered by the blunt words. He reaches forward, swiping across your glossy clit, circling lightly. “We’re in no rush,” he reassures, “we have all night.”

“Maybe you aren’t,” you mumble, eyes remaining locked on his as your fingers begin deftly untying the strings of his leathers, marking the roll of his throat.

He exhales heavily, almost a hiss, finally pushing your hand away so he can free himself faster—his need was manageable until you gave him that look, all heat and bedroom eyes. “Alright,” he whispers, watching as you remove your clothes with equal haste, hunger making his breathing irregular, the scent of your arousal wrapping around him so thoroughly he feels dizzy.

Cassian moves to be on top of you, but your muscles lock, refusing to relent, causing him to ease up, peering at you with heat in his eyes. “I don’t… Not yet,” you murmur, heart pounding and through the arousal he catches a glimpse of the wariness. Fear he’s put into your body.

The General swallows thickly, but nods, rolling onto his back so his wings are pinned, a small discomfort he’ll gladly undergo for your safety. Rough palms gently settle over your thighs, simply resting without pressure or guidance as you climb atop him, legs parting over his lap. Your breath stutters as you feel him between your thighs, the thick weight of him resting against his stomach, moisture beading at his tip. Your tongue swipes out over your lips, gripping him carefully, raising your hips to guide his head to your entrance, Cassian relinquishing all control to allow you your comfort.

“You know this won’t fix anything,” you breathe, holding him just away from where you both want to be joined. Hurt and regret flicker in his hazel eyes, but he nods. “I understand.”

“You know this might not happen again,” you whisper, skin pebbling in the cool air of the cabin. He hesitates, before swallowing and nodding. “I know.”

“I can’t give you any more than this.”

Again pain flickers in his gaze, features twisting into a carving of sadness. You sigh, palm settling flat over the firm planes of his abdomen. “Cassian,” you say, quietly, “maybe we just weren’t meant to be together.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispers hoarsely. “What I feel for you…it’s not coincidental. It’s intended.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you sigh, lips curving down. “I’m needed in Autumn, how you are in Night. To both serve, and rule. Tonight is the only exception to that, and after this—”

“Don’t,” he begs, “don’t.”

“This needs to be mutual,” you reason quietly. “How things were before…they can’t continue. How I’m perceived, the things I do…a Lady of Autumn won’t be able to have casual dinners with you, or nights in drinking. So we need to… It’ll only hurt more if we can’t agree on this.”

“You’ve been his wife for decades,” he manages roughly, pushing through the words. “I won’t suddenly stop loving you just because of your title. I know it can’t be as frequent, but it won’t be never.”

Your brows tie together sorrowfully, and his heart trips up.

“This past month,” he hedges, fighting the worry in his blood, “have you…” He shakes his head, eyes sliding shut as he eases in a breath, returning his gaze to you. “Do you love him?”

You watch him silently. Noting the vulnerability in his features, emotion spread raw, and you know without a doubt you could repay him tenfold for the brief pain he caused you with a few well-selected words.

But…

“No,” you whisper. “Not how I love you.”

His body reacts as if he’s at last been released from a torture bed, slumping and turning organically pliable, rested and well-used, like freshly oiled hinges. Maybe you hadn’t quite understood the depth of his insecurity, how ingrained in him that sense of worthlessness had been implanted, and if created wholly from inadequacies.

“That’s all that matters,” he breathes, hand reaching up to cup your jaw. “That’s all I care about.”

“Cassian…”

You lean into his touch, eyes sliding shut momentarily. Mourning the loss of normalcy. “We’ll find time,” he says softly, thumb brushing your cheek, your kiss raising to lock with tender hazel. “We’ll be together.”

And in a lapse of sense, you allow yourself to believe him, believe things will be okay, believe that there will be time, believe that things can work between you. “We’ll be together,” you repeat quietly, and at last the two of you connect.

You lower down atop him, Cassian sucking in a sharp breath as his hand drops from your cheek to your hip, then away again to fist at his sides, reminding himself that you’re the one in control. He won’t take that away from you again. Your lips part, pulse increasing as you take him in, feeling as he slowly fills you up, stuffing you full, until the backs of your thighs are flush with his hips, pressed tight together.

The silence is filled with heavy pants, breathing deeply as pleasure warms your skin, bubbling and sizzling between you. But he’s so big, so large that it feels as though you’re winded, unable to absorb the air in your lungs despite inhaling intentionally. A fluttery moan spills from your lips, and you scent as his arousal concentrates at the sound, your spine arching against him so he touches different spots inside of you.

“Oh gods…” you breathe, at last joined together in the way you never thought would happen. “Oh gods, Cassian…”

“I’m here,” he breathes, hands still clutching the bedroll. “I’m right here sweetheart.” Heavy pants puff from your chest, but you manage to grapple for him, hands stuttering across his chest, urging him upward. He follows almost immediately, sitting up on the bed, arms wrapping close around your waist, palms splaying up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades as your own lock at the nape of his neck.

“Cass…” you pant beside his ear, practically trembling in his arms. “You’re so big…” He twitches inside of you, groaning softly as the pads of his fingers press into your skin, desperate to keep you with him after the turbulence of the past month. You already feel so near the edge, finally being given what you’ve been in desperate need of for years, confident a single move on his end will have you shattering.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, brushing your hair away from your face, nose bumping tenderly with your own. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re here with me. You’re safe.” You shift to look at him properly but gasp with the stimulation. His hazel eyes lock with yours and you can make out the raw intimacy in his gaze, what it means for the two of you to be slotted together in the way you are.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes, cupping your jaw, peering up at you. “How do you do it?” Your own palms raise to his hair, threading through the silky locks, loving the feel, proof of the new level of affinity.

“I want…I want you to move,” you pant, stroking his hair with shaking hands. “Please, Cassian…I need you to…”

“It’s okay,” he reassure quietly, “I understand. Just sit back and relax. I’ll take care of you. Such good care of you.” His hands find your hips and you weakly grip onto his shoulders, shuddering as he begins moving, just soft grinds of his hips against your own, gently bucking as he moves you atop him.

Moans spill from your lips, quiet breaths gasping as your back arches, breasts pressing fully to his broad chest, and your hands tug on his shirt, needing to push your nails into the ripe skin of his back, underlined with healthy muscle to power his warrior’s body. The fabric is gone in a flash, and his hot mouth has opened over yours, exchanging sounds of pleasure as his hips buck, hands touching and grasping everywhere they can, starved from your body.

“Gods sweetheart,” he groans between kisses, lazily swirling against one another, stimulating the spots you like with sweeping movement. “There’s nothing in this world that compares to you.”

Heat unspools in the pit of your belly, and you can feel you won’t last much longer. Curses slip out, and you gasp when Cassian’s hand slides between you, his thumb settling over your clit, swiping tentatively across the sensitive bud. Your hips buck into his touch, eager for more, so overwhelmed you think you let out a sob. “Cassian,” you gasp, gripping him tight, wonderful arousal tingling hotly between your legs. “It’s okay sweetheart, you can let go,” he pants roughly, seemingly as intensely affected as you. “Gods you’re perfect. So fucking perfect,” he grits, biting a bruise into your shoulder.

Nails prickle across his back, and your breathing temporarily pauses as pleasure breaks across your skin before stuttering to life. Your eyes roll back with heat, hips bucking sporadically, encouraging him to make the fall with you, clutching tight to his inherently familiar body. You moan his name breathlessly, panting heavily and it’s the final straw before he crumbles. He bucks sharply up into your wet heat, sounds squelching as you clutch onto one another desperately.

You can feel as he spurts inside of you, filling you up with thick, hot liquid, urged to give more as you flutter around him, orgasm prolonged with the jittery movements of his hips, repeatedly stimulating spots that reawaken fresh pleasure, and you think you might pass out of it doesn’t fade soon, so utterly possessed. Somehow it does come to an end, slowly dimming, leaving you pulled tight together, seated fully in his lap, shaking from the intensity, cheeks damp from tears.

Hot breaths pant between you, but Cassian manages to pull away, hands cupping your cheeks, noses almost brushing as you stare at one another, staring thoughtlessly, too overstimulated to do much.

“I’m never letting you go,” he breathes reverently, “never leaving you.” And even though it’s unrealistic, you nod.

“Good,” you whisper, deep hazel having captured you thoroughly. “I don’t want you to leave.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

#dark!cassian x reader #dark!cassian #dark!Cassian smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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kadextra · 11 months

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I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about current lore, so it’s time to ramble my thoughts/theories/analysis whatever you wanna call it >:D

(long post get ready)

Alright, let’s talk about q!Cellbit… there is a lot happening with him rn. It’s been so crazy keeping up with all the enigmas lately

(these next thoughts about the character will all be centered on the idea that this is indeed him doing the worker murders, and he’s not being framed.)

His emotional state is unrestrained, and returning to past ways of violent behavior from the days of war and prison. he’s not repressing his feelings anymore, no more holding back. I could go on about these emotions and what they mean for him, but instead I’m gonna talk about the strategic reason I think q!Cellbit would want to kill the workers to begin with. I strongly believe that even if he’s in madness, no way is he mindless. his intelligence is sharp like the point of a dagger, and aimed straight at the federation. this is a plot of revenge on the “little bear” after all. “his toys will keep falling until he pays for everything.”

This is a guy that’s always careful about not leaving traces in all the investigative work he does, but here q!Cellbit is choosing to leave the bodies around the main spawn area where everyone can see, complete with encrypted messages next to them meant for Cucurucho to read (intercepted by q!Bagi) that so obviously leads right back to him. an intentional move, he stated in one of the messages that it’s a show and he wants people to watch- wants Cucurucho to watch, and hopes for the hunt to continue. though I think by being so obvious, he ultimately intends to get caught. ofc it’s not turning out the way he wants because q!Bagi is getting there first, but he is still set on a self-destructive path that I can only see ending up with him going down in a fight… but only after damaging the federation to a degree they can hopefully not recover from. which we know is his goal, he said as much in his last conversation with q!Bad.

Back then, q!Cellbit talked about how he realized that since q!Bad kidnapped Ron, it caused the federation to get into a lot of problems, he saw how going after the workers could cause some big damage. in the federation’s reports it’s shown how they had to put vital resources that would’ve gone to finding the eggs & pacifying the chaotic islanders into their own internal affairs, because all the workers were freaking out over the kidnapping. it was bad enough to make them need to hire psychological professionals to give therapy, send out people to search for Ron, and assign guards to the A-ranks so they could move safely around the island.

All the employees were already in constant fear over the past several weeks that they’d be the next one to disappear… and now here comes q!Cellbit turning the fears into a living nightmare.

Fast forward to today with workers being targeted left and right. as for why it’s only B-ranks? maybe because the A-ranks are too hard to catch alone right now (Bad also had trouble) but B’s are still a high level and can cause some major chaos as seen by Ron. and they just keep on dropping.

q!Cellbit’s building on this snowball of terror that q!Bad set off, all to crash into the federation and send it into even more disarray. it’s working. which gets even more chaotic when you factor in how he’s not even the only one doing something like this right now. q!Etoiles is unintentionally adding to it by breaking into federation facilities on behalf of the resistance and mercilessly taking out more workers. plus how the federation doesn’t even know q!Quackity has A-rank Fred locked in a jail. (or maybe the higher-ups know. tbh I still don’t know how qQ did this and still think the situation is sus. I have the theory that the federation let it happen as fred’s punishment for getting close to an islander)

Agent 18 told q!Foolish that all the employees are scared out of their minds right now with the danger of kidnapping + getting assassinated by the killer. they are staying shut inside the office cubicles and are too afraid to go outside alone. Agent 18 literally stepped out for 5 minutes, heard a small noise and it was enough to send them running back to hide

it’s clear that the federation workforce is now in shambles, and honestly I wonder how many might be getting disillusioned with the federation’s ability to protect them…. because yeah they are very weak right now. which is why I believe the federation has been introducing all this new tech to cut the losses: Minimes to give the workers an army as protection (failed because it was stolen by the islanders) and Cucuruchito placed at spawn, one of the main islander meeting points, and where it just so happens the worker murders are

Cucurchito is intended to passively gather intel for the federation, which I think they’re in dire need of because I am seriously doubting in the federation’s ability to know anything about what’s happening in these current events. they are in a rough state, just as confused as we are about where the eggs disappeared to, the islanders are all going crazy. they don’t know what the dark matter is and also somehow lost the president in the nether, there’s an obvious egg who’s supposed to be dead running around which they aren’t doing anything about. they got distracted from Ron’s case, don’t know Fred is missing, who the culprits behind both that and who is doing the worker murders are. employee morale is below negative.

but everything is a-okay because they have this little creature now!!! he’s the perfect solution :3

okay that’s the end of my rambles :D

I love the lore and as always, hope for future events to be unexpected and surprise me!! it’s really nice to have theories confirmed, though I also enjoy getting proven wrong ^^ excited to see what happens next, it be chaos on these quesadilla island streets

#qsmp #qsmp theory #text post #long post #qsmp cellbit #qsmp cucurucho #qsmp cucuruchito #qsmp bagi #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp etoiles #qsmp foolish #qsmp ron #qsmp fred #qsmp agent 18 #oh yeah speaking of agent 18 #he’s a guard. when your security guard is terrified to go out you Know something is wrong #congrats mockingjays I think you’ve succeeded in striking psychological terror into the feds

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viridianevergarden · 6 months

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My thoughts regarding Azriel’s shadows and their behaviors:

This is a very long deep dive into Az’s shadows and covers every aspect that I have been able to identify about them. Read at your own peril.

Let’s start with what we’ve been given in terms of his lore…

We know that in his childhood, Az was locked into a dungeon until he was eleven years old. He was denied light and social interaction.

He would only ever be allowed to see his own mother for an hour per week. And he would only ever be let out for one hour everyday for whatever else.

Then he was abused by his brothers at age eight, his hands being endlessly burned and half healed as to torture him for fun.

He was never allowed to learn how to fly nor fight because of his fucked up family.

Rhys guessed that the shadowsinger gift came to him in his cell at some point but nothing more has been said since. Not even Rhys or anyone else knows. Azriel hasn’t spoken about it.

If I’m to glean anything from what we’ve seen, Azriel’s shadows:

Are a tool that he utilizes

Act as a defense mechanism

Have minds of their own

Can showcase his feelings externally

So let’s run through these one by one, shall we?

1. A Tool

Through the books, time and again, Azriel has shown that his shadows provide information and feedback to him as a Shadowsinger. They are responsible for his expert ability to be a Spymaster and he is able to clearly communicate with them. He understands them.

This is no secret and by far the easiest observation to be made, especially since this is what characters talk about most regarding Az’s spymaster abilities in the books themselves.

Examples of Az utilizing his shadows:

Azriel stepped out of a shadow. “What is that,” he hissed.

A shake of the head. “No—but the shadows, the wind … They recoil.”

I assumed Azriel was nearby, seeking sanctuary in the shadows.

Within a heartbeat, Azriel had vanished into shadows and was gone.

Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep.

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days.

He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.

Again, none of this is any secret at all but this is pretty much the foundation of Az’s abilities.

2. A Defense Mechanism

This might be more of a controversial take but I do think that his shadows are most definitely a defense mechanism in their own way.

Think about it:

He was a boy who underwent massive torture day in and day out, who was left in a cell for years on end. He was alone. Imagine how his mental state spiraled.

Perhaps the shadows came to him then because he was alone. They became some sort of company for him even if they weren’t there to provide comfort. And when they did attach themselves to him, his powers festered into existence. Only then was he dumped into a war camp.

So not only are they a part of him because they have attached themselves to him, but they protect him by making up for his insecurities or vulnerabilities.

To be aware of all of his surroundings at once, to have another voice in his ear to say “hey, this person has just left.” I can imagine that the shadows keep him feeling secure. They keep him safe by notifying him of his surroundings and the presences that encompass them. As a Spymaster and Shadowsinger, I’m sure that security is huge, especially for himself.

To add on to this, consider how Azriel is as a person. He prefers to keep attention away from himself. He doesn’t talk much and he hides his hands from everyone when he can. He dislikes being the center of attention. He avoids the topic of his past actively and limits how much others speak of it. He uses his shadows to hide during certain conversations and to hide his emotions.

This excerpt from Feyre’s POV:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. The shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. Too much.

I think he very well does use them as a method of defense even from those he trusts and loves, be it consciously or subconsciously.

3. They Have a Mind of Their Own

Now we do know that the shadows have a manner of conscious and intelligence.

They have:

Told Azriel to sleep (Do they care for his wellbeing?)

Actively relayed him information

Occasionally failed to notify him of things or they simply choose not to when they want (proof in BC)

‘Danced’

Occasionally skittered back in response to certain stimuli

Fully disappeared in the presence of few

Been reactive to their environment

They have persistently shown that they are quite like another being or mind that is attached to Az. They have a voice, they respond to stimuli, etc. It just makes me think that they are somehow, some way, a type of separate entity that latched onto him or perhaps they are a mirror of himself, kind of like an altar ego.

4. They Externalize His Feelings

This is the biggest gripe and most controversial of it all. This is the part that people usually argue over because it deals heavily with Az’s feelings. Of course this section is always up for debate —on how you interpret Azriel’s shadows and their behaviors— but this is my opinion.

His shadows have been repeatedly shown to shy away, skitter back, or completely disappear in the presence of two people and specifically react to one thing.

Now with this being said, let’s look into the two people that they react around.

Mor:

It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over [at Mor].

Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder… The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin.

“He did not,” Mor said, and the shadows that Azriel had indeed been subtly weaving around himself vanished. “Azriel has never once said anything that awful. Only you, Cassian. Only you.”

Most instances are where Azriel is near Mor, when he is looking at her, when she touches him, when she is defending him or talking about him while he is around. They vanish or dissipate in her presence. These were all during the times that Azriel was obviously in love and pining for Mor.

Elain:

Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden- brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders.

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.

[Elain’s] smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around.

It has been made extremely clear that Azriel’s shadows also disappear or partially dissipate when he is in Elain’s presence. They react to her actions accordingly.

They acted the same way around Mor until the detail of his shadows disappearing around Mor slowly became noted less by Feyre. On the same timeline, Az’s behavior toward Mor slowly changed. He became indifferent and his longing looks toward her became few and far between as noted by Cassian and Feyre. He had evidently given up hope on Mor.

At the same time, Feyre began making note of Az’s shadows and their behaviors around Elain as well as his behavior toward her.

From here on out, I’m going to assume that we all know how Azriel feels about Elain. Regardless of your opinions on their relationship dynamic, I hope we all can agree that at the very least, Azriel has a growing positive attraction to Elain across 4 books, which has then been blatantly shown to be mutual between the two in the Bonus.

With all of this being said, his shadows’ behaviors between these two women parallel one another with the obvious answer being Love.

Aside from the two girls, there is one last thing that Azriel’s shadows have reacted to.

Music:

Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

(HOFAS) And with each mile onward, she could hear Azriel humming softly to himself. The rolling, wild melody of “Stone Mother” flowed off his lips, and she could have sworn even the shadows danced at the sound.

I think that with the addition of HOFAS’ bonus chapter (with Bryce, Nesta, and Azriel), the claim that the shadows’ reactions to Gwyn’s singing being something special can be softly debunked. (There are still possibilities, I know, hence ‘softly’.)

Azriel is a musically oriented person from what we’ve seen. He claims that he does in fact sing and it’s obvious that he does in fact like music. This in turn may explain why his shadows react the way they do. Again, if Azriel’s shadows are a mirroring of his inner self, if they are indeed an outward expression of himself, it would be natural for them to react to music since he enjoys it.

Final Thoughts:

Azriel’s shadows have only disappeared around the people that he has longed for.

If the shadows do in fact have a mind of their own, if they do cover him as a means to protect him and are defensive toward any other being or force, if they only falter for one person, then it must be because those shadows know that Azriel is safe with that person. Or at the very least, they dissipate and disappear around that person because they are the one who he wants to be most vulnerable toward.

If the shadows are indeed a mirror to Az’s inner self, then of course they would ‘dance’ to music. Because that is something that Azriel loves and is passionate about. Of course his shadows would reflect that, especially if his passion is strong enough.

Azriel’s shadows, all and all, are an entity that has a conscious. It has intelligence. It communicates with him. It protects him. But it also has the ability to expose his deepest feelings.

They are motivated by love, passion, and act even against Az’s will.

Maybe he’s not as unreadable as some think. I don’t think most of the IC have really thought about the shadows much. After all, he’s just a Spymaster and Shadowsinger.

Good gods this was very long but if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed lol. I hope all of this made sense.

#acotar #elriel #azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #mor #the morrigan #a court of thorns and roses #those blasted shadows #pro elriel #elain x azriel

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