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helenanell · 5 months

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A Breath of Life || Challengers

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Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.)

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

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The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to.

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep.

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it.

Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered.

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real.

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water.

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone.

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again.

And your prayer was answered.

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life:

“So, when can I play you again?”

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Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world.

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you.

Tashi had breathed life into you.

Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear.

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought.

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin.

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in.

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands.

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile.

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

“Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music.

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm.

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach.

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The four of you had wandered down to the beach.

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form.

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her.

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you.

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk.

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.”

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you.

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display.

Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear.

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear.

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass.

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you.

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile.

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is.

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

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Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria.

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face.

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

“You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table.

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.”

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?”

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently.

“Do you love her, Art?”

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.”

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her.

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.”

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

“I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you.

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth.

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi.

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.”

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.”

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!”

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?”

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him.

But you don’t move.

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together.

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin.

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you.

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back.

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious.

Why won’t he follow you?

Why do you still want him to?

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You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art.

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong.

You walk through the stands until you come across Art.

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised.

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares.

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.”

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone.

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him.

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly.

Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away.

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence.

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

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Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain.

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!”

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away.

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you.

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for.

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka.

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.”

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury.

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling.

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs.

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head.

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over.

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet.

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door.

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs.

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top.

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication.

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs.

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most.

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to.

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to. You want him.

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure.

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you.

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him.

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names.

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around.

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him.

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert.

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol.

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes.

“Do that again.”

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side.

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back.

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips.

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next.

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art.

Art.

Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him.

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you.

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move.

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck.

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force.

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real.

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive.

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room.

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t.

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away.

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world.

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered.

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life.

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him.

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come.

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old.

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered.

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art.

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either.

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you.

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you.

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room.

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him.

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him.

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch.

You get down off the barstool.

As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down.

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak.

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them.

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture.

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?”

“I don’t know Art, can you?”

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him.

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be.

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do.

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.”

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?”

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds.

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him.

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him.

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly.

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.”

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.”

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him.

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question.

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?”

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship.

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses.

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer.

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you.

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you.

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head.

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck.

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean.

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined.

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most.

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

“Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head.

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to.

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly.

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.”

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.”

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you.

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up.

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin.

“Lay back.” He instructs gently.

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre.

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations.

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets.

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.”

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait.

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head.

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs.

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.”

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you.

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks.

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever.

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity.

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs.

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck.

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping.

“Is this alright?”

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch.

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision.

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick.

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.”

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts.

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi.

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world.

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip.

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum.

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead.

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place.

Someone was knocking on your door.

And then you hear her voice.

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

“Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you.

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door.

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things.

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

“You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously.

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade.

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again.

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too.

Only time would tell.

#challengers movie #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #mike faist #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #tashi x reader #zendaya #josh o'connor

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p1utofairy · 11 days

Text

★ how will people feel about you going public with your fp?

NOTE: for entertainment purposes only. take what resonates & leave what doesn't. ⭐️ i always appreciate the feedback so don't be shy. MWAH. enjoy!

PILE 1.

i feel like this relationship is going to cause quite a stir, pile 1. the energy is giving “that should be me!” lmao some people are really going to be mad as fuck. your person is going to treat you like an absolute queen and i’m hearing people scoff like “UGH!” which is crazy cause you might not even know these people, but y’alls relationship evokes this energy out of them. you (or possibly your fp) might have a narcissistic ex lurking in the shadows who constantly watches your social media & keeps tabs on y’alls relationship. it’s really weird, EW. they feel like they didn’t have you the way your person does, and it makes them really fucking jealous – it’s honestly absurd.

they fumbled you and they’re really going to regret it!especially because of how well your fp treats you & prioritizes your relationship. this ex has a BIG ass ego like the way they make everything about themselves is insane?! this person could be a fire sign – i’m picking up on some leo energy. they’re in disbelief that you moved on from them, and found someone wayyyy better that fulfills you in so many ways that they couldn’t possibly measure up to. they might create fake pages or reach out to you repeatedly trying to win you back over…it’s shameful honestly. from the outside looking in, your relationship with your fp is going to look so lowkey + private yet so warm + stable. you or your fp could have scorpio/taurus placements, but i just feel like neither of you are the type to post every single thing you do together on social media but people will know that’s YOUR FP, YOUR FP, YOUR FP! like don’t play!

y’all will make it very known that y’all are a couple, but people will not be all up in the mix because y'all simply don’t want them to be. they’ll see little hints and clues that you’re off the market, but this relationship is for you two, not everyone else. i can see you both posting things like holding hands, dinner dates, taking long walks together, an off guard while one of you is doing something, etc. just cute moments that only show a small glimpse of the immense love you two share on a day to day basis.

PILE 2.

were you split between choosing this pile and pile 1 lol? if so, check out pile 1 as well! there might be some messages in there for you too. now anyways, i’m ngl this is giving me single era vibes. you might have options and even if you don’t…you’re like “is any person really worth going public with?” LOL i get it, i really do. you’re very cautious and want to make sure that you’re not wasting your time on a relationship that you know might not last in the long run – you’d rather save yourself the embarrassment.

if you went public with someone…that means you really are committed like they REALLYYYYY won you over because you don’t pop out with just anybody! it takes a lot of effort to keep your attention, let alone gain your trust to be in a public relationship. i actually think your content with being by yourself right now. of course, you want a partner who can provide you with the best and also be loyal and committed to you.

however, you're willing to wait for that one person instead of wasting your time on others who don't meet those standards. OOOOO did some of my fellow saturnians choose this pile? this energy is amazing like seriously i’m so proud of you! you’re doing the inner work and it’s genuinely going to pay off in the long run. you’re cultivating your own happiness and building up your self-confidence. because of that, you’re going to attract a like-minded partner. you will have your desired reality, pile 2! you don’t live your life based on society’s standards and expectations. you’re on a different vibration and are attracting love, prosperity and abundance towards yourself effortlessly because you refuse to settle for less and put yourself in a box.

i know this reading is about how people will feel about you going public with you fp, but you genuinely don’t give a fuck what people think lol. people won’t even be able to form a proper opinion, because you are genuinely on a different level. i randomly just heard that one nicki minaj video when she’s like “BROKE PPL SHOULD NEVER LAUGH!” lmfaooooo i’m sorry but yeah! once you get everything you always said you would, including your fp, people are gonna be real silent no shade.

PILE 3

um pile 3 why is this energy a bit messyyyy, hold awn?! your relationship with your future partner might be different from what you perceive, or at least that’s how the public views it. take that with a grain of salt, but i feel like this relationship is going to have its ups and downs and it’s going to reflect on y’alls social medias.

you or your future partner might be the type to get emotional and act out by reposting different quotes on your IG story or tiktoks that relate to your situation, might even go as far as posting cryptic messages to allude that you two are on the outs. you and your fp know how to push each other’s buttons, and it honestly can get petty between you both. someone is not fully healed from their previous relationship in this connection & the unresolved baggage is carrying over into this one. idk, pile 3. for some of you this could be a karmic relationship and for others of you this could be baggage on your end that you need to work through in order for you to be in a stable relationship.

there seems to be a lot of wishy-washy energy, and people might perceive your relationship as having a 'one minute they're together, the next minute they're not' type of vibe. also, i’m picking up on a third-party situation where either you or your partner is keeping someone on the back burner without completely closing the door.

honestly, people might be amused by this and say things like, 'OMG, go check [Y/N]’s IG story and go see what [Y/FP] posted,' which only fuels the mind games being played. ultimately, i think this relationship will teach you about healthy boundaries and what you are and aren’t willing to tolerate, especially in public. it’s messy because this third party keeps interfering and amplifying the situation to make it worse. the ball is ultimately in your court, pile 3. you’ll know what to do.

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #p1utofairy #pac reading #love reading #tarot reading

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spacedace · 2 years

Text

It was the final hour. Doomsday at their door, with only hours left before the world was consumed entirely and every last living thing was devoured right along with it.

Summoning the High King of the Infinite Realms was the only option left, and even then felt more like choosing a firing squad rather than a noose at the end of the day. Pariah Dark might - might - accept the task of destroying the foe they faced, but tmit would come at a cost that was near equal to doing nothing at all. Provided the tyrannical ruler simply didn't let them all die, an entire planet dead was an entire planet to add to his endless armies.

They had to try. Stupid and suicidal as it was.

Zantanna and John worked in silence as they created the summoning circle, hands shaking and stomachs cramping as they worked under the apprehensive eyes of the rest of the League. They all understood that no matter what happened, they would all likely end up dead by the end of it. That the best case scenario meant that death was only the beginning of their problems.

Candles were lit. Insense burned. Blood spilled. Words spoken.

Nothing.

It failed, not so much as a flicker of magic. Which was impossible, they'd checked and confirmed a dozen times that they had the right ritual, that they were following the steps, they had done everything right way wasn't it working? What had they done wr-

"Ugh, gross is that blood?"

Elle Phantom, fifteen minuted late to the site of the ritual with both the boys Super, the most murderous Robin and a sugary abomination of an iced coffee from Starbucks, scrunched her nose in disgust as she looked at the summoning circle.

"This ritual is so out of date, where did you even find it? Wait is that Latin? Who tries to summon someone from the Ghost Zone in Latin?"

John had burned through every drop of alcohol and cigarette he owned hours ago while trying to find this bloody damn ritual and was very much not in the mood for the little hellspawn's color commentary on the process.

"I don't bloody well seeing you providing with any alternatives for summoning the Ghost King." He swore, turning away from the gremlin to tear through the ancient book he and Zantanna had discovered with the ritual inside.

There was a loud slurping noise as the undead hero sucked the last remnants of her drink through the straw. John's brow twitched, even Zantanna - who usually seemed endeared by the chaos goblin - looked at the end of her rope.

Then - "Oh, is that who you wanted to summon? Why didn't you say so?" She drifted over, handing her empty drink off to a disgruntled looking Batman, and began rummaging through the unused magival supplies left over from the - failed - summoning circle. "Here, give me like, five minutes."

John was fairly certain his head was about to explode.

"You know how to summon the Ghost King? You?"

Phantom rolled her eyes at him. "Duh, obviously."

"Obviously." Zantanna repeated, looking like she was half a moment away from having a breakdown. She didn't try to stop the ghostly girl, though, and to be fair neither was John. They were already fucked, might as well let the gremlin try her hand at it.

It took less than the five minutes Phantom had claimed she needed.

When she was done there was a significantly smaller circle on the ground. At the cardinal directions of the circle, written clockwise she'd drawn not any magical runes but instead what appeared to be the Roman Numerals for one, then two, then something akin to a sideways T with an additional mark rising upward from the long horizontal bar, then the letter L.

It had to have some kind of ancient magical significance John didn't know as Shazam made a noise like a dying goose and squeaked out the word Loss like it was a question. Phantom gave the Champion of Magic a sharp toothed grin before adding some words in a language John didn't know before she finally allowed gravity to pull her back to earth and plant her feet on the ground.

She wiped her hands together a bit dramatically, looking pleased with herself, but at that point John didn't care. He could feel the building magic, heavy and oppressive as she had begun her task. Unlike the circle he and Zantanna had attempted, this one was working.

He couldn't help thr nervous swallow he gave as Phantom then declared, with a strange amount of seriousness. "All that’s left are the words."

She took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment, and the world went utterly silent around them. This, John could feel, this was the real deal. Fuck him sideways the hellspawn was actually doing it.

Phantom's eyes opened, glowing with that bright eerie green light of her power. Another deep breath and then -

"You are my dad! You're my dad!" He watched, any scraps of hope she'd instilled in him dying an undignified death as she gave a terrible little wiggle dance while she sang(?) Off key, "Boogie woogie woogie!"

Every last person on Earth was going to die and one of John's last moments was going to be spent watching the little undead shit do the Macarena. Well fuck him, he guessed.

Then there was the sound of the veil between the world's tearing in two and the fucking Ghost King was standing in Phantom's summoning circle screaming in a screeching falsetto:

"When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences!"

You know what actually at this point John would rather the apocalypse kill him.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #justice league #danielle phantom #danielle fenton #john constantine #zantanna zatara #danny fenton #ghost king danny #Danny got to make up his own summoning rituals when he became king #there's a general one but he also has personalized rituals for each of his family members #all of them involve memes #the day is saved #but it's also the day that the Justice League find out Elle is the daughter(?) of the Ghost King #except for Damian Jon and Con #they already knew

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cvnt4him · 3 months

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this been on my mind for awhile 😭

so like subby Izuku but he has a slight dominant side when he gets aroused with his girlfriend who is a switch 😚

NEVER. Be afraid to tell me your sinful ideas on izuku. He is literally my pride n joy. I have SHITTY writers block rn n can't think of anything but when I tell you I jump out of my seat for this shit. Fuck writers block you're getting this shite NEOW.

Who knew studying with your boyfriend would lead to him whimpering under you, grabbing at your waist and grinding your hips down onto his hardening cock.

He initially did intend on simply studying with you, honest, however you are his weakness, the one thing that makes him act up. [Besides when someone mentions all might] so yeah of course when he seen you in tight booty shorts that hugged you ass and your tank top that lifted over your tummy slightly, he knew it was wraos for him.

You knew it as well, he was very easily excited. Just staring at him too long might make his cock jump in his shorts. You guys had been studying for about 2 hours, just the two of you in his all might merchandised room. Alone.

Sure you had been dating for a year, but it doesn't matter how long you guys have been dating to him he'll always get so easily flustered like you two had just met. It was adorable how easy he was to tease, he loved it even when he told you he hated it.

You groan loudly slamming your face on your notebook hardly causing him to jump and shoot his worry filled eyes over to your slumped body.

"haha... How about we take a break."

He tells you, rubbing his hand down your back soothingly, earning a small sigh from you. He chuckles to himself as you turn to look up at him head still laying on the desk.

"yes please."

He pulls your chair closer to his so he can hold you, wrapping his much larger arms around your figure. His hand landing on the back of your head and rubbing his thumb across it. Laying his chin atop of your head with a content sigh.

He was happy like this. With you. There was nothing or anyone that could take you away from him. He loved just sitting down with you and having little movie dates alone, when you got little moments like these to yourselves. You were home for him. Despite everything you've been through together throughout the last years, he'd do it all again just for you to be like this In his arms.

The warmth that began to be created by your two bodies flushed together soon vanished, a low groan leaving his mouth as he opens his eyes and looks down at you questioningly, why had you pulled away?

You look up at him with a smile and kiss his cheek softly. His eyes widen as his pouty lips turn into a weary smile, he was flushed like a strawberry, his reddening face growing hotter by the second. Little affectionate things like that meant everything to him. He doesn't intend to get this flustered, especially because you two have been dating for about a year, but he can never seem to help what you do to him.

You pull away before going back into pepper plenty of soft quick kisses across his warm flushed baby like face. A string of giggles and laughs escape the two of you, he chants and tells you to stop but you both know he doesn't mean it.

Once you finally stop the two of your laughs trail off with a sigh. He looks down at you with love filled eyes as you stare up at him with just as ones. You chuckled lightly and kiss his soft, warm, slightly dry lips. His eyes flutter shut as he sighs into the kiss. Neither of you pulling away, just living in this one loving kiss. The passion in it was so beautiful he could feel the butterflies in his stomach start to flutter in a ridiculous way.

You straightened yourself up to pull him deeper into the kiss, moaning slightly as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands find themselves in your lower back trailing down to your waist as he holds you tightly.

The kiss grew heavy, heated, the way your bodies tried to move against each other but being held back by the separate chairs you two sat in. Your hands on either side of his face keeping him close to you. He grips your waist like his life depends on it, slight harshness coming from it.

Izuku couldn't stand not being able to hold you closer than what you are. He picks you up by your thighs making a squeak leave your throat, he carried you all the way to the bed and plopped down on top of you, your legs wrapped around him subconsciously. The kiss not breaking even once throughout this.

You pull away from the kiss to catch your breath izuku tries so hard to follow your lips, not wanting to be apart. You lick your lips and stare up at him with lidded eyes, you bit your lip and traced some of the freckles on his cheek with your finger. He looked down at you with a pouty look, making you chuckle softly to yourself.

He lays down completely on top of you his face burying itself in your boobs. He closed his eyes and just relished in the warmth your bossom provided to him. Blush rushed to his face when he slightly opened his eyes to see your perfect boobs squishing his face, he planted soft kisses on to them before he began sucking hickeys beginning to form at each spot he suckled on. He traced his tongue over them, slobber and spit making them sticky and wet. You hated the feeling but loved to watch him lose his mind over it.

He pulled your shirt down, your boobs spilling out the top and onto his face. He moaned and shook his head in between your boobs making you giggle. He moved to your nipple and began sucking on it like you had milk to provide, the harsh sucking making your nipples perk up in his mouth, the tip of his tongue kitten licking and prodding against your nipples earning a breathy moan from you.

"wan you sho' bad."

He tried to speak. His speech being muffled by your boob in his mouth. His bit down lightly on your boob making you wince.

You hadn't noticed at first, but he began grinding his hardening dick into your thigh, groaning from the light pleasure it gave him. Brushing his clothed cock against your warm thighs was starting to get to him heavily.

You pushed him over onto his back and began straddling him, getting on top of him and keeping your bossom in his face so he can continue to suck to his hearts content.

You scratched his head while you played on top of him giggling at how cute he is. You decided to take the liberty in ending his suffering which he clearly was by grinding into his effect cock, earning a low groan from him, the muffled groan that came from him vibrating through your body.

You put both your hands on his chest, making sure to keep your boobs in his face, so you can ride his clothed dick completely. Saying this didn't feel good would be a lie, this felt like heaven. Your cunt throbbing on top of his twitching cock. It yearned to be buried in your velvety walls, it wanted to find home in your warmth.

You continued the hump of your hips and closed your eyes, letting the pleasure take over you completely. Izuku stopped suckling on your boobs to look up at you, the sight he seen was enough to make him blow his shorts. He choked back moan from your blissful expression, trying so hard not to cum his shorts and embarrass himself.

Little did he know you wanted him to, it was a pleasure knowing that you made him feel so good to the point he'd cum his pants. He squeezes your hips and snaps his hips up into you and cums his shorts with a whiney moan, he breathed as if it were his first time. His chest rising and sinking in a rhythmic motion.

"f-- fuck!"

He choked out into the crook of your neck as he raised up to bury his face into it, his breath fanning the pit of your neck and making your face warm up. A shiver going down your spine from his hot breath touching your skin. He breathed in your scent and rolled his eyes shut and let the Aftershock of cumming take over him. He felt good, he had you in his arms and he'd came his pants---

Holy fuck he'd just came his pants. God he was so embarrassed. His eyes shot open and he tensed under your touch before a chuckle left your lips. Fuck you were sure to bully him. He had just cum his pants from simply making out.. and sucking on your tits... and well dry humping, but still. It was embarrassing and there was no way you'd let him live this down! It's not his fault though, he has such a sensitive body and he gets so hard when you so much as glance at him the, what else was he supposed to do? not cum his pants?

He tried to justify his actions in his head as if he'd just killed somebody. You grab him by the hair and look down at him from his lap taking in the sight. He had a flushed face and glossy eyes, he was so red and embarrassed he was sure he was going to die. He wanted to. He wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

"you're so beautiful."

You whisper down to him making him even more red as if that were even possible. His lidded eyes squinted as he tried to hide his face from you only to his surprise, be pulled back up by you.

You kiss his lips and begin taking off your shorts, standing slightly to get them off completely. You lift up to shimmery his shorts and boxers off. You look down to see the huge wet patch in his all might themed boxers where he soiled himself, he's still a bit dizzy from the breathtaking kiss you'd just given him, however he manages to look down at you and see the way you eyeball his still hard cock with a giggle.

He whines with a pouty look which catches your attention. He really was such a spoiled brat, you might just have to get him out of that another time, [hinting to a part two] as for now you were going to fuck his aching cock for all he was worth, and boy does he have alot to give.

You pull his boxers down in one swift motion crawling back on top of him before slamming yourself onto his thick leaking cock. He choked on his spit and let out a strangled moan he threw his head back instantly not expecting to be met with your warm welcoming walls that quickly, you bounced up and down in a repeated motion, convulsing walls massaging his thick cock each time you went down. You pushed him down completely onto the pillows letting him feel the pleasure you have to give.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tears prickling at the corner as he grabs into the sheet beneath you two. He tries so hard not to cum on the spot but he just can't seem to hold it all back, his thick precum leaks inside of you as you grind down onto his cock, moaning lowly as you try not to be too loud, but all hopes for people not hearing you is thrown out the window the second yku start back bouncing onto him.

He lets out such a pornographic moan, honestly pornstars would envy the sounds he let out in such high pitched ways. His back arched up into you as you put your hand on his chest to try and balance yourself, he thrusts up into you subconsciously trying so desperately to reach that peak of pleasure his body wanted to grant him.

You open your eyes slightly to see his fucked out expression, tears had started streaming down his cheeks as he drooled, he sniffed and bucked his hips up into you throwing you off guard, the rhythm that you had set had begun messing up. He hated how hard it was for his hips to meet your own, an annoyed whine escaping him as he groans and stops fucking up into you.

He shoots his wide eyes open and grabs hold of you, quickly pulling out so he can, in one swift motion spin you two around to put you down on your stomach. You couldn't even get a word out before all of the air was knocked out of your lungs by his cock intruding your insides in a painful thrust. He groaned while entering you at a berserk pace.

Izuku was never rough or this feral, but God it was absolutely insane the things you did to him how you managed to make him feel the way you arched you back and threw you ass back onto his thick cock, the stretch that always came with his cock was so delicious, he was jackhammering his cock into you while he tried so hard to not close his eyes. He wanted to watch you duck yourself back onto him, he wanted you to whine and beg when he left you.

He loved the way you arched your back, yet it seemed as if you weren't completely arched. It ticked him off. He put one of his large hands on your back and pushed your upper body down into the pillow, lift one of his legs to get a better angle to fuck you in. That was it, the way desperate grunted moans left your mouth was sinful.

The way you were limp against his cock yet still trying hard to fuck yourself back into him, it was all getting to him. Your body was so lewd and sexy he felt as if he couldn't hold onto his seed anymore he longed for it to be planted inside of you, the thought of all of his warm thick sticky cum settling inside of you was so dirty and hot to him he couldn't contain the way his hips stuttered and how his seed, his kids threaten to spill out of his throbbing cock head that kissed your cervix in the best way.

His muscles had started to tighten and feel slightly sore, he had been jackhammering into you at an intense pace for about an hour, it had started to get to him, but he wouldn't let that stop him from making sure you were fucked dumb. He groaned in pleasure and anger slapping your ass harshly, a red blotch starting to form in the area. He continued to slap your ass seeing the effect it had onto you, your ass jiggling against his pelvis the way he bucked into you and slapped your ass, it was hypnotic.

His eyes roll back as his eyebrows knit together, he was growing tired and was so close to cumming but he would, not yet.

Izukus sweaty chest leaned onto your back, his breath fanning your ear as he struggled to keep everything in, he was losing his composure and was starting to feel everything inside of him trying to unravel. His cock twitches inside of you as he moaned sluttyly inside of your ear, fuck the aay he moaned like a bitch was always so hot. He whines and whimpered for you and began begging for you to let him cum inside of you, to bury his seed in your warm welcoming hole.

"please please please let me give it to you, lemme give it t'ya.. please baby please!~"

You groaned one last time before squirting around his pretty cock, his cock wasn't too long but boy was it thick, so thick that when you squirted it just sucked him into you even more. He heard you hiccuping underneath him whilst letting little groans and moans out, your body was limo but he managed to hold your hips up enough so he could finish inside of you. The way your walls started to squeeze and choke his cock was insane, your juices started to squirt all over his lower abdomen making a moan rip out of him, and with that he came undone, all the cords in his body unraveling and making him shoot his hot cum inside of you. His eyes crossed as his tongue looked out of his mouth, he was just as fucked out as you and he was the one doing most of the fucking.

You were to fucked dumb to even comprehend what was going on, you're not even sure if you actually allowed him to cum inside of you. You couldn't get any words out, hell you could hardly even form a coherent thought. He collapsed onto you, all his weight weighing you down into the bed. You let out a groan once you felt his heavy body slam onto yours, you couldn't begin to care though, you were sweaty, hot and tired. Your eyes had shut long ago but it took his warm body landing onto you and cuddling close into yours for you to ultimately pass out.

He whines above you, his cock being overstimulated by your fluttering walls. He twitched inside of you while shutting his eyes. He was actually basically baby trapping you unconsciously and unintentionally. His cock plugged you till despite softening, you couldn't push him out and he had passed out before he could even attempt to take it out.

You were sure to be pissed in the morning and he knew and thought about that before lassing out above you, but that's a problem for another day.

#cvnts-post #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #deku x reader #izuku x reader #cvnts-reqs #izuku is so girlie pop #deku smut #izukus not so girlie pop #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku smut #midoriya x reader #midoriya smut #izuku midoriya smut #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya

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lionneee · 5 days

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Perfect Match

Final Part

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: oral sex, fake relationship, talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five

You didn’t know.

You would have swore he was just another guy with a perfect life, just good to fuck with.

You thought he was simply trying to rebel, to not follow the mass.

That’s why you chose him.

You never thought he could have been in the same situation as yours.

You leaned your head back to look at his face as he kept sleeping.

You fell asleep in his arms, his cock must have slipped out of you during the night.

It didn’t take long before he started to wake up too.

He slowly opened his eye, looking back at you.

He didn’t talk.

You just kept looking at each other.

It was strange, knowing you both share the same situation.

A family that wanted to be perfect, but was rotten from the inside. You remembered a few words of what his parents were yelling when you came back to his house, the same exact words you heard your own parents yell thousands of times.

When you were younger, you put on your headphones and listened to music at full volume, to muffle the fighting, but as you grew up, you just got used to it.

Aemond took a deep breath and pulled you back in his arms, close, tucking your head under his chin.

You tighterned your arms around his neck, breathing in his scent.

“I don’t want to go out.” You whispered, glancing at the closed door of his room.

“Mh.” You felt his head move, turning to look at the door as well. “We don’t have to.” He said.

You both knew that once past that door, everything would have gone back to how it was.

Fake.

Fake happy families, fake friendship, fake interests.

You felt like you were past that now.

You didn’t want everything to go back as it was.

No, not after how good you felt last night. Not after you finally felt something again.

You unconsciously tightened your arms around Aemond, closing your eyes.

“We can stay here.” You whispered, caressing his back, slipping your hand under his shirt. “We can stay here forever, never go out again.” You felt too good, too comfortable.

“I know. We could.” He slipped his hand in your hair, caressing slowly your head. “We could.” He repeated, as if he was seriously considering the option to hide from the world forever.

In that quiet moment, the world outside seemed so distant, so irrelevant. The tension in both of your lives had built up for years, but here, in this room, it all seemed to melt away. .

You had chosen him because you thought you knew his type, just another boy looking to push boundaries, to escape boredom. But waking up in his arms now, you realized how wrong you'd been. He was broken just as much as you were, a mirror of your own suffering. Aemond, with all his calculated silence and aloof demeanor, was just as wounded as you.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in your pain. It wasn't just about what happened between you two last night; it was about the shared understanding of the façade you both wore daily. The world expected you to be perfect—to fit into the molds your families had constructed—but neither of you ever truly did. You both knew that the arguments, the silences, the tensions at home had shaped who you were had led you here, to this bed, to this moment.

Aemond's hand in your hair, his steady breath against your skin, felt like an anchor, holding you both in this fragile peace you’d created together. His fingers combed gently through your strands, and you could tell he was thinking, pondering what you’d said about staying there forever.

“I don’t want to go back,” you whispered again, more to yourself this time. There was a sense of desperation in your voice. You knew the world outside would expect you both to slip back into your roles—the obedient daughter, the dutiful son. But here, with him, you were free.

“Do you want to stay here?” Aemond asked, but now his voice was softer, almost uncertain. You both knew the fantasy couldn’t last, but for now, it was a comfort. The illusion of safety, the idea that maybe, just maybe, you could escape the weight of your realities.

Your hand on his back felt his muscles tense slightly, as if he, too, was wrestling with the impossibility of it all. He sighed deeply, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you close. In that shared silence, there was an understanding, a quiet pact.

But for a little longer, you could pretend. You could hold onto this fleeting moment of peace, knowing that, even if the world outside was fake, what was happening between you now wasn’t.

You always saw Aemond as a tool to let go. To feel yourself for a moment when you had sex, to stop pretending, but you were still alone.

Alone in your head, in your life, in your experiences.

Now there was someone else.

You leaned your head back again, looking up at him, and he moved as well to stare right back at you.

“I do.” You whispered. You didn’t know what those words did to Aemond, but his lips came down crushing on yours right after them, holding you by the back of your head as he tried to devour your mouth.

“Then I’ll keep you here.” He mumbled against your lips, moving to get on top of you, pressing you down on the bed with his body. “We’ll never go out again. We’ll stay here, and we’ll fuck all day.” He groaned as he wrapped his arms around your body, hugging you close. “I’ll keep you to myself –” He said as he looked down at you, moving his hand on your breast, taking it in his hand and squeezing it, kissing his way down to your other nipple, He was fanning, his breath hit your nipple where he sucked it, making it harden with the fresh feeling. You arched your back, you could feel his cockhardening against your thigh. You put your hand on the back of his head, keeping him close, spurring him to keep sucking your tits.

“Make love to me - “ You whimpered as he squeezed your breast a bit tighter. He raised from your chest, looking down at you as he sat back on his haunches. His eye moved all over your body, then back to your face. You could feel your face hot, probably even red, not from embarrassment because of your nudity, more like because of what you said, because it sounded so… cheesy.

You looked back at him, watching him, searching for any reaction, but his face was stoic.

Until he moved his hand between his legs, pumping his cock a few times to make sure he was hard enough, then he leaned forward, pushing it slowly inside you, making you moan and lean your head back against his pillow. He didn’t rush it like all the others time, just seeking his pleasure and being done with it.

He kept eye contact as he placed his hand beside your head on the mattress, and he moved slowly, but firmly and deeply.

He knew what he was doing.

“Yeah –” He gasped as he glanced down at your bodies, how they were perfectly fitting before coming back to your face. “I’ll make love to you.“ He whispered as he moved down on his elbows to be closer to your face.

There it was again.

That warm feeling in your chest.

You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, taking your time in his mouth, savoring the moment.

You wanted to hold on to that feeling, and never let it go.

You whined in his mouth as he slowly started to thrust harder, keeping his pace, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, under your neck.

He slowly kissed your cheek, then he trailed down to your neck, licking, nibbling at your skin as he groaned.

“W-why does it feel so good – “ He groaned with his voice strained as he nuzzled his face in your neck. You took a deep breath as you felt the sound of his voice doing things to you, making your stomach clench, making your heartbeat faster.

“I don’t know -” You whispered back as you caressed the back of your hair, his thrusts getting needier as he quickened the pace a bit. “But I don’t want it to go away.” You admitted, your words sending a shiver down his body, making him moan and raise his head to look at you.

“Me neither.” He mumbled as he thrusted faster, harder, his face contorting in pure pleasure.

“Oh, yes – Aem - “ You moaned as you felt your orgasm reaching you, your walls squeezing his cock inside you.

“I promise -” He panted. “We’re never fucking leaving this room.” He groaned as he slipped his hand between their bodies, searching for her clit and starting to rub it furiously.

“Please come -” He gasped. “I-I can’t –” He moaned as he spilled before even finishing his sentence, and seeing him so wrecked pushed you along with him.

You both panted as he fell on top of you, both your arms moving around the other, as if to make sure they were still there.

You knew that his promise was impossible to keep.

You had to get out at some point.

But you knew he was promising something else completely.

We’re in this together.

But for now, you guessed he indeed planned on not leaving his room any sooner.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy

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justpoliteconversations · 5 months

Text

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 6)

Plans are being made. And Link is facing his demons as well as he can.

Still taking time to inch my way back to full speed. Things are getting better though and I can feel my fingers itching to write more and more. Still riding the joy of pure indulgence with a feel good favorite. I can never stop myself from rambling in this one.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

Finally back in Hateno after several weeks of long, uncomfortable (sand infested. lizalfos infested) travel along the coast (doing your standard business. gathering what supplies you could for Link), and you were ready to just slip into bed for the rest of your life. Maybe even retire early. Ensure you never have to see another damned lizalfos for as long as you live (you won't, but the thought is there).

But it was simply not to be. You'd barely crossed the gates into Hateno proper and already you were planning (reluctantly) an even longer trip into territories you'd never (well. not never. but not for long) thought to venture to. And honestly, you weren't looking forward to it.

And by the look on Skim's and Adino's faces, neither were they.

Not even a day after returning to your home village you'd broken the news to your guards that you were planning a trip towards Goron territory. Though, if you were lucky and utilized your resources wisely, you might never even have to set foot in that brimstone hellscape of a volcano (you hoped).

You'd thought once (some years ago), that maybe it would be a place you should visit. The Gorons were known to be friendly to travelers. The paths were littered with unclaimed mineral and gemstone deposits. And the infrastructure for travel was there thanks to the thriving tourism industry in the area.

It'd seemed like a wonderful idea when you'd started planning such a venture in your early days of merchanting. Back when you were still riding high from making your first small fortune and were still relatively unaware of the world at large. Of its challenges. Of its dangers.

That was until you started gathering information on the hazards in the area, and your opinion of the region took an immediate and drastic turn.

The high death rates associated with heatstroke, dehydration and smoke inhalation were concerning enough. But learning that the volcano occasionally erupted (killing dozens, even hundreds of travelers when it did), and was infested with talus' (over 40 confirmed sightings. nearly 20 unconfirmed). It was enough to put you off.

Skims and Adino knew this. You'd made it a point to explain to them why you wouldn't be heading that direction ever (but apparently not ever, because here you were. planning). No matter how much money could be made harvesting minerals or trading with the locals.

Not the produce trade though, despite what one would think coming from a land known for its lava lakes and frequent wildfires.

The volcanic soil was actually an excellent source of fertilizer (which you wanted. in bulk. as much as you could shove in your mindslate). Making the region around the volcano one of the more prosperous lands for growing crops and herbs. Even when compared to the more central settlements of Hyrule, right on the bread-belt of the land (if you were willing to risk the guardians, that is).

It was a region a farmer (and merchant) could make a fortune, if they were lucky enough to hit brown gold. And If one was willing to take staggering losses everytime the volcano blew its top. And there would be losses. There always was when mother nature got involved with the lives of mortals.

No. You had been eager to get into the fish and cloth (and sand) trade. So close to the volcano, magma deposits were unusually close to the surface in the surrounding lands. And while this created the most beautiful hotspring (entire lakes worth) tourist attractions, it also limited the amount of life-sustaining (and fish-sustaining) water sources in the area. Which, in turn, limited the number of local fisheries and livestock flocks the land could sustain.

The constant presence of ash and volcanic runoff also poisoned much of the water sources in the immediate areas around the mountian. Further adding to the lack of available water sources for fish and livestock (and people too, for that matter. Hence, the sand. A natural filtering agent for locals in the area) to live off of.

So. Fish and cloth (and sand). Those had been your plan a couple years ago. Until the reality of the territory's dangers made you reconsider. And later, dismiss the idea all together.

Knowing this, of course Skims questioned your sudden interest in the northeastern part of Hyrule. A territory you had said yourself was not worth the risk of death and revenue loss to expand your business ventures into.

You had been honest with them, of course (you were always honest with your most trusted guardsmen. when confronted, at least). Though not necessarily forthcoming with the details. Which, frankly, was par for the course as far as your more private dealings were concerned.

"I'm looking to acquire localized goods for an important client." You offered in way of an explanation, letting the things you hadn't said speak volumes. And, of course, Skims merely nodded. Still looking doubtful, but willing to accept your reasoning as your own without contest.

That was another thing you liked about him, other then his fierce loyalty and care. Easy going at the best of times, accepting at the worst. You never had to worry too much about Skims poking holes in your reasonings or explanations. You just needed to pay him, and he was willing to turn a blind eye to your eccentricities.

Adino, on the other hand.

"It's a waste of damned time no matter how important this so-called client of yours is. Just use the stable system instead of draggin' us along to that Goddess forsaken hellhole." Adino snapped, irritable still so soon after the previous trip (the bite a lizalfos nearly took out of his rear near Highland Stable not having helped his already sour attitude). Narrowing his eyes at you with suspicion.

Which was fair, honestly. In any other situation, letting the stable system deliver your desired product would have been the most efficient (and cheapest) way for such a limited and precise order. What would take several months of travel for a merchant (yourself included), the system could get delivered several weeks earlier. Maybe the same amount of time, or slightly longer than originally calculated, if the weather turned unfavorable or a blood moon cluttered up previously clear roads with monsters.

Without knowledge of your mindslate or the connection you have with Link (the previously mentioned client), it does sound like a bullshit reason to undertake such a dangerous journey out of the blue. Especially when there are safer and more cost efficient methods to achieve the same results (sort of). But the fact of the matter is that the system would not be quick enough to deliver your order before Link begun his journey towards Death Mountain.

(And it would be soon. Already there were rumors of the Zora Domain's endless rains easing at the boarders.)

Tally up the timeables, and getting the merchandise yourself was the only feasible way to get ahold of what you needed when you needed it. Where the stable system would require a two way trip to acquire your goods, you needed only one way to get it yourself (and add the slate's instant delivery to Link, and you're set). It was the only way to guarantee you'd meet the rapidly approaching deadline.

Also, you didn't trust the stable system to be as discerning as yourself when choosing suitable product. While you didn't doubt they would put forth their best efforts, you acknowledged that a delivery guild probably had limited knowledge of advanced spell craft and their associated counterfeits.

You couldn't afford to make any mistakes when it was The Hero of Hyrule's life you were working to secure.

Only the very best would do for Link, after all. Even if you had to put in the footwork to ensure it.

You smiled tiredly at Adino, noting how his thin brows were pulled into a deep frow. How his eyes flickered over your road-weary face and sagging posture with veiled intent. Searching and prying and worried. Lips pulled down in displeasure.

He was worried for you. Keeping secrets (something you'd seldom done so openly before. something you'd rarely done, period). Taking seemingly unnecessary risks (something you'd never done at all before this little proposal). All behaviors that were definite red flags. All behaviors that were concerning. Especially coming from someone like you (who you'd become).

And you loved that about Adino. How quietly observant and caring he was when he cared enough to try. Even if he acted like a prickly little cactus most of the time.

"Trust me. I wish I could just let the stables handle this." You'd begun, meeting Adino's (and Skims) gazes as you continued. Sighing. "But this is something I have to do myself. It's important to me."

Skims nodded, having already accepted your reasonings regardless. And slowly, reluctantly, Adino nodded too. Still looking as surly as ever, but willing to back down quietly so long as you were in possession enough of your thoughts to acknowledge the strangeness of your current plans.

"Thank you." And you meant that. Even as the next words hurt your very soul. Perhaps even more than the damned sand (yeah right). "I'll pay you triple if you agree to accompany me as my bodyguards." Skims' and Adino's eyes lit up at that, and you could practically see the rupee signs swimming within them. The bastards.

And somehow Red was suddenly there as well, looking just as bright-eyed and eager as she nodded along with the boys.

Your brow twitched. And Red grinned. Far too many teeth caged within blood red lips.

You sighed.

'Damnit, Link. Why do you cost me so much money.'

---

Sitting on the edge of the Zora Capital's Central Reservoir, Link held the slate in his cold-numbed hands. Looking out over the misty landscape laid out far below, cushioning the shining zora city in its translucent shroud.

The divine beast calmed at his back, as was the spirit still trapped within its confines (patient. kind. understanding. even in the face of death and heartbreak).

His fingers tightened on the slate's smooth edges at the reminder. Knuckles turning white from the pressure of his grip. The chilled ache of his bones a painful burn against his exposed flesh and skin.

His shoulders begun to shake. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, with his own pillow and his own blankets. He wanted to bathe in his shiny round bowl of a bath with his nice smelling soaps and hair cleansers.

He wanted to go home.

He was afraid to go home.

But no. That wasn't true. Not really. It wasn't that he was afraid to go home (to his home. to your home).

It was that he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had lost. Ashamed of how he had failed.

Seeing Mipha's face (and that was her name. Mipha. the zora woman he may have once loved. not some nameless face peering out of her tomb with sad, accepting eyes) had finally made him understand the weight he carried upon his shoulders now. The burden of his past failings.

And he didn't know how to reconcile these feelings. Of who he was, and the pain he'd left in the wake of his death.

And who he was now, and his inability to grieve these people who had once meant so much to him. And who, in some ways, still did. Even if he couldn't remember why he felt as such. Even as the guilt tore him apart at the seams.

Far below, in the dark waters of the Domain's endless web of rivers. The flashing white of paper slips beneath a rising current. The ink fading into the darkness of the depths.

---

AM,

Thank you for everything you've done for me. Without you, I don't know if I'd have the strength to continue on. Knowing so much has been lost because of my failure.

I'm afraid of what I'll find if I remember who I used to be. I don't think I can be the man so many remember.

I don't want to be him. He's dead. I'm not him anymore. I'm me.

Is it selfish of me to just want to be the man I am now?

I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for you and everyone who ever believed in me. I'm sorry I don't want to remember how to be strong.

I hope one day you can forgive me.

-Link

---

Back to the shadows to rest.

I forgot the tags before sleeping! Sorry Babies, I know you already found it, but I'll still tag you regardless!

Tagging: @littlepanda7 @2000babies

#botw x reader #link x reader #botw link #isekai reader #link x you

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elysiansparadise · 3 months

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My cap Venus lives for ur aesthetic and work 💗 I would love ur insight on Saturn in the 2nd 🪐

Hello love! Thanks for your words. 💗

Saturn in the 2nd house

With this placement it is very likely that the natives felt a sense of insecurity, they may think that they had never experienced what it was like to have a safe place to turn to when things went wrong, the lack of stability and order in their lives and that they experienced many things. that made them have to witness how what they or their family built, collapsed. The fear of putting effort into something only to have it collapse later. The fear of never having something secure and constant in their lives. They could have had economic problems since they were children or grew up in a home without structure. They had to assume the role of those who never broke, whom life could not move or provoke, many times being the support of the people around them or simply creating this mentality of "not causing more problems than there already were." They get used to carrying everything themselves, for fear of putting more burdens on the shoulders of those they love. Problems with self-acceptance and the mistaken idea of having to do or achieve something to be loved. They have a big insecurity, and this is not having enough, either from sufficient material goods to survive or feeling that they are not enough.

Many are highly alert and wary when it comes to having others around, no matter how charming they may behave, it is difficult to let someone in completely. Many of them are very selective, and not only that, but they avoid very direct physical contact with other people, and can appear distant in that aspect. They usually know how to manage their money very well since they know how difficult it is to earn it. Financial growth can be slow but steady. Often, these people experience gradual progress in accumulating material goods and wealth. They are very persistent people when it comes to getting what they want and they highly value hard work. They hate laziness, both feeling that they are being lazy and the people around them are being lazy. Despite how secretive and selective they may seem, when they find people they value, they can be fiercely loyal and steadfast. These people can do many things for those they know they want to have around. Many of them have this way of thinking of giving to others the same thing that they give to the natives, they will never go out of their way to give to those who do not do the same for them. These natives are very consistent when it comes to giving to causes they feel are worthwhile. Consistency and stability are everything for them, even outside of economic aspects.

Material security is a priority. These people work hard to ensure they have a solid financial foundation that will provide them with long-term stability. Financial success for these natives can come later in life, after years of constant and disciplined effort. However, once they achieve it, it tends to be long-lasting and stable. They have a strong belief in the value of personal effort and in earning one's livelihood through hard work. These people tend to feel more secure and satisfied when they know they have earned what they have. Many of them have learned to work independently after what they want, so it can be difficult for them to accept support. Many of them may even have problems accepting gifts or gifts from other people [although that doesn't mean they don't like it]. These people manage their resources effectively, and by resources I not only include economic ones, but all of them. They will not spend their energy or time on things that are not worth it, neither on projects, nor jobs, much less people.

-> Go back to the masterlist

#astrology #saturn #2nd house #astro note #natal chart #birth chart #saturn in the 2nd house #saturn in 2nd house #saturn in the 2h #saturn 2h #2h saturn

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anneapocalypse · 4 months

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Tired of the false dichotomy between "you should create for yourself without desiring any form of connection" and "feedback is everything and without it there's no reason to create." Neither of these things are wholly true, and it's frustrating to me that people have taken "create for yourself" to mean "you shouldn't want feedback or enjoy it, you should create in a vacuum with no hope of human connection" and are lashing back against what they think it's saying rather than what it's actually saying. I love comments and feedback and connecting with my readers as much as anyone and would never discount the value of that experience and I try to be the kind of engaged reader I would want to have because I know how much it means. I especially know how much it means to a niche creator because I've been that creator myself and I so treasure the readers who took a chance, gave my stuff a try, and stopped to say something supportive about it.

But that's also exactly the thing: the things I want to write are often things that do not in any way guarantee me an audience, but they're what I enjoy, and creating for myself is what gets me through those long first drafts where I know there is no guarantee of an audience because the reality is I'm choosing to write this thing and nobody owes me a readership. Internal motivation matters because there are parts of the creative process where internal motivation is all you have. I've seen people give up or nearly give up on projects that probably would have found an audience, if a niche one, because they convinced themselves that nobody would care and then couldn't motivate themselves to care. Or they decided that a small audience wasn't good enough; they need their work to be Popular or it was worth nothing.

And if someone doesn't want to invest themselves in creating something that might have a small audience, well, that's their choice. But creativity is inherently an act of risk, and a lot of amazing art would never be made if the creator wasn't willing to risk silence, rejection, loneliness. Yeah, those things suck. I'm not saying they don't, that's why it's a risk. But art isn't always about safety. Sometimes it's about creating because you simply have to get this thing out of your head, and you hope someone will connect with it, but you don't know until you try. So everything can't be external motivation. It just can't be. It's too limiting, it's too stifling. I can't live that way, personally.

#writing stuff #it's tough to talk about self motivation #because people will hear 'create for yourself' and be like 'so you want me to die?'#listen if it works for you it's not my place to tell you otherwise #but it usually comes up because people are unmotivated and unhappy #so.#idk do what works for you at the end of the day #but i just want people to understand #self-motivation isn't about rejecting connection #it's just about being willing to trust in your own mind and enjoy the process and take risks #and if you say 'well i don't enjoy the process' then that might be something else to reflect on

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peachhcs · 10 days

Text

anywhere with you

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

somewhere in between samy's sophomore year of college and after will's rookie season, the two talk about what's next for them.

1.1k words

i'm back?? maybe?? hiii i've been on a small hiatus mainly because i didn't know what to write and didn't like everything i did write, but this little blurb may have gotten me out of the slump!! i wrote them sometime in the future..timeline a bit off, but it's okay we'll create our own timeline :)) also someone requested this awhile back and i finally got around to writing it

au masterlist

will made himself comfortable between samy's legs as they laid out on the couch together. the sun was warm—weirdly warm for an april afternoon in michigan, but neither of them were complaining getting to spend some time outside after being cooped up all winter. somewhere inside was luke and jack playing on the xbox and the couple could hear their voices from all the way outside on the back deck. the day felt perfect.

"ow, will," samy shoved her boyfriend's head when he was crushing a little too much of her leg.

"sorry, we don't really fit on this couch together," the blonde laughed a little.

"well, yeah. it's not made for me and a 6 foot hockey player. why are you sitting so close anyway?" she reached down to play with some of his messy curls.

"because. i haven't seen you since february and i leave in three days again," will said in a "duh" tone earning a small eye roll from the girl above him.

since playoffs were right around the corner, will didn't get much time off. he had exactly four days to do whatever he wanted and guess what he chose? spending all of it in michigan with samy while she was on spring break.

"right. guess you're telling me to be grateful you're here," she teased.

"i wasn't, but now i am," his lips turned up into a smirk. will disregarded his computer for a moment, flipping himself over so now his chin rested just below her belly button. samy couldn't help but smile seeing her boyfriend's big, goofy grin.

"nervous for the playoffs?" she wondered, hand wandering back down to toy with his curls again.

"a little. maybe i'm nervous i won't live up to everyone's expectations," will frowned.

"what do you mean? i feel like you met the expectations this season. everyone loved you," samy saw all the comments about the shark's new number 2. the fans went crazy for him and his talent was real.

"i know, i know. i'm just worried i'll blow it and they won't love me anymore," the blonde admitted. all the pressure was hard sometimes. will definitely thrived off of it to fuel him for his rookie season, but that didn't mean it didn't get to him.

samy's hand fell to his arm, giving it a tight squeeze out of love and comfort, "well, whatever happens, i'll be proud of you and i'll still love you."

will's face flushed, face heating up at his girlfriend's words. even if he's heard it a million times before, it still got him blushing like crazy whenever she said it. "i think your opinion's biased, but thank you. as long as i know you're watching i'm sure i'll be fine," now it was samy's turn to blush.

a comfortable silence fell around them as will's finger wandered and traced little shapes into the exposed skin on samy's stomach. he always got lost in his own world whenever they were together and he could never seem to think about anything other than her. (he also simply just never stopped thinking about her either, even on the ice.)

"i think because i'm almost done with sophomore year mom's started to pester me about what's next after graduation," samy changed the subject, breaking the silence.

"yeah?"

"yeah. nothing too annoying, but i know she wants me to think about it more than i have been. stuff like if i wanna go to grad school; what's my job gonna be; am i staying in michigan blah, blah, blah," the brunette mimicked ellen's voice pretty well making both her and will laugh.

"do you know what you wanna do?" will wondered, finger still tracing his little shapes which was as soothing for samy as it was for him.

"i mean..no. not really. maybe law school but i'm not 100% sure about that yet. i'm still gonna take the lsat, but i don't really know if that's my career path anymore," the younger hughes rambled a little.

"that's okay. you don't have to know. there's a lot you can do with a political science major. at least i know you can do a lot with it because you're so smart," will's words made the girl blush again.

"will"

"i'm being serious and i'm not just saying that. you're really smart, samy. you're gonna figure it out," he offered a half smile.

"i wish i was like you and jack and luke and quinn who just have their whole life already planned out because of hockey. like, they just knew from when we were kids that this was gonna be their life. i was always so..confused," samy frowned which will hated seeing.

"i think we just got lucky. you're gonna figure it out, i promise. if law school isn't for you, that's okay. you can do marketing, pr, analysis, literally anything. plus, there's always a home for you in san jose if you'd wanna like..i don't know..take a year to figure it out after you graduate," him and samy always talked about how she'd live with him wherever he ended up in the nhl once college was over, obviously joking —sometimes or sometimes it wasn't a joke—but right now will was being serious. samy could tell by the way he looked at her, his blue eyes so set and serious, yet so loving.

another blush rose to her cheeks, "i appreciate it. i'll definitely remember it."

"while we are on the topic though, whenever we decide to settle down..i wouldn't mind landing back here," the future, future wasn't a topic samy and will spoke a lot about together, but for some reason it seemed so close at the moment with how samy was going to graduate college in about two years.

"whenever we settle down? oh boy," but of course, she had to tease him about it first. will flushed, burying his head into samy's stomach. she giggled at his reaction, threading her fingers back through his hair—and will always wondered why his hair looked so messy after hanging out with her.

"but yeah, i wouldn't mind coming back here. i'd go anywhere really. i've been kind of everywhere growing up. you don't wanna go back to boston?" it seemed hard to believe will didn't want to go back to where his roots lived.

"i mean, yeah but i'll go anywhere you go. i don't care where i end up," the blonde smiled and so did samy.

"wow, you're so corny, but i'd go anywhere you go too. california, boston, michigan, wherever," will pushed himself up more so him and samy were almost face to face and he was basically on top of her.

"i guess we'll just be corny together then," they connected their lips in a sweet kiss.

"i love you, will," samy hummed when they pulled apart.

"i love you too," he made himself comfortable again, but this time right on top of her. it was clear they weren't getting any work done anymore, the warm air slowly putting them to sleep and everything else fading out.

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peaches2217 · 4 months

Text

Summer Rain

AO3 link!

~~~

There’s nothing quite like falling ten feet to the ground and landing flat on one’s back to bring a person back into reality. When he came to, Mario’s first reaction was relief. Rest, finally. Everything burned. His throat, his lungs, his muscles, his stomach. His ears rang and his head spun and his vision created doubles of every last block and obstacle overhead, and at long last, he was free to simply lay in the grass and observe passively.

As with all good things, it didn't last.

Get up.

The all-too-familiar voice, maybe his own and maybe some divine call from the universe, repeated these words in his head, but he couldn’t make his muscles obey. He could hardly breathe; air returned to him in unsteady gasps, and with each one, his short-lived relief melted further and further into frustration.

Get up. Something gurgled in his throat that was neither air nor bile, and the taste of copper coated his tongue. Get up. How had he slipped? He’d run this training gauntlet hundreds of times, if not thousands, in the past weeks. Had he grown complacent? Get up. This was no time for complacency. No time for failure. Get up, get up, get up.

“Mario!” He registered the cry of his name the same way he registered the pain in his spine or the ache in his limbs or the muted yet near-constant growling of his gut: with little more than passing acknowledgement. He knew he was hurt. He knew he was hungry. He knew someone was calling out to him. He didn’t care. His only concern was get up, get up, get up, sit up, stand up, get back to training.

Get back to her.

“Mario?”

Just as soon as he’d pulled himself to his knees, dizziness overtook Mario, and he barely caught himself on his hands, his arms shaking from the effort to support his weight. Her voice. All it took was the ghost of her voice to sap his fight, drain the furor that fueled him, until he was empty, empty, empty.

She wasn’t— he knew she wasn’t— and yet she— she sounded so near—

“Oh, Mario,” Peach sighed, pressing a gloved hand to her cheek, “what am I going to do? If I have to sit through one more unproductive commission on import tax rates, I think I’m going to scream.”

Mario chuckled sympathetically. “So I’m guessing third time wasn’t the charm after all?”

“I thought surely the senators would be just as sick of all the arguing as I am by now. Sadly, I’m fairly certain they enjoy it.” Another sigh. “So a fourth commission has been scheduled for Thursday.”

Thursday. Mario wracked his head for upcoming happenings, possible excuses, any circumstance he could twist in her favor, and he found it in short order.

“Hmm… it sure is a shame you won’t be there for that meeting, Princess.”

Peach halted in her tracks, and Mario stopped alongside her, meeting her confusion with pointed nonchalance.

“I… won’t be?”

“You didn’t forget, did you? That play in Mushroom City you were invited to? That’s Thursday night, yeah?”

Peach shook her head. “Mario, I’d hardly call a letter written in crayon by a child begging me to attend their Kindergarten theatre production an ‘invitation.’ More of a… um…” A pause. The realization clicked into place, her bright eyes glowing ever brighter in the twilight, and she graced Mario with a sly, cheerful smile. “Well, how many children have the courage to write to the castle directly? It would be rude to turn such a thoughtful invitation down.”

“My thoughts exactly!” He nudged her side, winking up at her. “Now, I know you’d rather sit and listen to grouchy old Toads shout over each other all day, but we all have to make sacrifices sometimes, yeah?”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” A very un-regal giggle slipped her lips, juvenile in its conniving yet ethereal all the same, and Mario couldn’t help but feel especially proud of himself. “So we’ll meet at the carriage hold Thursday at dawn, then? Plenty enough time to escape before Toadsworth catches on.”

Her proposal didn’t surprise him; it had become customary, after all, to act as her guard any time she ventured beyond the palace walls. This made her invitation no less sacred to him. “You can count on me, Princess.”

Peach took a moment to breathe in the fresh spring evening, exhale her worries, and as their walk resumed, her hand found his, small and light but present and real and warm. “Oh, Mario,” she laughed, “you’re my hero!”

You’re my hero…

Another rush of oxygen hit his brain, and she was gone once more. Memories of golden hair in the waning light of sunset were washed out in smudges of green and brown and red — his fingers digging into the earth, damp from a recent summer rain, a trickle of blood dripping from his bottom lip onto the backs of his hands.

Some hero he was.

A familiar pressure welled within his chest, and he huffed in relief. Anger. It made his heart pump harder and brought his surroundings back into focus and flooded him with unbearable energy, and he was finally able to clamor to his feet, spitting blood so he could breathe properly. Turning towards the gauntlet’s nearest springboard, he wiped his sleeve over his mouth and let that rage consume him once more, let himself believe again that it wasn’t rage at all, but hope. Hope in its rawest, most painful form.

She was counting on him. He would bring her home. He would have pleasant evening walks in the gardens with her again, he would laugh with her over tea and cakes, he would ensure no similar misfortune ever befell her again. Maybe he would even tell her that he loved her, just so he could say he no longer held any secrets from her. And until that day came, he would train and train and train until no force, earthly or cosmic, could stand in his way.

How could you let this happen?

That fragile illusion of hope burst into flames, its fire coursing through Mario’s veins, but now that he was on his feet again, he made no further effort to fool himself. With a final, sharp breath, he lunged forward—

“Basta così!”

Something caught his left wrist, and the unexpected intrusion snuffed Mario’s fire, like water tossed on a blazing bed of coals. He clenched his jaw and smoldered uselessly for a moment, quivering with unspent energy, giving his captor a chance to free him without provocation. The grasp ensnaring him only tightened.

“Lasciami andare, Lu.” He kept his voice as steady as possible, deathly quiet and low, because he knew it would shake if he raised it any louder, and he couldn’t afford to be perceived as weak.

“No.” Luigi’s voice was equally unwavering. “I’ve let this go on long enough. You’re coming home.”

Mario scoffed. Oh, now his timid little brother was choosing to stand his ground. Now, of all times, for all purposes—! He lurched forward to free himself. He didn’t have time for such games.

Luigi moved with him easily, and before Mario could reestablish his footing, he was yanked backwards by the arm so hard that his vision went blurry and his legs briefly gave out beneath him.

But he didn’t have time to collapse. Luigi powered ahead, and Mario was forced to twist his body in the same direction and stumble along behind him, and by the time his surroundings stopped shifting they were well past the athletic center’s gate and into the streets of Toad Town.

What in the Eight Realms was going on? His brother was strong, but he was stronger. It should have been easy to pull free or at least anchor himself and force an impasse, but he wouldn’t slow down.

“Let me go, Luigi,” he repeated in their mother tongue, half so the dozens of Toads craning their stubby necks as he was dragged past couldn’t eavesdrop and half because his grasp on the English language was one of the first things to go when he was upset.

“You really think I’m that useless?” Luigi didn’t even look over his shoulder as he responded in the same tongue, yet his voice pierced through the ambiance of the streets. “I don’t need a missing friend and a dead brother.”

Another white-hot burst of fury flared within Mario, and he tried once again to break free (once again, to no avail). Useless? A “missing friend”? A princess — their Princess! — was abducted by a notoriously homicidal warlord who promised to kill her and seize her kingdom by force unless he was met with unconditional surrender, and all his brother cared about was how he was perceived? How these events affected him?

Mario was the only living person with any chance of bringing her home safely, or at least alive. He’d devoted himself to that cause wholeheartedly and without hesitation. Fought and trained and redefined himself over the past two months while waiting for royal spies to figure out where she was actually being held. He’d never thought Luigi to be so selfish, that he’d stand in his way. That he’d sooner trade Peach’s life for his. Did she really mean that little to him? The very thought nauseated him. Or maybe those were hunger pangs.

They arrived at their shared cottage in short order, and Mario spit one last mouthful of blood into the grass before he could be dragged onto the porch and through the door. This wasn’t just selfish. This was betrayal of the highest order.

Luigi all but tossed him inside, and only then did he let go. Mario seethed at his green-and-blue-clad back as he shut and locked the door, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly, stimulating the once-restricted blood flow. Betrayed by the last person he would ever have suspected. The one person who should have been supporting him, who he’d thought already was supporting him before today. He held his internal fire close at bay, ready to make his disappointment and disapproval clear, and with a heavy sigh, Luigi turned to face him—

“This isn’t your fault, Mario.”

Mario’s belligerence fizzled out. Where there was once fire, there was now ice, still and cold.

“...What?”

“This isn’t your fault.” Luigi enunciated each word carefully as he approached his older brother. “N-no one blames you for this except for you. So you’re not proving anything to anyone by torturing yourself, bro, okay?”

For a long moment, all Mario could do was gape in bewilderment. Not once since the Princess’ abduction had a word been uttered about blame. There was no need, he'd just as quickly assumed: anyone with two functioning brain cells knew exactly who was to blame, and verbalizing accusations wouldn’t get her home any faster, so he bore his cross with a heavy heart and his head held high.

Even Luigi had never spoken up on the matter. Mario just assumed that meant he agreed. Why bother kicking someone that’s already down?

“I-I…” Mario swallowed. No. No, he was lying. Reality was sinking in and he was lying in a last-ditch effort to defend what hadn’t already been lost. He knew just as well as Mario that… and yet he…

Selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“I’m her guard, Luigi,” he finally answered, and unpleasant but ever-familiar heat rose once more within him, making his face and ears tingle. “It’s my job to protect her! Literally my job!”

“Yeah, during the day! But you’re acting like she was nabbed under your watch! You’re acting like everyone expects you to be on guard twenty-four-seven!” He drew closer to lay a hand on Mario’s left shoulder; what should have been comfortable and familiar instead felt foreign and cumbersome. “The truth is, you were exactly where you were supposed to be when it happened: in bed, conked out.”

A strike of lightning couldn’t have hit as hard as those words.

Mario jerked away from his brother’s touch, nostrils flared, breath coming to him far too quickly now. If he grit his teeth any tighter, he was certain they’d crack. Yes, he’d been asleep that night. He’d protected his Princess like always during the day and left her to fend for herself at sundown and he’d never forgive himself for it. So much for not kicking someone while they’re down.

“Thanks,” he huffed. “Very helpful reminder.”

“Mario, that’s not what—” Luigi sagged backwards, his eyes rolling to the ceiling in exasperation, as if he was the one who’d been slighted, and he cursed beneath his breath before refocusing. “She was never your sole responsibility. Everyone knows that but you. And no one wants to see you run yourself into the ground like this. Th-they trust you! They love you! Seeing how much guilt you're drowning in, seeing how badly you’re hurting, that hurts them, and—”

A deep, shaking breath. Mario tapped his foot impatiently, his fists clenched.

“A-and it hurts me too!" Luigi finally confessed. "Mario, you’re not the only victim here! How do you think I’ve been handling all of this?”

“Forget about that!” Mario fired back. “Just imagine what she’s going through! Can you think about something other than yourself for once and look at the bigger picture?!”

Alarms sounded deep in the recesses of his brain, warning signals, crying a mantra of Too far, too far, too far. He didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care.

“She wouldn’t want this either! If she was here—”

That was the final straw. Putting words in the Princess’ mouth— what little patience or composure Mario still held, already stretched thin, snapped.

“Well she’s not!” He stamped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum, grasping Luigi’s arm and forcing him to look directly into his eyes. “Don’t— don’t you dare tell me what she’d say or what she’d do! You don’t have that right! Because you’re not her, and she’s not…”

Mario blinked. Had… had Luigi always looked this tired? His eyes, normally so cheerful and blue, appeared dull and gray, wide with regret and brimming with unshed tears. And there were bags under those eyes too, and overgrown flyaways poking through his normally well-groomed mustache, and…

“...here.” All of his bravado, all of his energy, left him as he whispered that final word.

How long had it been since he’d fulfilled his role as the older brother? Peach was Luigi’s friend too. He was every bit as much Mario's responsibility as Peach was.

“I don’t need a missing friend and a dead brother.”

Only in the ensuing stillness did Mario realize how terribly he shook. He felt both weightless and impossibly leaden, cold and clammy, trembling not in outrage or determination, but something far meeker, far more pathetic: fear.

He was no hero. He was an idiot who’d failed someone he claimed to love and was desperate to make things right, no matter the personal cost. He was a useless brother that dealt with his own inadequacies by lashing out at those who cared for him most. He was nothing.

“Weegee…”

Luigi swallowed, taking a deep, slow breath before responding. “Martyring yourself isn’t the answer. I mean, think for a minute here. You can’t save her if you get yourself killed first.”

It overtook Mario again, a wave of unwelcome emotion, and his knees wobbled beneath him, threatening to buckle.

“Then… then what do you suggest I do? Huh? Clearly you have more answers than I do! So tell me what to do!” He let go of Luigi’s arms to grasp his overall straps and pull him down, searching his face for those fabled answers. There was no spite in his words or his actions. He shouted at and jostled his brother not in anger, but in pure helplessness. “Tell me what to do!”

The uncertainty etched into Luigi’s face didn’t go away completely, but he buried it beneath something harder, more determined. He braced his gloved hands against Mario’s shoulders, grounding and steady.

“I’ll tell you exactly what you’re going to do,” he said, his voice low yet firm. “You’re going to sit right there on that couch, or on the floor, or wherever you feel like, and you’re gonna cry and scream and get all of this pent-up anger out of your system. And then — look at me, Mario, listen!” He jostled the elder brother back, shaking his shoulders. “Then you’re going to eat something. Okay?” He smiled then, the strain of it contorting his face into some pitiful mimicry of humor. “We can’t have you wasting away when the Princess sees you again, yeah? What would she say?”

Mario’s breath hitched in his throat, suddenly swollen shut.

What would she say? Maybe she would rush forward and cup his cheeks, demanding to know what happened and if he was alright, as if he was the one who had been swept away in the dead of night. Maybe she would be so exhausted and so weakened that she didn’t notice; maybe she would only have the strength to smile as he took her battered body into his arms, her face pale but her eyes vibrant. Maybe her gaze would be glassy and there would be nothing left to hold but an empty shell that had once been his best friend, her fate sealed the moment she’d chosen to place her trust in him.

Or maybe he would die long before he reached her. If only he could trust anyone else to save her, he would have been perfectly fine with that outcome. It was the least he deserved. But that would be far too easy, wouldn’t it? What would become of her then? What would become of Luigi?

He would be free of his suffering, and it would fall directly onto their shoulders instead.

How could you let this happen?

The breath trapped in his throat forced its way back out, some mix between a cough and a hiccup, and finally his knees gave out. He held on tighter and sunk his face into his twin’s shirt collar, and he tried to apologize, he tried to beg forgiveness, but the only sound he could produce was a breathless, almost primal whine.

“Ecco.” Luigi’s voice cracked yet remained soft as he sank to the ground with him, cradling his head close. “Sfogati. Ti sono vicino, fratello.”

Mario’s intended response came out once more as a whine. Ti voglio bene. Ho paura. Aiutami. Ti prego aiutami. Each effort to speak proved increasingly futile until he gave up entirely, surrendering to the wordless screams and sobs and tears his overworked, underfed body forced from him. And Luigi just held him, his fingers brushing through his hair as he fell apart.

Thunder rumbled distantly outside, heralding another summer rain.

~~~

“I’m sorry.”

By the time Mario was able to speak, he still didn’t have much to show for it; his voice was too hoarse to do anything but whisper, and the pounding ache in his head prevented him from doing even that very well.

Luigi shushed him, readjusting his head in his lap. “Just relax.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish,” he continued anyway, curling into himself tighter, soaking in as much of his brother’s body heat as he could. “Or useless.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t have any right to go off on you like that.”

“In your shoes, I doubt I’d be handling things much better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And I forgive you. Now we’re even.”

This remark wasn’t quite enough to make Mario smile, but it did make him feel lighter, if only a bit. From his spot on the floor, he watched the rain patter against the living room window, dark and dreary and soothing. With the rain outside and Luigi’s fingers still combing through his curls, he felt properly sleepy for the first time in ages, a feeling far more pleasant than the exhaustion that had plagued him for eight, coming up on nine weeks.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d slept in his own bed? Most nights he’d find the nearest wall to slump against or a decent patch of grass to crash in when he couldn’t make his body cooperate any longer. And when was the last time he’d had a proper meal? Luigi had forced him to sit down and eat a packet of crackers a day or two ago, Toad brought him soup sometime last week and refused to leave until he downed at least half of it, but…

“Weegee?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

The hand in his hair stilled, and the response came after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

“Well duh. Of course you are.” His voice wavered, yet Mario could tell he was smiling. “What’d’ya want? We’ve got plenty enough to make anything. Don’t hold back.”

Mario hummed, closing his eyes. Making that choice on his own was a mental process he didn’t have the resources for. “Surprise me.”

Luigi vocalized his approval, but he didn’t move to stand quite yet. Instead, the hand in Mario’s hair found his own hand, and he gladly took it, permitting himself that comfort at least.

“Hey Mario? Can you… promise me something first?”

Mario nodded, a small and rapid movement of his head. He knew what was coming: Promise me you’ll eat everything I put in front of you. Promise me you’ll take a bath. Promise me you’ll get into clean clothes and sleep on a bed tonight. He was all too ready to agree. It was the least he owed his long-suffering brother.

“When you save the Princess… promise me you’ll come home too. Okay?”

Mario’s eyes snapped back open. The rain still fell against the window before him, steady and unending.

Easy enough to promise, at least in theory. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to make more pleasant memories with his friends, with his love, with his brother especially. There were so many adventures he still wanted to go on. So many things he wanted to see and do. But if worst came to worst, and he had to lay his life down to save Peach’s… he’d already made up his mind.

“This isn’t your fault.”

He took in a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaled it slowly through his lips. Luigi was strong and selfless. He’d had the strength to lie just so he could ease Mario’s woes. The least Mario could do was offer up a comforting lie of his own.

“Yeah.” He nodded again, and if maybe he held Luigi’s hand a bit too tightly, that was okay. “Yeah, I think I can promise that.”

#tw blood #alternate title:#'mario can be a real dick when he's stressed and luigi has the patience of a g*ddamn saint'#sorry this turned out longer than anticipated 😅#this ties into untarnished but it can be a Realistic Kidnapping au standalone too!#super mario bros #smb #mario #luigi #mario x peach #mareach #peaches' fancy fics

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thefallennightmare · 1 year

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Ménage à Trois-seven

*gif created by me(thefallennightmare). simply give credit if you use*

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+ only please, swearing, angst, fluff.

Summary: Bucky has a proposition for Reader, something involving Steve. This trio, however, never expected for their lives to change after that night the way it had.

A/N: holy moly this is a long one. enjoy!

Tags(open): @matisse030502 @buckystevelove @floral-recs @inlovewithametalarm @buckies-dolle @cjand10 @matchat3a @kamaria-sweet-writes @pono-pura-vida @miikayywhocares @kunaikunari @mousee555 @akmenia

The car ride was a thick quiet even with the crowded back seat. I sat next to Steve, who sat in the middle, and on the other side of him sat a well-dolled-up redhead with dark red lipstick, her eyes glancing over toward Steve occasionally. I did my best to keep my gaze out of the window, my mind filled with so much of what was about to come from Steve that I couldn’t focus on the surprise passenger.

Was this a good idea? Him becoming this super soldier? None of it made sense or sounded like the best idea, his best idea. If Bucky were here, he would slap Steve upside the back of the head; something I’d like to do right now, especially with the eyes that he and the redhead are making.

I swallowed the large, jealous lump in my throat because there was no need to feel that way. Steve was simply being nice to her, that I knew because Steve placed his hand on my left knee the second we sat down in the car's backseat. Neither of us expected a third party with us so we were both shocked when we saw the car pull up.

“Who’s that?” I asked Steve.

He sighed gently. “Peggy.”

The same Peggy that had been with him during his time at basic training. The same Peggy that had a hand in choosing him for this program.

I ought to wring her neck for that.

Steve assured me he had no feelings toward her but failed to mention how gorgeous she was.

“Hey.”

His soft voice brought my attention away from the window, and I responded with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you alright? I don’t think you’ve said one word since the car picked us up,” he mentioned.

I nodded while trying to smile at him. “I’m just nervous for you, that’s all.”

Steve brought my hand up to his lips and left a few pepper-soft kisses on the inside of my palm. “You don’t have to worry about me, doll. I’ll be fine.”

All I could do was ignore him, not wanting to give my brain an excuse to think of whatever this procedure was. So I thought of Bucky instead and what he was doing right at this moment. Who was he with? Was he thinking about them?

Was he even alive?

I squeezed my eyes shut tight to force that thought out of my mind. Bucky had promised me in his most recent letter not to dwell on that thought. If I did, it would make things difficult for me when all he wanted was for me to keep a smile on my face.

“I got beat up in that alley,” Steve’s finger pointed in front of my face. “In that parking lot. And behind that diner.”

With a quick follow of his finger, my heart pinched at the memory he had spoken of. Steve got beat up in the alley we had passed and thankfully, Bucky had found him before he became worse for wear.

Peggy blinked. “Did you have something against running away?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, not liking the difference in the tone of her voice.

“If you run away, they’ll never stop.”

Steve looked down at his hands so I reached for them, covering them with my own. It was the talk of that town that he was always standing up against the bigger guys, and bullies, and he would never back down. If he didn’t fight for the smaller guys, who would?

The car came to a sudden halt, and I peered through the window, confusion etched into my eyebrows.

“What are we doing at an antique shop?” I questioned.

Peggy simply motioned for us to follow her out of the car and when we were on the busy street, my eyes took in the two bodies that leaned up against the car behind us, one of the man’s fedora hats pulled low over his eyes while the other had his hat pressed against his chest. When their eyes met mine, goosebumps pricked over my skin and fear filled me. Something about these guys didn’t sit right we me.

“Steve,” I laced our fingers together to pull him to a stop. “Are we safe?”

He left a soft kiss on my cheek and some of the fear slipped away. “I promise we are. We need to trust Peggy. She wouldn’t steer us directly into danger.”

I scoffed. “Trust her? I met her an hour ago.”

“Y/N,” Steve sighed. “Can you please do this for me?”

It was my turn to let out a sigh. Even though I had a bad feeling about the entire thing, I gave him a curt nod before allowing him to drag me inside the antique shop. At the sound of the bell ringing above the door, an older lady with sandy white hair stepped through a curtain.

“Wonderful weather this morning, isn’t it?” She said.

Peggy nodded. “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”

Before I could even wonder why they were talking about the weather, the older lady stepped to the side of the three of us to walk through the previous curtain she had walked through. It was only a few steps until we came to a stop in front of a bookshelf.

“I’ve got a bad feeling” I muttered mostly to myself.

Steve, however, gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

My shoulders jumped at the sound of something unlocking, and the bookcase in front of us slowly opened. Peggy didn’t bother to look at us, only kept her gaze forward as she walked down this short hallway. I took in the few people wearing lab coats, and we walked passed a table that someone was sitting behind; she gave us a small smile. She, along with a few others, was wearing almost exactly what Steve was wearing.

Steve was dressed up in his army uniform which meant that wherever we headed was some kind of hidden military base. Why was it hidden? What were they so afraid of others finding?

The doors in front of us opened, and we stepped out onto a balcony, the peeling green railing was there for me to grasp as I stared down at the many more bodies below. As the sound of us, all of their movements halted and stared up at us.

A small gasp fell from my lips. “Is that Howard Stark?!”

Peggy cleared her throat, annoyed at my sudden enthusiasm. “Yes. We’ll be using his technology for this procedure.”

I continued to stare at the billionaire that stood out in the middle of the scientists and it wasn’t until Steve pulled me along that we descended the steps. An older man with balding grey hair and round glasses perched high on his nose closed the distance between us with an extended hand toward Steve.

Steve’s hand dropped mine, and I frowned at the sudden loss of warmth.

“Good morning,” the man smiled.

A bright flash blinded us and after I blinked a few times, I noticed a photographer in the room had taken a picture of Steve and the man.

Steve turned towards me. “Y/N, I’d like you to meet Dr. Erskine.”

My jaw slacked slightly. This was the man that offered Steve this baffling opportunity? This was the man that was changing Steve, my Steve, the one that I had fallen in love with. Into some kind of super soldier? What would this mean for him IF it had worked?

“Ah,” Erskine smiled brightly. “Mr. Rogers talked a lot about you during his time at camp.”

I shifted on my feet, nervous. “Good things, I hope.”

He nodded. “Only the best. You seem to have quite the hold on him.”

If it was any other time or place, my heart would have swelled at the words but now as I stared at the contraption in the middle of the room there was only one thing on my mind.

“What is that?”

It looked like some kind of torture chamber, somewhere for Steve to lie in and get god knows what done to him.

Dr. Erskine sensed my doubt and came up next to me as I walked around the chamber-like bed.

“Mr. Rogers will step inside where we will close him in and administer the serum,” he explained.

My feet froze, locking eyes with the doctor. “Steve’s claustrophobic, he won’t step inside this thing.”

“Doll,” Steve began.

“Have you tested this serum?” I asked with my arms crossed over my chest.

“No, not recently,” Dr. Erskine admitted.

My eyes bulged. “Not recently? So what you’re saying is you do not know if this serum could kill Steve?”

He nodded, and I groaned while giving Steve my attention. “You want to do this?”

It was Steve who nodded now before grasping my hands and pulled me into him. My eyes peered down at him, only slightly, because the heels of my shoes had given me an extra half inch on him. With his small stature, I thought for sure Steve wouldn’t like it if I was taller than him but he never minded. He loved the way the straps of my heels wrapped around the soft skin of my ankles.

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingered on the nape of my neck.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Y/N. I’m doing this.”

I let out a shaky breath and reluctantly nodded. “Bucky is going to kill you once he finds out. You know that right? Then he will kill me for allowing you to do this.”

That caused Steve to chuckle low. “I think we both know that Bucky wouldn’t ever lay a finger on you like that because of something I did.”

I blinked, my eyes burning with tears. “There’s a chance I lost him. I can’t lose you.”

My words had trailed off with the rush of wet tears slipping over the skin of my cheek but Steve was quick to wipe them away. He hushed my cries with his soft lips to mine in a short but passionate kiss.

“We didn’t lose him. It’s Bucky we’re talking about. He doesn’t give up easily,” Steve reassured me. “And you will not lose me. I will be fine. If I didn’t trust Dr. Erskine, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

All I could do was nod, broken eyes gazing at our feet. Even with his words, Steve couldn’t ease my racing heart. Every vein in my body pulsed with fear; the fear of if this would work and the fear of being alone. Steve’s finger lifted my chin, and we shared another kiss, this time more deeply and I wrapped my arms around his back, reeling him into me. Our chests caved into each other and I could almost feel the beating of his own heart against mine.

Someone cleared their throat which caused Steve to pull away. Peggy was staring at us with an annoyed glint in her eyes.

“Are you ready, Steve?”

He nodded.

“Good. Take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat,” Dr. Erskin said.

Steve did as he was told and when he stood shirtless in front of me, I took in every inch of his skin, ingraining this picture into the confines of my mind in case somehow this procedure didn’t work and it would be the last time I would see Steve.

His hair was messy thanks to his hat and a few strands were falling into his eyes, the bright blueness of them shining back at me. Under the skinny and frail skin of his chest, I watched it rise and fall with each breath he took. The freckles that peppered his skin caught the light from overhead as he laid back down on the bed. I reached for his hand, bringing it to my lips.

“I still don’t feel good about this.”

Dr. Erskine smiled. “Mr. Stark, how are our levels?”

My heart jumped in my throat as the billionaire slinked up beside me, flashing me a bright teethed smile from underneath his mustache. “Levels are one hundred percent. Good.”

He then shrugged down at Steve. “We might dim half the lights of Brooklyn but we are ready, As well ever bed.”

I didn’t miss the way Howard Stark shifted on his feet, unsure of his own words.

With a quick kiss on Steve’s forehead, I cupped his cheek, “I’ll see you soon.”

Steve nodded but even though he was being strong for me, I knew deep down he was afraid. I could feel the way his face shook inside of my hand.

I gave my best smile and followed Dr. Erskine’s orders to go sit upstairs in the viewing deck, alongside Peggy and other men in suits that seemed to fill the room quickly. There was one seat left in the front row, directly in front of the large window that peered down at Steve. I slid into the chair before Peggy even had the chance to glance at it, not bothering to say hello to any of the men. My knee bounced as I bit my nails, nervously. All I could think about was Bucky and how he’d react once he found out about Steve.

Would he be upset like I was? Or would he become aroused at the new Steve?

That thought had just now appeared in my thoughts. Steve said the serum would change his appearance as well, how we didn’t know. We wouldn’t until it was over.

I grimaced as a loud feedback sound from a microphone pierced loudly in my ear. Dr. Erskine was tapping his finger on a microphone, his voice echoing around us in the booth.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Today we don’t take another step towards annihilation but the first step on the path to peace.”

This is what they wanted to use Steve for. As a way for peace?

I scoffed loudly, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Peggy who sat behind me.

Dr. Erskine continued as a large metal tub wheeled in next to Steve. “We begin with a series of microinjections into the subject’s main muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change.”

Nurses around Steve pulled six blue vials out from the metal tub and hooked them up to the chamber he was lying on.

“And then to stimulate growth.” Dr. Erskine’s voice began again. “The subject will be saturated with Vita Rays.”

With his hand on Steve’s shoulder, he began a countdown showing the procedure was about to begin. My heart pounded so hard against its cage in my chest that I could barely breathe, my throat closing in on itself. I felt dizzy as the whole room spun, so I gripped the sides of my chair tightly to hold me down in place. The chamber rose to a parallel position, the three sides of it closing over Steve, not before they had injected the serum into Steve.

Dr. Erskine knocked on the door. “Steven. Can you hear me?”

“How’s Y/N? Is she doing alright?”

All eyes from the view booth stared at me and I slunk back into my chair, a hue of red creeping over my skin. Even when Steve should only worry about himself, he couldn’t stop thinking of me.

Dr. Erskine looked up at me and I gave him a thumbs up, showing I was alright, given the circumstances.

As they proceeded, the building rumbled low and a bright light coming from the chamber blinded us up here.

“Vitals are normal,” one doctor said.

The higher Howard Stark raised the pressure of the Vita Rays, the brighter the light shined and it wasn’t until I heard Steve’s scream that I raised to my feet, running back onto the balcony. Peggy’s voice called from behind me, trying to halt my movements.

“Turn it off!” I yelled down at them.

Dr. Erskine was pounding on the face of the chamber, yelling Steve’s name repeatedly.

“Turn it off!” I bellowed once more, tears pricking my eyes.

He turned on his heels, ready to do as I asked until Steve’s voice echoed. “NO! I CAN DO THIS!”

“Steve,” I cried. “Please.”

I fell to my knees, resting my forehead on the cool metal of the railing as Howard Starks voice called out that they reached one hundred percent. The surrounding electricity buzzed and hummed as the light inside the chamber pierced my eyes. Sparks shot off from all the technology in the room until suddenly, the power of the chamber cooled to a quiet hum.

Slowly, I rose to my feet as everything around me quieted down.

“Is he alright?” I asked Peggy.

She stared at me with uncertainty and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

My feet raced down the stairs and I yanked my arm away from a guard who tried to stop me. Dr. Erskine held up a hand, saying it was alright.

“Steve?” My voice quaked with worry.

Suddenly, the doors of the chamber opened, and I feared the worst, Steve’s mangled and contorted body waiting to fall into a heap on the ground.

Only it didn’t. The man inside was still Steve but different. His muscles had doubled and the definition of his abs was the first thing that caught my attention. He was breathing heavily, eyes closed, and it was when he fell that Dr. Erskine caught him that Steve awoke. His eyes fluttered open, gazing around the room. Howard Stark was on the other side of him and by now everyone in the view deck had filled into the main area, astonished that it had worked.

The noise of the happy chatter was muted in my ears as I continued to stare at Steve, unable to move because yes it may have looked like him but was he still my Steve?

It was my name falling from his lips that had snapped me from my frozen state.

“Where’s Y/N?”

Dr. Erskine found me among a flood of people and reached for my hand, dragging me closer to Steve. Now, even with my heels, he had towered over me by at least a foot. His chest look larger now close up and I raised my hand to touch it but reeled back, unsure.

“Doll,” Steve cooed. “Are you alright?”

His eyes didn’t miss the way mine were wet with tears. His hand reached for me but I took a step back.

“How do I know you’re Steve and not some kind of monster?”

Steve flinched but composed himself quickly. “I met you when you were 16 when you first started dating Bucky.”

I raised a brow, still not convinced. “So? Anyone could know that?”

He chuckled. “Under that black dress you’re wearing that skimpy-.”

My hand clamped over Steve’s mouth, hushing his words instantly. I didn’t need everyone in the room to know what color underwear I had worn today.

“Shhh!” I hissed, eyes boring into him.

Even if his body had changed, those eyes were still the same bright blue I remembered.

“I can’t believe it worked,” I admitted with a long breath.

My hand traced over the skin of his chest and stomach, his hard muscles tensing under my touch. I swallowed a moan and pressed my legs together.

Steve cupped my cheek. “I told you it would.”

I ignored his always-right attitude. “How do you feel?”

“Taller,” he smirked.

Even with everyone around us, congratulating one another, it felt as if Steve and I were the only two in the room thinking the same thing. We needed to feel each other, Steve in his new body, as soon as possible.

Suddenly, a loud boom echoed around us, and glass fell on top of us like rain. Steve wrapped an arm around my shoulder and threw me to the ground, himself protecting me from whatever had blown up. Once the ringing in our ears stopped for a moment, Steve looked me all over.

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, lips parted to speak until two distinct gunshots muffled Dr. Erskine's words. I watched in horror as his body fell to the ground, Steve running over to his side. He poked Steve in the chest twice, the silent action being enough for Steve to understand.

He looked over at me. “Stay here.”

Before I could even protest, Steve ran after the mystery shooter leaving me among the chaos.

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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5 Tips for Building a Sustainable Writing Practice

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. First Draft Pro, a 2023 Camp NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a great writing app—whether you’re writing solo or with a co-author. Here are a few tips for building a sustainable writing practice, brought to you by author Ariana Brown and First Draft Pro.

We’ve all heard the advice to “write every day,” as if it were that easy! Translation: suck it up, no one cares if you’re tired. But what if there was another way to get writing done, without being unkind to yourself?

Hi, I’m Ariana Brown, and I teach writers how to create a writing practice that is sustainable, flexible, and fulfilling. Most of my students are chronically ill, disabled, neurodivergent, or simply exhausted from the daily stresses of life. I know writing isn’t your only responsibility—capitalism makes sure of that! But I strongly believe that writing should be an enjoyable activity you look forward to.

Below I’ve compiled my top tips for exhausted writers who want to be kinder to themselves—and still get the work done.

1. Add pleasure to your writing routine.

Sensory pleasures are neither frivolous nor are they only for children. They’re a crucial part of being alive! They give us something to look forward to when times are tough and we need motivation. Candles, soft blankets, cold beverages, mood lighting, dance breaks, yummy treats—whatever you choose, make sure it’s something you love. Paint your nails a fun color so you have something beautiful to look at while you’re typing away. Make a playlist of your favorite songs and after you finish a chapter, blast one song so loudly you have to get up and dance. Then, get back to writing. Remember, even for the most focused among us, pleasure is a better motivator than shame.

2. Be clear about your intentions.

What brought you to writing in the first place? For some, it was the ability to escape into our imaginations. For others, it was the chance to finally express what we’d been holding inside. Identify your reason for writing, then ask yourself: Am I still enjoying this? Do I still feel connected to my reason for writing? If not, explore how you can strengthen your connection to your inner child’s reason for writing.

3. Work with your brain, not against it.

If we know that everyone’s brain works differently, why do we force strict discipline and linear processes on ourselves? My advice: find or create a writing process that works for you. Maybe you love outlines; maybe you prefer to see where the words take you. Either way, make space for wandering, play, and discovery as you write. Take brain breaks. Doodle, map, dance, and draw when you get distracted. Body double with other writers, try new exercises and prompts to make the writing sing, and take plenty of breaks to stretch your body and talk to friends. We come to writing with our whole selves. Listen to your body, don’t shut it off.

4. Find a writing community.

You don’t have to wait for a community to come to you! I offer co-writing sessions on Zoom four times a month for my Patreon supporters, but do what works for you. Attend local open mics as an audience member and cheer on your peers. Invite your best friends to your living room once a month for a two hour writing/crafting session. Or check your local library and bookstores for free workshops and author events. You don’t have to do this work alone.

5. Develop a gratitude practice.

Finishing your draft is a huge accomplishment, but it’s not the only milestone to be celebrated. Consider creating opportunities to thank yourself throughout your writing practice. You’re doing an amazing and difficult thing. The fact that you keep showing up is worthy of celebration. Whether you decide to journal, rest, pray, meditate, or reward yourself, a little gratitude goes a long way.

Ariana Brown is a queer writer from San Antonio, TX, based in Houston. She is the author of We Are Owed (Grieveland, 2021) and Sana Sana (Game Over Books, 2020), and a national collegiate poetry slam champion. Ariana holds an MFA in Poetry, MS in Library and Information Science, and a BA in African Diaspora Studies and Mexican American Studies. She has been writing, teaching, and performing for over a decade. Follow her online @ArianaThePoet and www.arianabrown.com.

#nanowrimo #writing advice #executive dysfunction #neurodivergent writers #disabled writers #by nano sponsor #first draft pro #ariana brown

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gavvaiins · 1 year

Text

lonely

summary: having to carry the future of multiple universes on his shoulders miguel simply is tired, tired and lonely.

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader warnings: angst, pinch of fluff, less actions, more vibes; story's gender neutral but i feel it might be too female-coded? idk ; - ; word count: 3.7k

a/n: yeah ... this is longer than it needs to be. Might got confused by grammar later ... idk while writing i fell into a narrating-style crisis? It definetly doesn't help when the book you're reading is written is a different tense.

Sometimes all Miguel wished for was some time alone. In a building full of arachno-humanoids, constantly surrounded by either living people, holograms or other species there was sometimes not enough room to breathe. So, nothing reprehensible about wanting some time for himself.

However, Miguel wasn’t longing to be alone.

He didn’t need to.

He already was.

Despite being surrounded by dozens of spider-beings he was alone. He had no friends. Jess was a colleague, Peter Parker was a dear colleague, the best – and what was even Peter B. Parker? Honestly, Miguel didn’t know, but despite all these different Spider-People there was no one waiting for him. Not even in Nueva York, a city with far more citizens than anyone could count.

No one was waiting for him to come home – or to simply arrive, anywhere.

Lyla was nothing but an AI generated hologram, he created.

There was no one waiting for him.

And that was good. No one waiting for him meant safety; for him and for him. Without anyone there waiting for him to return home he could neither hurt nor lose someone. Miguel noticed that it wasn’t loneliness he was longing for, after all he was pretty much alone in his world, carrying the burden all by himself. Having time to breathe, to think that was what he was longing for. A moment without Lyla and the other arachno-humanoids, without having to think about anomalies and the downfall of universes.

All he wanted was peace.

“Miguel?” His body grew tense as your voice emerged from the dark, careful and soft, almost fearful as if you were entering a cave, unsure of what you’d meet in there. There was a chance that you hadn't spotted him yet, sitting on his lowered platform all by himself. Within moments he heard your voice he began holding his breath. If he didn’t make a sound, you wouldn’t catch him, which was a dumb and childish thought considering the lighting of the running monitors, which illuminated his big frame quite perfectly.

What were you even doing here? There was no need for you talking to him.

“Miguel?” You asked. He could sense the hesitation in your voice, it reminded him of the heroes in fairy tales, both brave and stupid enough to enter the dark woods full of beastly and hungry creatures. When Miguel thought about it, his room was a bit like a forest – or more a cave, dark and mysterious. To his surprise the light tremor in your voice didn’t stop you from further exploring the room. If this was truly a fairytale, you’d either be very brave or stupid, or both. Whatever it was Miguel would’ve eaten you alive.

But this wasn’t a fairytale, and he wasn’t the big, bad wolf, ready and hungry enough to devour you. But why didn’t you stop?

Why were you still going?

He was the Spider-Man who hoped not to be found by anyone, especially not you.

With every passing second Miguel’s body grew more, and more tense, his lungs felt strained, knowing very well that with every step you took, you were closer to seeing him. He knew that it would’ve been smarter to swing away, to simply vanish in the dark. But he couldn’t move. Something in him didn’t want to flee, despite his longing for peace and serenity. He was like a spider trapped in its own web, paralyzed by his own poison.

Maybe he longed for you to find him.

“Miguel.” Your voice was nothing but a whisper, not entirely fearful but caring as well. Yet, Miguel kept using the tactics of a child. Stoic and stiff did he keep his posture, eyes on the ground, head buried in his arms; if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either. Rather he avoided your eyes, your whole presence like the plague.

How did he, Spider-Man 2099, guardian of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse and destroyer of a whole universe, look like? A mountain of a man hunched on his sunken platform, hiding his face like a fearful child, who didn’t know where to put its overwhelming feelings. He used to be an authority, always standing high on his platform, towering over and looking down on you. But now it was you who looked down on him, a pile of misery in blue and red barely illuminated by flickering screens.

“Oh, Miguel.” He could sense your presence beside him, he could sense everything of you – your pity and empathy was almost sickening. Your body was awfully close but kept a minimal distance of respect, and to his own surprise Miguel felt his tense muscles relax.

Finally, he found himself able to breathe again.

For a moment you said nothing, no Miguel, no how are you. No words left his lips either. You two sat in silence and Miguel enjoyed it, a little – sitting with you in the dark, just the two of you and he hated to admit it, but he began missing his name rolling off your tongue. His name sounded so soft and caring, like he meant something, like he was someone others cared for.

Someone you cared for.

And something inside of him longed hearing you say his name, again, and again.

To his own surprise he needed it, and he surprised himself by how desperately he needed to hear his name coming from you.

“Miguel?” Ah, there it was. Finally. It was embarrassing admit how Miguel’s heart enjoyed it deeply, hearing his name rolling of your tongue. It felt like warm milk mixed with honey running down his throat, filling his body with warmth and a feeling of serenity, of home. Despite his inner positive response to your presence he didn’t move, nor did he speak. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Feeling your knee nudge his thigh, his body grew tense again. The touch was subtle, yet it alarmed all his senses, as if your touch could hurt him. Couldn’t you just continue gently serenading his name, like a sweet lullaby he could relax and fall asleep to? Miguel didn’t need to talk with you about his feelings. He didn’t want to.

“Doesn’t – “

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled, words swallowed by the void underneath his arms.

“– look like nothing,” you said. No answer, and for a moment you grew quiet. He had no idea what you were doing but he could hear you shifting in your seat beside him. Were you finally leaving?

No.

He wanted you to leave, didn’t he? Yes … that’s what he wanted.

But you weren’t leaving, he knew it when he felt your gentle touch on his shoulder. His muscles jumped slightly under your touch as if your fingers were ice cold or burning hot. They weren’t. Your touch was light, careful, like a butterfly dancing on his skin. First came your fingers, gracing his scapula as if you were testing the waters, then rested your palm on his shoulder and despite the highly advanced suit he was wearing, it felt like his skin was burning – a malfunction, an electric shock.

His heart jumped.

It was too much.

“I said, leave me alone!” Forceful, almost feral, he slapped your hand away. Risen to his full dominating size Miguel was panting heavily, fangs bared, talons shown and eyes gleaming of anger … and hurt, and loneliness, confusion. He looked like a beast, tall and furious, ready to strike or devour you.

“Miguel.” He tried not to flinch. He hated the sound of your voice; it didn’t feel soothing anymore. Instead, it was laced with fear, but mostly hurt. But what was he expecting? Miguel had scared you; he had hurt you.

Good.

Lyla would scold him for being an ass. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he needed to, and if that’s what’s needed to leave him be, he’d endure it … and he would do it again, if he needed to. Despite his body telling him differently, he neither needed you nor your pity.

His initial thought was that his plan was working. The big, bad Spider-Man was indeed an asshole, who made you cry for no reason. Never would you talk or even look at him again, which he told himself was fine. But you weren’t crying. Sure, you were holding your arm protectively close to your body as if his talons had teared through your suit, making you bleed. But no sign of tears rimming your eyes, plus, you weren’t leaving.

You were still here.

“What the fuck?”

Why wasn’t it working? “I told you to leave me.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still there?” With satisfaction he watched you thinking of a good response, gears turning in your head, to no avail. Your mouth opened slightly before pressing it shut, eyes lowering to your hands folded in your lap. That was it; without anything to retort you surely would leave him.

Again, the two of you sat in complete silence. One he didn’t enjoy, but need, and surely neither did you. However, he was sure that you’d given up, any second, and leave him alone. “Is that really what you want?”

He looked at you, blinking.

“Is it really what you want?” You repeated, staring into his dark eyes and there is something in yours that scared him. Miguel couldn’t tell what it was, there was no poison in your eyes, no malice, yet he was afraid. “Do you really wish to be alone?”

You scared him, and that’s nothing anyone would ever associate with you. He hated to admit it, but he was, not of your physical strength or arachno-powers. Surely, he could easily knock you out. Rather he was afraid that you’d find something you weren’t supposed to see.

Miguel hesitated. “Yes.”

“I have to.” It just slipped out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to speak his mind, even if it was just a bit. You weren’t supposed to know. But now you knew something that was meant to stay hidden, that was meant only for himself. A burden he had meant to carry himself. There was no reason to hide, yet there was no reason to face you either, so Miguel did what he could best, being alone. With a heavy sigh he crept back into the shell he so shamefully had lost. This time Miguel didn’t burry himself beneath his arms, instead he stared in the darkness of his office, waiting for you to leave. By that time, he should’ve known that you wouldn’t leave him.

Not like that.

“Oh, Miguel.” Again, his name was nothing but a soft whisper, comforting. There lied some sadness behind his name, yet it was all he had wished for moments ago, before he lashed out at you. “You are not alone. We’re all Spider-Man.”

Some incomprehensible grumble left his lips, how should he explain? It wasn’t your fight, neither was it Peter Parker’s, only his. “It was me.”

“I’ve done this,” he said before you could even think of calling him again.

“I –“ Miguel’s breath hitched and for a second his heart stopped beating, stumbling over its own rhythm as he felt your fingers dancing on his skin again.

How dare you?

He wanted to bare his teeth at you, again, he wanted to scare you, to push you away from him, but he couldn’t. His mind told him to, like he used to do whit so many people before. You knew too much about him. But his heart, his body, craved for the softness of your voice, longed for the warmth of your heart. Carefully your fingers grazed his skin, almost waiting for some sign of permission until they could finally rest on his cheeks. Despite wearing your spider-suit your hand felt surprisingly soft on his skin.

With a sigh he leaned into the comfort of your touch, until he remembered who he was and what he did. His head shot up like your hand was hurting him but before he could utter any more words of misery you placed both of your hands on his cheeks, gently forcing him to look at you.

“You’ve done what? Jumping through the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse.” Your voice was calm and gentle, as was your smile. He could barely look at you. “That is quite a complicated name, maybe you should think about calling it spider-verse instead.”

Miguel meant to smile at your joke, even if only subtle, a ghost of a smile only you’d be able to detect and in any other situation he would. But he couldn’t. Not now, when he’d say something so gruesome that would paint him in a different light. However, the truth didn’t want to roll over his tongue, revealing who he really was, not when you so gently smiled at him, caressing his skin with your fingers. Heaving a sigh, he let go, and melted into your touch like warm butter. Was it good to let his guard down? Probably not. Neither was it professional to lean into your touch, almost gracing your clothed wrist with his lips. It wasn’t good but it felt good, the softness of your touch, the warmth seeking through your spider-gloves. If you’d allow it, he will fall asleep right here in your arms.

It was impossible for him to resist.

If only Lyla could see him now … big, bad wolf turned into a puppy.

However, he was left dumbfounded when he found himself stripped of your touch, even more so, when he found himself disliking the sudden coldness. Wanting to know what went wrong Miguel starred at you but nothing seemed to have changed. You still looked at him with the same fondness and empathy in your eyes, the only difference was that you’re patting your lap. His eyes followed your directions, and he grew hesitant.

“May I?” It should’ve been Miguel asking and not you. Though, resting on your thighs was a nice, almost heavenly thought but he shouldn’t enjoy your comfort too much. “Miguel, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s okay.” He declined.

“C’mon Miguel, it’s comfortable I promise,” you smiled, but he didn’t move. Surely it must be more comfortable than hanging in your hands, but Miguel couldn’t let himself fall on your lap. Already he was enjoying the tenderness of your fingers too much, what would happen if he rested on your thighs? Would he melt into them like he did with your hands? The though was nice but he resisted, not for long though. Tugging, basically dragging him by his arms, you somehow managed to pull his heavy body down on your lap. Carefully he shifted his weight, so only his head and upper body were lying on you. He didn’t want to crush you. However, the feeling that spread through his body as he rested on your thighs was both nice, comfortable and weird. Overall, it was a weird sensation and he’d found himself in a situation he’d never dreamed about before.

“May I?” Miguel had no idea what you were up to, yet he agreed with a hum. His eyes fell close and he hummed again, when he felt your fingers carefully dancing over his body, moving from his shoulder to his hair. It wasn’t the same when you held him in your hands, fingers holding him and caressing his cheeks. It felt different but good, relaxing your hands running through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. And sometimes he could feel the ghost of your fingertips brushing over his face.

He didn’t know how long you stayed in this position, sitting in silence, him resting on your lap and you caressing him like a pet. Miguel couldn’t remember the last time somebody did this for him or when his muscles felt so relaxed. Again, if you’d allow it, he’ll fall asleep right here by your side. But then he remembered what you asked him a long time ago.

“I killed them.” Miguel’s voice was surprisingly calm, even to him. Neither knowing what he meant nor how to answer this, you remained silent. But he could feel your eyes on him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it … not after confessing murder. Yet, he explained, “I killed them all, billions of people, my – his daughter Gabriella, all because I was selfish. – Gabby died because I was foolish to believe that my actions wouldn’t have any consequences.”

His confession shocked you; he could hear it in the change of your breathing and the stillness of your hands, and something in him died. Shocked by his confession you surely would leave. Push him off you like something disgusting. Maybe you would never talk to him again, unless it was necessary, and the thought scared him. His mind had told him to push you away. It was best to handle it all by himself, it was what he always did. But the stupidity people called the heart had won and now the thought of you leaving scared him.

“Tell me what happened.” Your voice was calm, not scared, not soft, just calm. It wasn’t the reaction Miguel had imagined, especially not when your fingers continued to play with his hair. You weren’t even disgusted by him. What kind of person were you to not leave him? “Tell me what happened.”

And he did. Miguel told you everything. How he took the role of a dead man, living his life and raising his daughter. He made it clear that he thought of his actions as selfish and stupid, because he erased a whole universe and with that Gabriella’s future. Never would he forget the fear in her eyes, how she clung to him, looking for safety, calling for her dad – for him, not knowing her real dad has died – until she disappeared as well.

Telling his nightmare was awful, remembering the horrors of his action never got any less painful. But sharing it with you felt surprisingly relieving. It wasn’t like he was healed from his pain but telling you about it made it a little more bearable. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

How should he answer? Thank you? Moments ago, Miguel would’ve grumbled at the pitiful – no, empathic, he’d learned that much by now – tone in your voice but now he liked it, just as he enjoyed you calling him by his name. Miguel didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t think you killed them, Miguel,” you said after an eternity, never stopping playing with his brown strands. Careful he shifted his weight to look at you. Even with one eye lazily opened, he decided that he liked looking at you, watching how you react to him. “Then, who did?”

Wringing with the words on your tongue you hesitated. “I don’t know.”

In normal circumstances Miguel would be grim, and scoff at your naïve words, claiming to be the villain of his story. The selfish murderer of Gabriella O’Hara. However, now he felt rather tame and tired. It’s enough for him. So, he only hummed, closing his eye to revel in the fondness of your touch.

“But you can’t know either.” He looked at you again. He had to correct you, he knew, it was obvious, really. But before an answer could roll over his tongue you were quick to intervene. “I know what you’re going to say, Miguel. You’ve seen it and to you it makes sense, but listen – I … how does anything make any sense? Multiple universes, anomalies, canon events … we shouldn’t even be here, Miguel. I shouldn’t, none of us. But here we are.”

There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, faint yet he heard and didn’t like it. Miguel knew you’d meant to comfort him but, in the end, you’d realized, that nothing of this should’ve happened. You should’ve never met the friends you made in the spider society, never should’ve met him and never found him dark, and lonely in his room. Almost instinctively his hand reached out to you, gently cupping your face. Now it was his turn to comfort you, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. Unsure if he should draw small circles with his thumb, like he wanted to, or caress like you used to do, he just held you. “Don’t. – The multiverse is mine to preserve.”

“Oh, Miguel.” A soft, but sad smile graced your lips as you laid your hand over his, unwilling to let him go. “It’s not yours, either.”

“But it was my fault, not yours. Don’t worry about something I’ve done.”

You sighed. “Miguel, you shouldn’t carry this burden alone, we’re all Spider-Man. It’s not your duty alone to save the multiverse, you can’t do this alone. I – I think what I’m saying is, you’re not alone, Miguel. You might think that you’ve to do all by yourself but that’s not the truth, we help you, all of us. We will carry that burden with you, I will.”

Truly it was sweet how caring you were, none of you could – and should – carry the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse on your shoulders. It was his job to preserve one less universe from being destroyed. It was his shoulders who had to carry the burden of it all, not yours. None of you should ever have to worry about the stability of your universe. But there was something burning in your eyes as you spoke, something Miguel enjoyed watching. So instead of objecting and lecturing you about the truth he heaved a hefty sigh and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable in your lap. It takes some time until you picked up where you left playing with his hair, gently scratching his skin here and there.

It's quiet as you ran your fingers through his hair, he doesn’t even move. You weren’t even sure if he was still breathing. But you swore you heard a hum, a content sound vibrating through his big body. However, when you try to check on him there’s nothing, no sound, no movement, not even a smile. Miguel simply looked like he’s asleep, stoic and grim – just like when he’s awake. It’s a silly though, him always looking serious no matter if he’s asleep or wake, it made you smile. However, in rare moments, when you’re not looking at him, his lips curl into a grin.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #reader-insert #marvel #spiderman x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 #x reader

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