#EXTREMELY unsettling in a serene way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyperactively-me · 5 months

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king!ghost x reader -- war

soooo. yeah! this part is so 'simon "only soft for his girl" riley.' but, this is where shit gets seriousss lol ALSO WORD COUNT IS OBSCENE I'M SO SORRY (i'm not sorry), with this part being about ~8.4k words total. HAVE FUN I GUESS! warnings: LOTS OF SMUT, (unprotected sex, but there is no pregnancy resulted from this here because its ~fantasy~!), mentions of death, talks of war

You remember exactly what you were doing when the news was broken to you and Simon.

You and Simon were lounging on your plush couch, your feet propped up in Simon’s lap, sitting before an open fireplace as he read to you. One of Simon’s hands held your ankle as the other held the book open. You had cuddled up with a blanket, slightly dozing off as Simon’s deep voice drawled through the story. It was peaceful, serene…domestic.

The door to the chamber swung open, revealing a solemn-faced messenger. Simon’s gaze hardened as he shifted from the book to the intruder, a subtle furrow forming on his brow. Walking in without knocking was extremely uncommon, and just as Simon was about to reprimand them, the messenger spoke.

“Your majesties, forgive my intrusion, but I bring news from the southern borders. The Southern Kingdom has launched a full-scale invasion. War has come to Kastron.”

The world seemed to move in slow motion as you took in their words, an icy chill running up your spine despite the fireplace a mere few feet in front of you. The tranquility of the moment shattered, and the book slipped from Simon’s grasp, its pages rustling as it hit the floor. The shock of the message echoed through the room, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

Simon’s grip on your ankle tightened involuntarily. The flames in the fireplace now seemed to cast ominous shadows on the walls. You sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders, and shot a worried glance at Simon. Simon’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you.

Simon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening with a sense of duty and determination. You withdrew your feet from his lap, now sitting up straight, wordless. You swallowed thickly, your throat felt dry.

“What?” Simon’s voice is urgent. “Are you certain?”

The messenger nodded, his expression grim. “The information was just passed along to me from a few witnesses, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing rapidly. Our scouts barely had time to send word.”

A weight landed on your chest, a sudden heaviness that made it harder to breathe. Simon immediately shifts gears, rapidly standing up, his eyes never leaving the messenger.

“Prepare the council. We convene in the war room immediately,” Simon commanded, his voice unwavering. The way he switched so quickly from domestic tranquility to a stance of solemnity and command was a stark reminder of the kind of ruler he was — impenetrable, stoic, and ruthless.

The messenger hastened out of the room, and you and Simon followed suit.

As the three of you made your way through the corridors, tens of strategists and other high-ranking military officials added to the growing assembly. The tension in the air was palpable as you reached the war room, its doors swinging open to reveal a scene of controlled chaos. Maps adorned the walls, lanterns flickered on the large table, and the hum of hushed conversations filled the room.

Simon took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding immediate attention. Simon refused a chair, pressing his hands onto the table as he leaned over. General Price stood by his side, ready to translate the unfolding crisis into a coherent plan of action. Commander Garrick is clutching rolls of paper, already prepared with possible battle strategies.

The council members acknowledged your arrival with nods, but the gravity of the situation left little room for formalities. Simon wasted no time and addressed the room, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

You felt numb, seated in a chair that had to be pulled up for you to sit near to Simon. It felt as though you were underwater, spacing out as Price debriefed the room on the unfolding situation.

General Price stepped forward, unfolding a detailed map that showcased the contested territories. His finger traced the movements of the Southern Kingdom’s forces. As he spoke, you tried your best to pay attention, still caught up in the immediate shift in tone. Not even two weeks had passed since the ball was held in your honor, and approximately two months since you were stabbed, and somehow war was officially declared on Kastron. This is what you were afraid of having to deal with as queen, yet you knew it would be inevitable, knowing Kastron’s history.

“The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing on multiple fronts. Our scouts report significant numbers, and their progress is faster than anticipated,” General Price explained, his tone steady despite the concerning information.

Simon’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. The room fell into a focused silence, broken only by the scratching of quills and the occasional whispered discussion among council members.

“And what are their intentions?” Simon asked, his voice sharp.

“We’ve gathered that, since the tensions experienced a few months ago, it is most likely their primary aim to steal our resources and the silver-rich lands, your majesty. They also seek to dismantle our military power by taking over Kastron,” Gaz speaks confidently, motioning to the notes in his hands.

Responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you could feel the collective gaze of the council turning to you and Simon for guidance. Simon looked back at you, a silent exchange of shared determination.

Simon turns back to face the rest of the room, his gaze fierce. “We cannot let the Southern Kingdom broach any villages. We will defend our lands, protect our people, and ensure the security of Kastron. But, Price, I also want you to mobilize our forces. We need to establish defensive positions and buy time for additional reinforcements. General Price, what are our immediate options?”

Price outlined a series of potential strategies, ranging from fortifying key locations to launching counterattacks to sending diplomats. The council engaged in debates, discussing the strengths and weaknesses of each approach.

Amidst the planning, you felt a surge of responsibility. You couldn’t merely be a passive observer; the fate of Kastron rested on the decisions made in this very room. Gathering your resolve, you spoke up.

“Um, maybe we can explore diplomatic options first. It’s clear the Southern Kingdom wants resources and power. If we can negotiate a compromise, we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” you suggested, meeting Simon’s eyes with a hopeful yet determined expression.

Simon considered your words, the furrow in his brow softening. Diplomacy wasn’t his first instinct, but he recognized the potential benefits. The room fell into a contemplative silence as everyone weighed the idea.

After a moment, Simon nodded. “You’re right. We’lll send envoys to open a line of communication. General Price, prepare a delegation. Make it clear that we are willing to negotiate, but also ready to defend our kingdom.”

The tension in the room eased slightly as the council shifted its focus to the diplomatic approach. Three delegates were selected, messages were drafted, and plans were set in motion.

That was a week ago. Two days after you had made your suggestion and the council voted, the bodies of these three delegates turned up near a village close to Kastron’s southern border.

When the news of the delegates’ fate struck the war room, Simon was beyond infuriated. Diplomacy had been brutally rebuffed, and the Southern Kingdom’s intentions were now crystal clear.

The warmth of the crackling fire from that night seems worlds away from the chill that now permeates the air. Looking back now, it all felt like a distant dream.

Now, you’re sitting in an empty bed, trying your best to think positively despite the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant sounds of preparations echoing through the castle. You glance at the empty space beside you, the absence of Simon leaving a void that no amount of positive thinking can fill. The shadow of your personal guard stands outside your bedroom door, a constant reminder of the heightened security measures now in place. The once-familiar comfort of the castle feels alien, additional guards posted throughout the halls. The sense of confinement within the walls was palpable, a stark contrast to the freedom and celebration of the ball held in your honor two weeks ago. The events of the past week replay in your mind like a haunting refrain. The failed attempt at diplomacy, the loss of the delegates, and the inexorable march of the Southern Kingdom's forces toward Kastron—all of it hangs over you, a dark cloud blocking out the sun.

Simon has been stuck in the war room for nearly 16 hours every day for the past week, tirelessly strategizing, receiving updates, and making crucial decisions. As Simon remained confined in the war room, you took on the role of overseeing domestic affairs, ensuring that the daily functions of the kingdom continued despite the looming threat of war. The once-familiar routine now carried an undercurrent of tension, and you found yourself managing not only the logistics but also the emotional well-being of the people within and outside the castle.

The past week was a blur of meetings with advisers, coordinating with servants to maintain order, and responding to the concerns of citizens. The castle buzzed with an anxious energy that mirrored the uncertainty of the times.

Because of this arrangement, you and Simon would really only see each other in the morning while waking, and even then, that was only for a short time. Your morning routine has become a brief respite from the relentless demands of the impending conflict. Simon would wake up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You would roll into him, squeezing him tightly. As you both rose from bed, the weight of responsibility descended once again. Simon would dress in his regal armor, the emblem of Kastron emblazoned on his chestplate. You, too, would don the attire befitting a queen, the weight of your crown a constant reminder of the duty that now defined your days. Breakfast was always hurried, yet a brief pause in the chaos. Conversations were punctuated by updates from the war room, and from there, your day began.

A few more days pass, and one evening, Simon returns to the bedroom the earliest he has in the past few days. The look on his face is extremely solemn, and extremely sorrowful.

“Dove, we need to talk.”

You’re immediately pushing yourself off the bed, twisting your hands in your grip.

“Of course, what is it?” Your heart races at the caution in Simon’s voice. The somberness in Simon’s expression deepens your concern. You take a step closer to him, your eyes searching his for any clues.

Simon’s gaze is heavy with sorrow, but yet a hint of determination crosses his features. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. Your hands clasp tighter, a silent plea for reassurance.

“Dove,” he begins, his voice steady but laden with emotion, “the situation has escalated. General Price and I have made a decision. An important decision.”

Your heart skips a beat, anxiety tightening its grip on you. The air in the room feels charged, and you hold your breath, waiting for Simon to continue. He averts his eyes to the ground.

“I... I’m going out into the field,” Simon says slowly.

In that moment, it’s as though the air in the room was swallowed whole. You feel as though you can’t breathe, knees buckling slightly. Are you hearing him right? He looks back up at you.

“Price, Gaz, and I have discussed the strategy, and my presence on the front lines is necessary. We can’t afford to leave anything to chance. I’m highly trained, highly capable, and my place is with our soldiers on the battlefield,” Simon continues, his voice confident and firm.

You’re frozen in place, the room spinning as you process the words. A lump forms in your throat, and you struggle to find your voice. You shake your head vigorously.

“But… no. No. No, no, no, you can’t go. I won’t let you leave.”

Simon steps closer, grabbing your shoulders and holding them firmly. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cold dread settling deep in your chest. “Darlin’, I have to go. I didn’t take this decision lightly. I’ve been to war more times than you know, and all before I even met you.”

You look up at Simon, desperation in your eyes. “But Simon, this is different. I’m here, and I’ve… I’ve never been alone here. And, what if…”

You swallow your words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Simon approaches you again, his touch gentle as he turns you to face him. “You’re not gonna be alone. I’ve asked Soap to stay here, he’ll be with you most days; and I’ll be in communication.”

Simon’s gaze softens as he continues to hold your shoulders, studying your frowning face. “I know. I know this is incredibly difficult, but I need you to understand. The kingdom is in need, and my duty as king demands that I lead our forces. And, I have nothing but full confidence in your abilities to lead Kastron.”

You don’t say anything, your bottom lip quivering as you try to keep yourself together.

“I need you to stay here, love,” Simon murmurs, his voice a gentle plea. “The castle needs a leader, and you’ve shown that you are capable. You’ll be out of harm’s way.”

A sense of helplessness washes over you, and you pull away from Simon’s grasp. Turning away, you wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to shield yourself from his admission. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and you wish that this was all a terrible, terrible dream.

“Can’t someone else lead the military? You're too important to risk on the front lines.”

Simon takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving you. “Price and I have considered every option. My skills and experience are essential. It’s the best chance we have to protect Kastron.”

The tears in your eyes now threaten to spill over, and you pace across the room, breathing picking up. “But, there has to be another way, Si. Sending you to the battlefield is too risky. What if something happens to you? Don’t you understand?”

You’re crying now, breathing labored. Fat tears now start to roll down your cheeks, and Simon watches you with a heavy heart. “I understand, love. I do. The last thing I want to do is leave you. Can’t even fuckin’ bear the thought. But I have to do what is necessary to protect our kingdom.”

Simon reaches out, gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away some tears that escapes your eyes. “I cannot promise you that everything will be alright. War is unpredictable, and I cannot guarantee my safety. And you know better than anyone that I have the training, I have the capability to go to war. But I need you to understand—I'm doing this for Kastron, for our people, and for you.”

You smack his hand away, instantly regretting it the moment you see his face morph into pain.

“You’re not leaving! I won’t let you!” you start to sob, your body trembling with every cry.

You start to hit his chest, your fists pounding against the armor that shields him, as if trying to break through the iron. Simon endures the blows, his hands remaining at his sides, absorbing your hits as his heart shatters.

“I’m not letting you leave!” you practically scream, and the guards outside your door wince. You smack his chestplate harder, hating the way he’s just standing there, unmoving.

“You can’t go, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” you plead, voice choking with desperation and vision blurred from your tears.

Simon feels as though his heart is being shredded slowly and painfully with each strike, but he lets you vent, understanding the pain that grips your soul. The sound of your sobs reverberates in the room, echoing the helplessness that has settled upon both of you.

He finally catches your wrists gently, his touch firm yet tender. You collapse against him, your strength waning, and Simon wraps his arms around you. His armor feels cold against your hot cheek, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of his embrace. Your tears flow freely, a combination of fear and frustration.

“I love you, and it tears me apart to see you like this,” Simon whispers, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Kastron needs me, and she needs you. I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you, I can promise you that.”

You finally look up at him, your tear-stained eyes searching his for any hint of revocation, but you know deep down that he’s firmly set. You cling to him, as if your touch alone can tie him down to this room. Simon gently wipes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself in his embrace.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t.” Simon holds you tighter, the pressure soothing you, grounding you to the room. “I don’t want to lose you either, dove. But I need you to stay strong. Lead Kastron in my absence. I have complete faith in you.”

“When will you... leave?” you manage to ask, your voice cracking.

Simon takes a deep breath, armor pressing into your chest as he inhales. “Two days, at dawn.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the finality of his words. You tilt your head up slightly, looking up into Simon’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, any glimpse of doubt. But all you find is resolve.

The room is enveloped in a heavy silence, unsettling you to your core. Simon tilts your chin up higher, looking into your eyes with an intensity that pierces through you. His lips find yours in a tender kiss, a bittersweet exchange as his hand weaves itself through your hair. The taste of his kiss lingers as he pulls away, his eyes searching yours for patience. You nod, a silent understanding.

Simon doesn’t let go of you, insteading walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed, forcing you to lay down.

. . .

The next day had come and gone, the moon now rising high in the sky. You were on your way back to your room from your final meeting of the day, the castle now quiet.

You had hoped Simon would be in bed already by the time you arrived at your chambers, but instead you were met with a dark, empty room. You don’t even bother slipping into your sleepwear, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. Sighing, you slip back out of your room, waving off the guard at your door who tried to follow you.

You already knew where Simon was.

You knock gently on the doors to the war room, pushing it open when you hear a muffled, Yes? filter through the wood. The war room is dimly lit, the strategic maps on the walls difficult but not impossible to decipher from the flickering light of the lanterns. Simon is hunched over the large table, poring over several documents and a detailed map of the southern borders. His worn armor sits discarded beside him, and the room carries the scent of parchment, ink, and a hint of something metallic.

Simon glances up, weariness etched on his face, as you step into the room. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift as a small, genuine smile forms on his lips.

“Hey, love,” Simon greets, his voice softer than usual, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he’s been exclusively carrying the past week. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, crossing the room to stand beside him. “No, I needed to see you.” The dim light emphasizes the exhaustion in his eyes, and it tugs at your heart.

Simon straightens up, putting down his quill gently. “I was just going over the battle plans. Price and I want to make sure every detail is accounted for before…”

An awkward silence settles between you two as you study Simon’s face. The lines of stress, the fatigue in his eyes, and the tight set of his jaw speak volumes. You reach out and trace a gentle finger along the side of his face, an intimate gesture.

“I hate seeing you like this,” you admit. “You’re carrying so much on your shoulders.”

Simon leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “It comes with the job, dove.”

You lower your hand, exhaustion welling up within you. “Everyone is asleep. Come to bed.”

Simon sighs, looking back at the papers spread about the table.

“Soon, darling.”

You step closer, your fingers finding his. “Simon, you’ve been at this for days. Please, you need to rest, relax. The plans will still be here tomorrow.”

The glow of the lanterns casts a shadow along Simon’s face, highlighting the shine in his eyes. His fingers close around yours, and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, pressing an open mouthed kiss on them. You shiver, heat arising in your stomach. Simon pulls you into him, pressing his chest up against yours as he cradles your face in his hands, slotting his mouth over yours. You respond with a fierce passion, your fingers threading through his hair, eliciting a quiet groan from him.

As the kiss deepens, Simon gently guides you backwards until your lower back hits the table, the maps and plans long forgotten. Simon breaks the kiss as you gasp, the heat in your lower body growing stronger.

“This is helping me relax,” Simon breathes, hot and heavy on your cheek. His hands slip down to your ass, pinning your hips to the table with his own. “Jus’, let me take care of you.”

You swallow thickly, gliding your hands up and down his chest, feeling his muscles contract slightly at your touch.

“Take care of me, then,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before hauling you up onto the table, papers shuffling and scattering onto the floor, but neither of you care.

Simon follows you as you lay down on the table, pressing a deep kiss into your mouth as his hands shoves more papers out of the way. The rustling sounds of papers and maps hitting the floor fade into the background, replaced by the rhythm of your shared breaths. Simon’s touch is both gentle and possessive, his hands exploring the curves of your body with a familiar intimacy. As his hands roam, a soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by the heat of the kiss.

Simon then pulls you forward on the table, adjusting you until your hips are on the edge, legs dangling in the air. You look up for a brief moment, watching as Simon drops to his knees in front of you, and the sight alone makes you dizzy, wetness pooling in your panties. He looks so reverent and his eyes lock with yours, looking up to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. You bunch up the fabric of your dress, pulling it up high until the fabric pools around your waist.

Simon spreads your legs wide, hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. You open your mouth, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing wet kisses to the insides of your thighs. You shudder, legs twitching as your desire mounts, aching for his mouth on your wet cunt. Simon doesn’t waste time, throwing your dangling legs over his shoulders to get closer to you.

“Simon,” you groan quietly, needing him to touch you now. He doesn’t respond, instead pressing two digits against the fabric of your panties, just barely teasing your clit. Your breath catches in your throat, swallowing thickly as he runs his fingers up and down against the gusset, circling over your clothed clit with a feather light touch.

You shudder, thighs trembling ever so slightly at the teasing, wetness surely starting to soak through the thin layer of cotton.

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs, eyes mesmerized by the sight before him. His light touch now turns into something stronger, using the fabric over your slit to build friction in the most delicious way. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you whimper quietly, hands clawing at the surface of the table.

He chuckles to himself, barely audible over the sound of your racing heart and quiet whimpers. Your arousal seeps through the fabric, and Simon seems to revel in the effect he has on you. He squeezes your thighs tighter, fingers pressing into the plush, doughy skin as he presses more kisses on the insides of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center.

You involuntarily buck your hips as his finger starts to circle your clit more forcibly over your panties, using the fabric as leverage to create more friction. You let a few moans slip out, eyes blinking a few times to steady your dizziness.

Simon's movements become more purposeful, his fingers working magic over the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the fabric. The sensations send shivers through your body, and you can feel the growing wetness between your thighs. Each stroke of his fingers, every graze of his lips along your inner thigh, adds to the building tension. Unable to withstand the torment any longer, you arch your back, pleading for more.

“Fuck, Si,” you whine, high-pitched and needy. “Please.”

“What’s got you all worked up, love? Hmm?” he teases, moving to press his tongue into the soaked fabric, teasing your hole.

You moan in response, thighs moving to clench his head. He simpers at your reaction, calloused hands pushing your legs apart.

“Tell me what you want,” Simon coos, his voice low and husky. His fingers continue their ministrations, dancing over your clothed heat.

“I want…” you begin, your words catching in your throat as Simon applies more pressure to your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. “I want you, Si. Need you right now.”

A smug grin erupts on Simon’s face as he abandons the fabric barrier.

“Good girl.”

Unable to resist any longer, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with deliberate slowness until they slip off your ankles. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, a small, teasing smirk playing on his lips.

With your panties discarded, Simon returns his attention to your exposed core. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans in, studying the way you’re soaking, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. The first touch of his tongue against your clit has you gasping, the pleasure intensifying with each slow, deliberate stroke. He dips his tongue into your hole, then slides it back up to your clit, sucking on it firmly.

“Like this?” he murmurs, teasingly trailing his fingers along your slick entrance.

“Yes, yes,” you plead, aching for him to just have his way with you. “Please, Si.”

Without further hesitation, Simon dips a finger into your wetness, the slickness making the intrusion seamless. You gasp, your back arching off the table as he begins a slow and deliberate rhythm, each stroke making your legs feel as though they’re on fire.

Simon watches you intently, his eyes flicking up to your body every so often. He relishes the way your body responds to his touch, smirking to himself that he’s the only one who’s ever seen you like this.

Your moans grow louder, echoing in the room as Simon expertly works his tongue up, down, and around your vulva. When he comes to suck harshly on your clit, your thighs instinctively close around his head, and Simon groans at your reaction. The vibration adds a layer of pleasure, a deep seated moan pushing past your lips.

“Sound s’ pretty f’ me, darling,” he mumbles, refusing to fully remove himself from you.

He adds a second finger, stretching and filling you, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, a familiar warmth spreading in your abdomen.

The table beneath you creaks with your movements, but neither of you pays it any attention.

As Simon’s tongue continues to lap at your vulva and clit, your grip on the edge of the table loosens, instead finding purchase in his hair as if to egg him on. The sensation of his tongue and fingers build to an almost unbearable peak, toes curling as he hits all the right spots. You’re teetering on the edge of release, every touch sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“S- Simon, I... I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice strained with pleasure.

Simon, ever attentive, reads your body’s responses with precision, adapting his movements to heighten your pleasure. He doesn’t relent; instead, he quickens the pace, determined to push you over the edge. The oh so familiar coil tightens in your abdomen, and with a sharp cry, you succumb to your orgasm. Waves of pleasure wash over you, legs shaking at your release, leaving you trembling and utterly spent. Simon laps up your wetness, groaning at the way your walls clenched his fingers at your release.

“Such a perfect girl,” he praises, thriving off the way you shudder and moan as you orgasm.

As the aftershocks of your climax subside, Simon withdraws his fingers, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He pushes his soaking fingers to his mouth, sucking off the remaining juices.

“Always tastes so perfect, love.”

Heat rises in your face as you watch him, still panting from your orgasm. He rises to his feet, a pleased smile on his lips as he leans down to capture your mouth in a lingering kiss.

“You alright, love?” Simon whispers against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

You nod, still catching your breath, a blissful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “More than alright.”

He chuckles, a deep and melodic sound. “Good. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod fervently, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of the table. Looking over the edge, you forgot about the various papers and maps that had…fallen to the floor during your heated moment.

“The papers…” you say quietly, warily eyeing the amount of things that had been brushed to the floor.

Immediately, Simon is picking up the strewn papers, muttering to himself about how they were all in his way. Your legs are still vibrating as you push off the table, now standing on the floor. You brush your dress back to its original place as best you can. When you move to help him pick up the maps, he stops you in your tracks.

“No, no, love. I’ve got it,” Simon insists, a fond smile on his face.

You watch as he efficiently gathers the papers, arranging the documents back onto the table, the strategic maps finding their places among the scattered sheets. Once satisfied with the order he’s restored, Simon turns to you with a grin. “There, good as new. Shall we?”

“My, uh, my panties…” you trail off, face burning. The slick between your thighs is definitely still there, reminding you of your lost garment.

Simon shoots you a mischievous look, and he retrieves your discarded panties from his back pocket. Holding them up, he smirks, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he quirks his eyebrows.

“For safekeeping,” he quips, a playful tone in his voice. “Wouldn’t want anyone stumbling upon them, ‘specially here.”

You roll your eyes, a combination of embarrassment and amusement heating your cheeks. Simon takes a step closer, then bends down on one knee, tapping your ankle.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to step into the fabric. Steadying yourself by clutching onto his shoulders, you relish the way his hands brush up your thighs as he pulls the fabric up under your dress until they’re snug around your body. With a final playful squeeze to your ass, he stands up.

“Now, we shall,” you giggle lightly, brushing stray hair from your face.

Before you fully leave the room, you press up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

“Can’t believe you ate me out in the war room of all places,” you giggle, clutching onto him.

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of pride crossing his features. “It’s our castle. Gonna have to christen every room at some point.”

You try to suppress your laugh, knowing deep down that he’s not joking.

Linking your arm with his, you follow Simon out of the war room and through the silent corridors of the castle and back to your shared chambers. Your legs are a bit shaky, still not fully recovered.

Simon gives a curt, silent nod to the guards standing in front of the bedroom doors, before stepping inside with you. The moment Simon shuts the door to your bedroom, he’s kissing you fervently. It’s both possessive and tender, a silent acknowledgement that tomorrow is the day he leaves. He guides you toward the bed, the cool sheets welcoming against your heated skin.

As Simon deepens the kiss, hands wandering over each other’s bodies, the weight of the day’s responsibilities melts away even further.

Simon breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with nothing but pure adoration and love. “I love you,” he says, the sincerity in his voice echoing through the room.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you too, Simon.”

With a gentle touch, you start to brush your hands under his tunic, guiding it up and off his chiseled frame.

The room is filled with a quiet intimacy as your fingers trace the contours of his chest, each touch causing the man to shiver. You enjoy the way he trembles from your touch, noting his more sensitive regions. The burden of your impending separation lingers in the air, but in this moment, you choose to ignore it, basking in the warmth of his presence.

You reach for the waistline of his pants, following the fabric down as you let him step out of it. Finally, when your hand grazes his lower abdomen, right above his crotch, he hisses, hand clutching onto your wrist. You don’t stop, yanking down his boxers until he’s fully nude in front of you. The moonlight filters through the balcony window, casting a soft glow on Simon.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” you praise, standing back to admire your husband in all his glory. “So gorgeous, so strong.”

Simon blushes, redness creeping up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. A grin appears on his face, pride seeping into his skin. His eyes never leave yours as you slowly undress, removing your garments in a languid fashion, desperate to savor this night.

He steps closer, hands reaching for the sleeves of your dress, fingers deftly working to free you from the fabric that separates you. The dress falls to the floor in a gentle cascade, and you hear Simon’s breath catch in his throat. You slip off your undergarments, until you’re finally exposed before him. Simon’s eyes roam over your form, and the intensity in his gaze makes your skin tingle.

You step out of the discarded dress, standing bare in front of each other. Simon’s hands find the small of your back, pulling you close, and you melt in the warmth of his touch. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, then slowly guides your jaw upwards to catch your lips in a kiss. The kiss is a slow burn, a sweet mingling of your breaths, as Simon explores your mouth with a gentle reverence. His hands roam over your back, pressing you closer into him, as if he was trying to bury you into his chest. You can feel his erect cock pressing into your stomach, and he gently bucks his hips against you.

Breaking the kiss, Simon trails a line of tender kisses down your neck, igniting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he leans into your touch. “Promise me you’ll come back,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice bared for him to see.

Simon slows to a stop, keeping his face planted in your neck. He then presses a tender kiss to your skin, squeezing you as tight as he could in his embrace, knocking the breath out of you. “I promise, love. I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he straightens to his full height. Without breaking eye contact, Simon guides you to the bed, the cool silk sheets a sharp difference to the heat radiating off your bodies.

As you lay down together, Simon hovers above you, a mixture of tenderness and hunger in his eyes. The moonlight bathes the room in a soft sheen, your husband looking like a being that descended from heaven.

“You’re ethereal,” you say breathlessly, and Simon’s eyes sparkle with gratitude and affection.

“Says you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. Simon trails his fingers down the curve of your body.

“I mean it. Don’t brush it off,” you whisper, your fingers gently tracing patterns over the scars on his chest.

“‘M not. Thank you, dove.”

You lean up and capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. As you kiss him sensually, you reach your hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping your hand up and down his length. He groans into your mouth, body twitching above you as you stroke his hard cock, bucking into your grip as you set an even pace.

Simon’s hand finds its way to your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he pants above you. He breaks the kiss as you apply more pressure, his breaths heavy and labored.

“F- fuck, lovie,” he moans, head fuzzy as your hand squeezes his cock just right. “God, y’know how to drive me mad.”

You hum in response, swiping your thumb across his slit. Simon gasps over you, body threatening to fall on top of you with every stroke and touch you administer on his cock. Bringing this behemoth of a man down to a trembling, quivering mess in your hands has your heart racing.

Simon then moves to explore your body with a newfound hunger, his lips tracing a path of heat and need. The sensations send shivers down your spine as he kisses and nibbles his way across your collarbone, down to the curve of your breasts as you continue stroking his cock.

“T- that’s it, need you, now, right now,” he pants, his voice desperate and needy. You release him, and Simon wastes no time yanking your legs apart, caressing your thighs. He shifts his weight, positioning himself between your legs.

You whimper as he drags his cock through your slick folds, his tip catching on your entrance after a few strokes. Simon gazes down at you, his expressive eyes full of a potent mix of desire and love. Without breaking eye contact, he guides himself into you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Moans spill from your lips, your back arching as his cock slides into you inch by inch.

“Takin’ me so nicely, so pretty,” he murmurs, clutching onto you.

Simon’s movements are deliberate, his cock stretching you open to accommodate his size and girth. His size makes you see stars every time. Finally, as he bottoms out, you both let out a sharp breath.

“Simon, ‘m so full,” you murmur, grinding your hips against his. In response, he silences you with a searing kiss, pressing you into the mattress.

“I know you are.”

When he finally starts moving his hips, you have to bite back a sob. His thick shaft drags against your walls at an agonizingly slow pace. He buries his face in your chest, tongue lapping at your supple breasts and hardened nipples.

You claw at his shoulders as he pumps his cock into you slowly. You’re still sensitive from when he ate you out, whimpering and wheezing as he pumps his cock into you slowly. When he starts pressing into your clit, you writhe underneath him.

“Please, please,” you wheeze, feeling every little ridge and edge of his cock inside you.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, chest rumbling as he studies your face twisted into pure pleasure. He thrusts slowly a few more times, his hips meeting yours with each movement.

He starts to move slightly faster, needing you to cum around his cock. You gasp when he starts to pick up the pace, your slick soaking the base of his cock. The faster pace allows him to push into you deeper, his pupils blown wide with lust as you cup his face in your hands and pull him into another kiss. You arch your back into him as you kiss, bucking your hips as he circles your clit faster, harder.

His lips leave yours, breathing hard and open-mouthed against your face. His hands explore every inch of your body as if committing it to memory, fingers tracing every square inch of your skin. You reciprocate, running your hands through his hair, feeling strength and vulnerability coexisting in the man you call your husband.

Simon turns to bite your shoulder, his cock feeling absolutely, perfectly stimulated by your tight walls. You cry out in pain and pleasure, yanking his hair to elicit a response from him.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the slight creaking of the bed as Simon takes you with a primal intensity. His movements become faster, each thrust pushing you both closer to the edge.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. Simon responds with a guttural groan, his grip on your hips sliding down to your ass.

“I love you,” Simon murmurs against your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine. “Always, only you.”

“I love you forever,” you stutter out, tears threatening to run down your cheeks.

Your walls flutter around his shaft, causing Simon to groan, making his mind sink further into his primal desire. He feels the familiar tightening of his orgasm creeping up on him, but he refuses to cum before you.

Simon starts to circle your clit faster, hitting all the angles and spots that he knows will have you screaming in pleasure.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you moan, thighs trembling. “You- you’re, so good—”

“I know, I know, darling.”

He takes your hands in his own, pinning your hands to the mattress by your head. His fingers lace with yours, never once daring to let go. He looks down at you, his gaze tender and caring, something he saves especially for you, yet there’s an intensity in his eyes, a desire that you know can be seen in yours as well. His hips move faster, slamming deep and hard into you, your body shaking as your moans and cries fill the room. You know you’re on the brink of your orgasm, your hold on his hands intensifying.

“Cum with me,” you moan, arching into Simon again. He groans at the thought of cumming at the same time as you, his cock twitching with the need to release inside of you. “Please, Si. Need you to fill me up.”

Simon’s pace increases impossibly faster at your excitement, pressing and circling your clit in the spot that makes your toes curl.

“Pretty girl, my pretty girl,” Simon growls, seizing your hips and dragging you closer to him. His undeniable need to cum reaches his cock as you mewl.

“‘M gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” you sob, the familiar heat of an impending orgasm traveling from the tips of your toes to the tops of your thighs.

Finally, you orgasm hard, your walls squeezing around his cock as you cum. Simon cums not long after, rocking into you repeatedly as he releases. His cheeks are flushed from exertion, gasping and groaning as his cock twitches with his release. Your name falls from his lips like a fervent prayer as he cums inside you, wrapping his whole being around you.

You try your best to slow your breathing, focusing on the way Simon lets his whole body fall loose, covering yours. The breath he had been holding came loose with a deep sigh, arms coming to wrap around your frame. It took a few moments for you both to collect yourselves, catching your breaths and shivering from oversensitivity.

You swallow the thickness in your throat as Simon pulls out of you, both of your releases trickling from your cunt. He grips your jaw possessively, pressing a kiss to your jawline then to your now swollen lips. You both lay there in the afterglow, nothing but pure love coursing through your veins.

“I love you, Si,” you sigh, scratching his back with your nails.

Simon buries his head against your shoulder, each exhale tickling your flesh. After a few minutes, Simon shifts to lie beside you, his arm draping over your waist as you both lay in a tangle of limbs. You stroke Simon’s hair, your fingers running through the short strands with a certain tenderness. His breathing gradually steadies, and you feel his muscles relax against you.

“Promise me again,” you whisper, vulnerability returning to your voice.

Simon turns to look at you, a serious expression crossing his face. “I promise, lovie.”

Content with his reassurance, you snuggle into his embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of his body. After all, this would be the last time in who knows how long you’d have him in your bed.

The world outside your chambers may be uncertain and dangerous, but here, in the embrace of your true love, you find peace, if only for a fleeting moment.

. . .

Morning comes all too soon.

The sun wasn’t even up, yet you knew the clock was ticking before Simon had to depart.

The moment you both woke up, you were on top of him, aching for him to fuck you one last time before he left.

In the quiet aftermath, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, the reality of the separation settled in. Simon’s fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, a silent reassurance that lingered between you two.

“I wish I could stay,” Simon confesses, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You tighten your hold on him, unwilling to let go just yet. “I know, but we have to.”

He nods, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions.

“Dunno what ‘m gonna do without you,” he mutters, pulling you into a comforting embrace, savoring the feeling of being close to him.

The first hint of sunlight starts to peek through the windows, signaling to you both that it was time to get ready for the day.

As you both dress, the atmosphere in the room shifts. You help Simon pull on his military regalia, buttoning his shirt and pinning his crests and ribbons to his chest. Finally, he pulls on his armor, settling the heavy iron and silver pieces on his frame. Simon’s armor clinks softly as he secures it, an unwelcome contrast to the tender moments you had shared just a while before.

Once dressed, you stand before each other, eyeing the door warily. It could be months until either of you saw each other again. Simon cups your face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm, as if burning the memory of your features into his mind.

You watch Simon’s throat bob as he swallows thickly, taking your hand in his as you cross the threshold of your chambers. You walk together through the corridors, hand in hand, the acceptance of his departure finally at peace within you. You would always worry, every day, but you knew that he would come back home to you safely. It was just a matter of when. The castle felt different—a place that would witness the ache of longing and uncertainty in the days to come.

As you reach the front courtyard, the air is crisp, and the first rays of sunlight illuminate the stones of the castle. You’re met with the sight of hundreds of soldiers and knights, Commander Gaz, and General Price. Soldiers bustle around, preparing for the journey ahead of them, their gazes giving respectful nods and bows to Simon as he passes. The castle gates loom ahead, a threshold between the safety of the castle and the dangers that lie beyond.

Simon straightens his posture, walking with purpose, his stride unwavering as his armor clinks softly. You stand by his side, a pillar of support in the face of duty. You steal a glance at Simon, his jaw set, eyes focused on the path ahead. The tender moments you shared in your chambers just hours ago feels like a distant dream, replaced by the harsh reality of war.

Commander Gaz approaches, his expression stern yet sympathetic. “Your majesty, it’s time,” he says, a subtle nod indicating the urgency of the moment.

General Price jogs up to Simon, leaving some of his soldiers to speak to him. “We’re ready whenever you are. The men are looking extremely optimistic this morning.”

Simon nods, a silent acknowledgment of the journey he’s about to embark on. Price’s gaze then shifts to you, and there’s a rare softness in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, your majesty. I’ve left trusted knights and guards here to ensure you’re taken care of.”

“Thank you, General,” you reply, your voice steady as you flash him an appreciative smile.

As you reach the castle gates, the mood shifts. The soldiers form up in disciplined ranks, and Simon turns to face them. He raises his hand in a solemn gesture, a signal for silence. The courtyard stills as all eyes focus on their ruler.

“Today we march not as conquerors, but as protectors. Our duty is to defend our homes, our families, and Kastron as a whole. We stand as a collective, and no force can break the bond that ties us together. For honor, for justice, for Kastron!”

A resounding cheer erupts from the soldiers, their spirits ignited by Simon’s words. The castle gates creak open, revealing the vast expanse beyond. Hordes of soldiers and knights begin to move through the gates, led by Price and Gaz.

Simon turns to you, and for a fleeting moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. He cups your face, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “Wait for me,” he whispers.

You offer a brave smile, masking the tears and sorrow that threatens to consume you.

“I will,” you reply, your voice carrying the strength and resilience needed for the days ahead.

Simon’s fingers press into your cheeks, guiding you to his lips for a final kiss. You grab onto him one last time, wrapping your arms around his neck, not caring that everyone can see you both. When you finally break apart, his eyes search yours for a moment, a silent exchange of admiration.

“I love you, Simon,” you say, your voice firm despite the emotions churning in your gut.

“I love you,” he replies, a promise.

With a final, tender kiss, Simon pulls away, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer before he joins the ranks of the soldiers. The sound of marching fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the entranceway, watching the love of your life vanish into the horizon.

You watch as the castle gates close behind Simon and his troops, separating you from your husband. The morning sun climbs higher in the sky, casting its warm embrace on the now deserted courtyard, where the echoes of Simon’s departure linger.

Now alone in the courtyard, a breeze carries brushes past you. The castle feels emptier, and the weight of your responsibilities as the queen of Kastron settles in. Soap approaches you tentatively, his eyes full of concern.

“Ye’re majesty, is there anything I can do for you?”

You turn to him, sighing appreciatively.

“I… I’m not sure. But, I do want to thank you for staying here with me. It means a lot,” you reply, a small smile breaking through the somber atmosphere.

Soap nods respectfully, his gaze steady. “If there’s anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. I’ll be at your service.”

You jump up to give him a hug, and he returns the embrace. After a moment, you pull away, wiping away some stray tears you had let trickle down your face.

Turning back to face the castle, it seems different—colder, emptier. Yet, in your heart, your love for Simon and Kastron still burns, a beacon that will guide you in the coming months in the hope that he will return home to you safely.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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queenshelby · 7 months

Text

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 42: SEX TAPE

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Extreme Smut

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

The following morning, when you stumbled into the living room, you noticed that your dress had been hung up over one of the armchairs neatly and that there was no sign of Kit. It looked like she had packed up and left without saying goodbye, causing you a mix of relief and concern simultaneously. Relief, because your unease around her presence eased somewhat, and concern, because something about her sudden departure struck you as odd. Nonetheless, you decided to put these worries aside temporarily and focused on preparing for the day ahead.

You made some coffee and took a seat beside the window to read through Cillian's latest script, knowing that he wouldn't mind. Cillian himself was still sleeping peacefully, clearly exhausted from last night's chaos. He deserved a rest. Taking in the view outside, you felt grateful for the serene silence surrounding you. However, amidst the tranquility, there was an eerie sense of loneliness hanging in the air. It dawned on you then that even amidst Cillian's fame and success, his life was far from perfect and neither was yours.

You had recently received some letters from the department of immigration, reminding you that your visa was going to run out within six months and, unless you found a suitable employer who was willing to sponsor you, you knew that you had to return to the US.

Unbeknownst to Cillian, you had spent countless sleepless nights wracking your brain, trying to come up with ways to prolong your stay in Ireland, yet nothing came close to materialising just yet. Feeling guilty and fearful of burdening Cillian with your problems, you resolved to wait patiently for the opportune moment to confide in him about this issue but it like as though he had bigger issues to deal with right now as, suddenly, his manager knocked on the door.

"Up so early?" you asked after having opened the door for Ben, who was in his sixties and exhausted from last night's BAFTAs.

"Yes. Where is Cillian?" he asked immediately, and almost rudely, just as Cillian stumbled out of the bedroom, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.

"Good morning, Ben" Cillian said with a yawn, rubbing his eyes. "Anything interesting?" he wondered, seeing that Ben usually liked to sleep in past nine.

"Interesting might be putting it lightly," Ben replied worryingly. "There's some bad news coming our way, unfortunately," he explained, and Cillian's brows furrowed.

"Oh, really? What sort of bad news?" Cillian asked, sitting down opposite Ben. His curiosity piqued instantly.

Ben glanced nervously across the table at Cillian before breaking the unsettling news.

"So, this morning, I was informed that there's this video on the internet now, featuring you engaging in explicit sexual acts," Ben explained, causing Cillian to choke on his cup of coffee.

Hearing those dreadful words, Cillian froze, unable to believe what he heard. His face drained of color as his world crumbled beneath him.

"What?" Cillian croaked hoarsely, scarcely able to find words. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still – reality suspended, disbelief palpable in every cell of his body. He couldn't fathom why someone would do such a thing, seeking vengeance perhaps? Or simply to exploit his celebrity status? Regardless, the thought of this sordid act being public knowledge sent waves of panic coursing through his veins.

"Am I on the video too?" you asked a little calmer than Cillian, but still confused.

"Unfortunately, not, because if you were, you at least could give a statement together when shit hits the fan,"

Ben answered bitterly, his voice dripping with fatigue. His eyes fell onto you briefly, conveying sorrow and compassion. There wasn't much more to add—this was indeed terrible news.

"Then who is on the video? Do you have a copy of it? I mean, is it even me on the video or is it photoshopped?" Cillian queried, barely containing his anxiety as his head swirled with questions.

"Oh, it's you and you seem rather drunk too, man. This is much worse than the public urination incident," Ben scoffed sarcastically, attempting to defuse the situation slightly as he handed him his phone.

Despite Ben's efforts to alleviate the gravity of the situation, it did little to comfort Cillian, who remained gripped by terror. All manner of scenarios ran rampant through his mind; all of them potentially damning to his reputation and career.

Reluctantly, he clicked on the video while you sat by his side, hoping fervently that none of it was true. But as the footage began playing, he realized the unimaginable truth: yes, there he was, captured in all his vulnerability.

He could hardly breathe as he watched himself perform intimate acts, oblivious to the fact that they were being recorded. Each stroke of his hand, each whisper, etched themselves indelibly onto his memory, forever marring the sanctity of the most private moments he had ever known. His face flushed crimson with shame, regret surging through his veins like lava.

Seeing him have sex with another woman brought back memories of painful rejections and broken promises.

Your own heart plummeted as well, imagining how it must feel to discover such a compromising video was released online. It didn’t matter how innocently it happened; everything had become muddled, cloudy in your eyes.

The sound of your breath quickened, mirroring the rapid pulse throbbing against his temple. The heat radiating off his skin intensified, giving credibility to the choking sensation rising inside his chest.

"Turn it off!" you choked, holding back tears. "Kit did this and the fact that you had sex with a woman like this makes me ill," you cried, incredulous at the idea of betrayal running deeper than anything you had previously witnessed. Even though your heart ached for Cillian, your rage mounted as you remembered the snarky remarks, the condescending attitude, and the calculated ambition simmering beneath the surface whenever you interacted with Kit. And now, she had stooped so low, trading in the privacy of others like currency.

"She wouldn't..." he began to say, struggling to maintain composure as you interrupted him.

"Yes, she fucking would and you are too blind to see it. Do you know how she talks to me? The things she tells me, Cillian? You have no idea how vile this woman is," you broke down.

Your jaw clenched tightly, feeling anger and frustration seething beneath your calm exterior. In spite of your turmoil, however, you knew that venting this rage directly toward Cillian would accomplish nothing except further strain already fraught relations. So instead, you turned your attention away from him for a fleeting moment, taking stock of the situation at large.

"What do you think Ben?" Cillian finally managed to utter after watching the video, trying hard to regulate his pounding heart rate. As if in response to his question, Ben let out a heavy sigh, reaching for his glass of water which sat on the nearby coffee table. With a quiet murmur, he drank deeply from the glass, his expression grimacing with disapproval and pity for his client and friend.

"Well, we need to handle this swiftly and decisively, my boy", Ben advised sternly, looking straight into Cillian's eye.

"First, we contact everyone involved – the media, any potential legal representatives and Kit," Ben said and, with reluctance, Cillian nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

A torrent of conflicting emotions cascaded over you in that moment, leaving you raw and exposed, nauseous with anxiety.

"I am sorry, I..." you interrupted them, feeling nauseous again, just like last night, before disappearing into the bathroom momentarily.

Upon returning, you noticed Cillian wiping his eyes vigorously, struggling to process the magnitude of his predicament. Your hearts continued to beat in tandem, the rhythm matching the crescendo of anger and despair mounting within both of you. Cillian reached out towards you instinctively, grasping your hands tightly, needing something tangible to anchor him during these tumultuous times.

"I am sorry this happened," he apologized sincerely, fully aware of his responsibility in this whole mess.

"It's not your fault. I mean, yes, you slept with her after we had broken up and it's pretty awful for me to watch you have sex with another woman, but I can't really be angry at you for something you did when we weren't together," you tried to rationalise, doing your best to suppress the jealousy burning hotter inside.

Cillian took a deep breath, letting out a shaky exhale as he attempted to compose himself. "You are perfect, you know that?" he spoke softly, stroking your cheek tenderly. The warmth from his touch offered solace amidst the storm.

Inside his head, he struggled with guilt and remorse over his transgressions, yet the genuine concern evident in his gaze was enough to quell the nagging doubt clawing at the corners of your mind.

Understanding your insecurities, he held you closer, drawing strength from your steadfast presence while Ben made several calls in order to get the video taken down.

"I think a statement from you would be helpful here," he said gravely, gesturing towards Cillian who usually hated talking to the press and, together with his publicist, they prepared exactly this. A detailed statement in which, finally, Cillian threw Kit under the bus after receiving critical information from the agency's team that the video had indeed been linked back to Kit's IP address.

"Who knows what else she is responsible for," Ben said recalling several articles which had been released ever since you came into the pictures as well as past cheating allegations which drove a wedge into Cillian's and Danielle's already fragile marriage at the time.

As your resentment escalated, so did your desire to confront Kit. Yet, the very notion terrified you, fearing retaliation or further humiliation. After discussing with Ben about the plan of action, including approaching law enforcement and issuing statements, you retreated to bedroom where you laid curled around yourself, wrestling with your demons once more.

Perhaps Kit was right when she said that you were not cut out for this life, that you were naïve and idealistic compared to those who frequented these circles. However, despite your doubts, it seemed impossible to escape the pull of this world.

Hearing the front door open and close, followed by familiar steps entering the room, pulled you out of your introspection. Turning towards Cillian, you saw him pale with exhaustion and worry as he approached the bed.

Reaching out for your hand, he gave it a firm squeeze. "We will make it through this," he promised earnestly, offering some measure of comfort in this chaos.

"I am not too worried about, well, the obvious, I suppose. But I am worried about how this will affect us, because I love you so fucking much," Cillian

confessed passionately, wrapping his arms around you protectively. His eyes reflected an intensity of emotion, conveying profound gratitude for your unwavering support during this challenging period.

Unable to form coherent words due to the lump in your throat, you simply leaned into him, allowing the solidarity of his embrace to offer consolation and respite. There was still so much left undiscovered about one another, yet somehow, this shared experience only brought you even closer together.

"I love you too Cillian, beyond anything I could possibly imagine. This thing with Kit won't change that," you assured him, intertwining your fingers with his, seeking solace in his unwavering affection.

"And neither should it," Cillian replied solemnly, kissing your forehead gently.

"I did watch the entire video. It wasn't very long but I noticed something stubble," you then admitted shamelessly to break the ice, avoiding direct eye contact. Despite being repulsed by the incident itself, curiosity got the better of you, wanting to understand why someone would record themselves having intimate encounters without permission.

"And what is that?" Cillian asked suspiciously, intrigued by your observation.

"You said my name, not hers," you explained carefully, choosing your words delicately, causing Cillian to smile.

"I thought about you, obviously," Cillian added reassuringly, his face flush from embarrassment.

There was an awkward silence before Cillian continued, "You do something to me that I can't quite comprehend, but you already know that, don't you?"

You giggled lightheartedly, grateful for his sense of humor. Gripping onto his arm tighter, you felt the weight of his words sink into your soul. "Yes, I do. I have you wrapped right around my finger, Mr Murphy" you expressed genuinely, appreciating his vulnerability.

Tags:

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

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lambsouvlaki · 10 months

Text

For the Hell of It - Yearning (continued)

Characters: jason todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings

Summary: jason comes home from patrol and finds her sleeping on his couch. Squabbles over who gets to sleep on the bed ensues.

Masterlist

————

A little after three in the morning Jason finished his patrol.

He swung up to his apartment level and let himself in through the window. Wet and cold and aching all over, he disabled the security, then climbed in. The warmth enveloped him. Despite himself his shoulders relaxed.

The rain smudged lights of the city shone through the windows and gently played upon her face where she slept on the couch.

He had spent the entire patrol berating himself for enjoying the domesticity of having Andy as a house guest, the way she had seen him off, and would surely be there when he returned. With a queasy sort of dread it took him back to days of Alfred waiting back at the cave with a cup of hot cocoa with a stern smile to send him off to bed. Days he had missed once, but were now so far behind him that the image unsettled.

Seeing her safely asleep dissipated the confused sensation. She was wrapped up like a burrito in a green afghan Dick had successfully ambushed him with for his twenty second birthday, just her little pout peeking out at the top.

Jason had meant to tell her to take the bed, only he forgot. Damn.

He kept the lights off and walked silently through the house, taking off the leather jacket and top layer of armour as he went. He tended to the night's meager collection of injuries, then he opened his laptop at the dining table and typed out his report while everything was fresh in his mind. Last he did inventory and an assessment of the state of his gear, setting aside anything that needed maintenance for the morning.

Typically he would stay in his full armour for his post-patrol routine, but it felt wrong with Andy sleeping not six feet away, and since the heating was on he didn't mind working in his compression under-armour.

He hated being cold. A childhood with no reliable heating, followed by two winters on Gotham's streets had left their mark. But he hated wasting money even more, and the idea of leaving his heating on all night just for his own comfort when he came home was absurd. He just wore more layers instead. He could put up with it.

Andy shouldn't have to be cold though. That was unacceptable.

His fingers weren't as stiff in the warmth, and the low back pain he usually got around this time was nowhere to be found. He felt more limber all over.

He huffed and looked over at her. He could already hear the 'what if you didn't insist on having a bad time for no reason, idiot,' she would definitely say.

She looked achingly beautiful with only speckled golden light illuminating her against the velvety darkness of the night, like some kind of baroque painting. She shouldn't be on the couch. It wasn't comfortable. He considered how to rectify that, but felt weird about picking her up and moving her around while she was asleep.

With his work all wrapped up for the night, he had a shower and washed away Gotham's grime. He re-entered the living room in flannel pjs with a gust of steam.

Andy was sitting up. She looked around with sleepy, relaxed eyes. Her hair was a mess.

"Hey," he said

"Mm. Jason."

Oh yeah, she wasn't really awake awake. She was always adorably out of it when only just woken up. It took about twenty minutes for her usual cynicism or any filter to boot up. Before then she was a bastion of serenity, and happy to go along with just about anything. He'd slept on her couch a couple of times and been almost offended by the state of perfect zen she apparently woke up with just by default.

She was also extremely suggestible. Once he showed up at her place at four in the morning after a really bad patrol and asked if she wanted to go for a ride. Anyone else in his life would have started throwing blunt objects for waking them up. She yawned, slid on a coat, and hopped onto the back of his bike like it was all perfectly normal. What else should she be doing at the crack of dawn on a Sunday if not driving to the other side of the state, just to turn around and come straight back?

It made him defensive on her behalf. Her very sensible and risk-averse walls were so completely lowered like this that they may as well not exist. It made him want to double check the security system was working properly. Maybe go shoot her ex in the kneecaps, just to be safe.

"You can can take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

She blinked at him. She mustered up a pout, which was a novelty for her current state.

"You were on patrol. In the cold." She laid back down, disappearing from his view on the other side of the couch. "'M not takin' your bed."

Huh, apparently not that suggestible. He looked down over the back of the couch. She was snuggling back into her blanket, her eyes shut.

"Hey, no. Wake up. Off the couch."

An eye cracked open and looked up at him. "My couch." The eye drifted shut again.

"Really? This is where you draw the line? You let me talk you into giving me the only coffee in your house for no reason last time I stayed at your place."

"Your back hurts after patrols," she mumbled.

"I--how do you know that?"

"I don't know." She yawned, and pulled the blanket higher. "I'm very wise."

He rolled his eyes and circled the couch. "My back is fine. Can I prove it to you?

"Okay."

He leaned down, scooped her up, and lifted her into the air.

"Oh," she sighed, only briefly surprised. She curled up in his arms like a very large shrimp. "You're so strong."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know," he drawled, carrying her to the bedroom.

"Makes me feel like a precious little thing when you pick me up."

He grinned down at her. Awake Andy was going to be very embarrassed later on.

"You are a precious little thing," he said. It was meant to be a sarcastic drawl. It didn't sound sarcastic at all. "Be less cute, you're ruining my rep."

She leaned against him and snuggled into his arms. Not for the first time he noticed how much she sank into his touch. He tried not to feel too interested in that.

"No i’m not," she said. "You're the big scary Red Hood and you don't make anyone feel safe, nu-uh."

His lips twisted to try and stop his smile. He stretched his arms out and dropped her onto his bed. She laughed, because of course she did, the menace, and promptly wriggled her way under the blankets. She was just about swallowed by his thick comforter, except for a rogue bare leg sticking out the side presumably for heat regulation.

Belatedly she frowned up at him. "Hey. Hang on."

"Too late now. May as well go back to sleep," he said, and bent down to whisper, "I win."

She gave him a dry look from under hooded eyes. Awake Andy was starting to resurface.

He grinned and kissed her temple.

She made a soft noise in her throat

Oh he shouldn't have done that.

"Goodnight, Jason," she said, looking at him lazily, in his bed. After he carried her into his bedroom.

"Uh, yeah. Goodnight," he said, and fled to the cold isolation of the couch.

Next>>

#it's requited they're just idiots #and there was only one bed #growing up poor has some ramifications #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #dc #for the hell of it #my fanfic #fluff #slice of life #slow burn

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

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Day Eight - Lake with Javier Peña and reader

Word Count: 848

Warnings: Weird happenings (my bad to the cows) and a curious & pensive Javier Peña

Notes: This one had me stumped for a bit. Then I thought of Javier’s journey over the course of ‘Narcos.’ Zoning out would do him some good.

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenge

The life of a deputy sheriff can be odd in Loredo. Texas. Thankfully save for some people who had too good of a tailgate party, too much fun at the local fair or teens who were bored and tipping cows, not much happens. Even with the reluctant new sheriff that was voted in, former DEA agent Javier Peña. Everyone was extremely excited about him joining the department though you’re not exactly sure why he’s doing so. Maybe not to be bored? It doesn’t really matter to you.

You’ve driven ten minutes away from the sheriff’s office to a lake that overlooks some trees that line the end of a nearby ranch. They’re filling back in with various shades of green, some with small white flowers on them that reflect on the surface of the water. You’ve been coming here for the last two months after happening upon it after dispersing more teens from tipping more cows. Those poor bovines… Just the grass flittering from the wind along with a few nearby trees is all the sound you hear in addition to the soft sloshing of the water. It’s a deep turquoise with a few ducks puddling around in it’s waves as you set up your chair and timer. You make sure to set your small egg timer to fifteen minutes to allow for enough time to eat and bask in the sounds of nature. Easing back in your chair with hands on the armrests of your fold out, the calm washes over you.

Crunching dirt and the loud crank of an emergency break is what makes up open your eyes. Who else would come out here? Are there more unruly teens?

You turn to see the same sheriff truck as yours, thinking you’re hallucinating because of the lack of stimulation. You try and relax again, but hear more crunches of dirt, then what sounds like steps on grass. No, there's indeed a person who came, one of your colleagues? You forward in the chair and turn to look back, upon seeing who it is, you stand and salute them. He calls for you to be at ease and is surveying the area, his eyes scanning for any and everything.

“This is a nice place, deputy, quiet too. Is this where you normally eat lunch?” Sheriff Peña asks, his voice is even as his hands grace his hips, a little wider than when he began at the department six months ago. It’s not a bad look on him, maybe he’s comfortable here or is less stressed.

“Yes Sir. I come daily if I can. Is it a problem?”

Peña shakes his head, “No. But you drive out here Ten minutes both ways with your forty-five minute break? That leaves twenty five minutes here. Why”

Shrugging your shoulders, you explain, “It’s for the sense of calm and peace. Even for fifteen minutes. I have time to myself outside of the office rumblings.” You turn toward the lake and watch them reflect the two of you standing nearby with the sky above, clouds dot the water’s surface but the lighter blue of the sky is obscured by the water’s hue from its depth. Your face is neutral but your eyes long for the calm. “It’s nice…” Javier watches your face and sees the same wish for serenity. He always feels unsettled despite returning home and finishing what he began in Columbia. He wants to fight and struggle, which is why he accepted the sheriff’s position despite not running for it. But it was dull which was good. He should be thankful for it and he is, but further inside of himself, he craves confrontation. “Do I need to go back to the office? Is there something urgent?”

Javier chuckled and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. The guy who owns the ranch here knows my father and told me about a good place to relax. This was it. He was right. I plan on coming back. That alright with you deputy?”

“That’s fine Sir. Should we work out a schedule so we don’t overlap times?” You’ve stood up and are moving to fold up your chair when Peña places a hand on it.

“No. No schedule needed. Just let me know when plan to take your lunch. I can always take lunch later. I’m the sheriff you know.” Peña’s wink makes you chuckle and you nod. “Call me Javi deputy. Or at least Peña to start.” You release your chair and sit back down.

“Sure. Though I think it’s best to call you at least Sheriff Peña. Um, we could come together for lunch and just watch the lake?”

“That I would appreciate that deputy. I’ll bring my own chair next time.” Javier steals a glance at you before looking back out at the lake, its small waves creating a soft melody with the breeze that’s caught in the air again. He feels calm but not yet relaxed. It’s his first time out here and it won’t be his last. Peña is hopeful that it will come in due time.

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier peña #lake #march #March Spring Prompts #Spring #Prompts #A Nerdie fic

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hikennosabo · 9 months

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trimax vol 9 random thoughts

sorry if you saw this post disappear and reappear in the tag multiple times, i was fighting for my life much like wolfwood using trial and error trying to get it to even show up in the tag because tumblr is a functional website and not fucky in the slightest. </3

i wrote this post extremely sleep deprived 2 days ago let's GOOOOO

also heads up for potential spoilers for tristamp since i talk about it a little. even though i spoiled 98 untagged in my last post. sorry about that

chapter 1:

someone in the book club tag (don't remember who it was, sorry) said something about sharing food being a love language for wolfwood... :') wah...

^_^

why is this thing even on the building in the first place. and for that matter how did the dog even GET up there...... whatever

hi razlo. i don't know where to say this in the post so i'll just say now i unintentionally spoiled myself on razlo's identity because i was googling when i shouldn't have been. all totally my fault LOL [anime girl bleh gif]

the boy didn't even have the decency to wash the blood off his hands. kid, please, you're not doing livio any favors here.

livio manspreading on the couch... chapel, have you considered there's another reason why livio's breathing might be "irregular" as he helps you take his former home hostage? hmmm?

^ FUNNIEST PIECE OF DIALOGUE IN THE WHOLE VOLUME

thank god for livio, this guy was doing a speedrun on being the most annoying one-off minor villain--WAIT is he kicking him with his hands in his pockets? that's SO funny. i'm liking livio more and more.

chapter 2:

"he shouldn't be that old" <- the kids would be expecting wolfwood to be, hmmm, in his early 20s, thereabouts? ww looks around a decade older than that...

he's giving... something here. it's the combo of the glasses and all-white outfit i think. the y2k fashion vibe.

who is saying this? livio? razlo? both? chapel, since he was the one just talking? also, nice visual metaphor!

this is obviously NOT the reason wolfwood spared these guys, but this is reminding me of when oda said that luffy doesn't kill his opponents because shattering their dreams is worse than death. LOL

also i am convinced nightow drew this chapter for the sole purpose of making wolfwood do cool shit on his motorcycle.

that being said, all the cool shit wolfwood does is immediately overshadowed by livio CATCHING A BOMB IN MIDAIR AND THROWING IT BACK AT THE GUY WHO SHOT IT. stampede livio could never do this, he's too skinny

chapter 3:

people have already said stuff about this page, but I Also Want To Say Stuff. the wispiness of the smoke, livio's hair blowing in the wind... it feels very much like the calm before the storm, simultaneously serene and tense. and i LOVE how wolfwood is shaded in grey, while livio is the one shaded in black. fantastic contrast and composition, i adore it.

why is this razlo's first note to livio. "!" like...?! you're letting livio know you exist, but giving literally no other information like at all? okay. razlo's a bit of an oddball, to put it mildly.

the rest of his letters are... well they're not "normal," i guess, and not any less cryptic, but they are kinda sweet in their own way.

knowing who razlo is i love the way his introduction scene is presented. livio is keeping information from ww and from the reader, so it's both literal and not. also razlo is appropriately unsettling, i wish he would stop... unhinging his jaw like that.

...also who tf told him about EoM?! this is a difference with stampede... stamp!livio joined EoM because he wanted to follow wolfwood. no razlo involved in the decision-making, as far as we know. compared to here in the manga, livio left the orphanage on his own, so there isn't really a clear timeline on when ww joined EoM vs when livio did. we don't even know if he knew ww was in EoM at all.

also upon rewatching this scene for this post i got distracted by legato's lack of ass and had to pause because i was laughing too much

the guy is literally flat as a board help

*cough* anyway. razlo is only alluded to and never named or even really shown, except for a very brief very blurry reflection, so his level of involvement in... literally everything is unknown.

speaking of characters who are weirdly absent, chapel isn't around either...? i thought maybe they combined his character with conrad, but he DOES speak in livio's memory, i even checked the credits for his seiyuu. (hiroshi naka - he voices a lot of old men but most notably garp from one piece!) i don't really know how his role in all this has changed, if at all, since conrad seems to be the one in charge of the experiments...? and i really... do not like what they did with conrad in stampede, he went from being shitty but having nuance to just being extra shitty... okay, tangent over.

oh, this fight is so WEIGHTY!! i love it!! they gave a lot of weight and physicality to the livio vs ww fight in stampede too, (and all the fights, for that matter), despite stamp!livio's loss of bulk... it's a really fun fight to watch!

chapter 4:

OHHH..... okay.... soooooo.... this means he's coming back in stampede season 2 i assume?

not to go off on another tangent but this is the second time this has happened to me... i went into stampede more or less blind (oh how things change) and so when knives died at the end of the season I HAD NO REASON TO BELIEVE HE WASN'T DEAD... but then i saw people talking like he would come back in season 2 and i was like, "how?? he DIED" and then i read the manga and i was like oh. and now with livio too. i thought he served his narrative purpose and then died. and he shot himself through the head, which is notable because that's how ww killed monev who was ALSO a subject of EoM's experiments in the tristamp universe!! so i had no reason to believe he wasn't dead!!

i dont have that much to say about this chapter because it mostly consists of the fight, but OH what a fight it is...!! i know i should be rooting for wolfwood, and i am, but livio is just so COOL in this fight. they're both cool...!!!

also, how many little glass vials(tm) does wolfwood have?! honestly, it's amazing that he still has any at all left to drink, it's a wonder they haven't all shattered already with how much he's been thrown around. especially because the one he drinks from CRACKS when it hits the ground... these vials aren't exactly bulletproof, lol.

THE HUG...?! UUUEEEEAAHGHGHHGH

MESSAGE TO ALL BITCHES ughhh ww looks so pained here. when he told vash that his blood runs cold when he points his gun at livio... he's feeling that through this whole volume. man.

something about brothers fighting each other... vash and knives, wolfwood and livio... uagh.

chapter 5:

HEY CAN WE KILL CHAPEL ALREADY??

oh, the punisher is taller than him... i was trying to get an approximation of relative character heights recently, and i saw somewhere that the punisher is 5'7, the same height as me...

also, 10 punishers, huh... wolfwood's is one, razlo has three... does chapel's count even though it has a different design...? do livio's handguns count? will we see the others? is there even a significance to the number...?

oh great, is this another wolfwood death flag?! we haven't seen him drink THAT many of them so far but still. hope chapel keels over already. i know ww's making an effort not to kill people but can he please just shoot chapel in the head. also wolfwood's pose in that panel... he's kinda serving cunt

OH, THIS SPREAD FUCKS!!!! once again the CONTRAST... THE STARK BLACK AND WHITE... SO COOL!!!

so these guys work for razlo specifically, i assume? not livio? also... just who are they? random EoM goons?? why are they so loyal to razzy???

and he has a mechanical third arm. somehow. sure okay

^ um... trigun lol [roll credits]

oh, it's tri-p as in tri-punisher. i thought it was the word "trip" and didn't question it. ...although "trip" could still work.

--also, wait, hold on, upon rereading i noticed razlo's left ear is covered up (by... something) and it's making his head shape look uncanny (more like a skull?!) and now i have to scroll back through the previous chapters to see if livio has ears. [several minutes of scrolling later] okay, he DOES have a right ear. okay. another pointless diversion for this post

chapter 6:

razlo was a real one for killing livio's shitty parents!

also another thing i'm noticing! razlo opens his mouth pretty wide, while livio doesn't open his mouth much at all... i mean okay there are a ton of differences in physicality between the two of them, but that one in particular stands out to me because last volume i complained that i couldn't tell when livio was talking because he never opens his mouth LOL

spraying wolfwood with blood and guts is a fucking wild battle tactic bro. also i'm convinced that nightow gave razlo three punishers for the cool factor first and foremost. three crosses also brings the scene of jesus's crucifixion to mind... but nahhhh it's definitely the cool factor. unless...?

"killing and violence! killing and violence! :D"

ALSO CAN CHAPEL DIE ALREADYYYY PLEASE

VASH MENTIONED!!! i'm so caught up in wolfwood's story rn that i haven't even really thought about the fact that vash isn't present in this volume at all... and then it evolves into a fucking. memory montage. stop with the montage please that's another death flag

and... oh man... wolfwood getting back up to fight because he's thinking of vash... and last volume vash said wolfwood is his reason to fight... both of them staring death in the face and thinking of each other... oh my god. ohhhh my fucking god. oh my fuckign god you guys. VASHWOOD.

oh, looks like i lied when i said vash isn't in this volume, he's right here

...and that ends that volume. i said more than i thought i would... sorry for the rambles and tangents, i wrote this post running on about 3 hours of sleep lol. time for something lighter as i await next week's volume, let me continue to rewatch the 98 anime... what episode was i up to... ahh... 22, huh...

#trigunbookclub #trigun talk #june speaks #FIGHTING FOR MY LIFEEEEE #i'm still kinda sleep deprived but don't worry about it

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adrift-in-thyme · 1 year

Text

Day 27: Survivor’s Guilt (Warriors/Artemis)

Ao3 link

Cw for mentions of blood and injury, and heavily implied suicidal thoughts/ideations

———————-

Zelda sets down her quill and runs a hand over her face. Her day has been outrageously busy, filled to the brim with meetings to attend, documents to read and sign, and dignitaries to speak with. To tell the truth, she hadn’t even realized that night had fallen until a few moments ago. But she can see it now–the dark sky speckled with stars and the moon settled serenely among them, casting its glow over Hyrule. A light breeze blows, ruffling the leaves on the trees and caressing the grass of Hyrule Field.

Unable to resist the urge to feel its gentle touch against her face, Zelda rises and walks to the window. She sets her hands on the sill and leans out, sighing as the calm of the night washes over her.

There have been far too few of these lately, what with the state of general chaos currently gripping her kingdom. The aftermath of a war is never simple, never easy. Never has she known this with more certainty than she does now. The burden of rebuilding Hyrule lies heavy on her shoulders.

Impa has been a great help, though, ever willing, and able to lend a listening ear and sage advice. Zelda considers herself extremely lucky to have her. And then, of course, she has Link, who has served as an ever-present source of strength and support these past months.

…and who is currently walking alone towards the castle gates.

Zelda leans farther out, breaking from her reverie to peer down at him, brows furrowed in a frown. Usually, she wouldn’t worry. He’s the captain of the royal army, after all, and one of her most trusted advisors. He’s more than capable of venturing outside the castle by himself. But there is something in the way he holds himself, something in the uncharacteristic slouch in his shoulders, drag in his steps, that sparks concern within her.

She watches as he waves to the guards, and they lower the gate for him. And then he’s fading into the distance, long, blue scarf trailing behind him like a cape. The gate comes back up, creaking and groaning from years of use, and he disappears behind its silver bars.

Zelda waits for a moment longer, worrying her bottom lip as she weighs her options. She certainly doesn’t want to intrude on Link’s private life, especially after everything with Cia. He needs to feel free again, free to live his life without always having to glance over his shoulder, searching for a pair of crimson eyes watching him from the shadows.

Then again, now that she thinks about it, he has been abnormally quiet today. But when she had asked him about it, he’d merely grinned and joked about not sleeping as well without Mask kicking him in the rear end. His grin, however, hadn’t reached his eyes.

She shakes her head and turns from the window. Link may be the captain and her advisor and the goddess’s chosen hero, but more than any of that he’s her friend. And if she doesn’t make sure he’s alright, no one will.

Still, as she grabs a cloak and slips from her bed-chamber, she can’t help thinking it would be nice to have Mask and Toon here now. If anyone could coax Link to open up, it was those boys. She can only hope that she will have the same luck.

It’s a long way from her tower room to the gate. But she walks at a quick pace and makes good time. The moon illuminates her path through the courtyard, its silvery glow touching on the damp cobblestones. Her shadow stretches long, wavering and morphing with every step, combining with those of the towering spires of her home. A few leaves float by from the surrounding trees. The breeze carries them, smelling of spring rain and the surgery sweetness of fairies.

Truly, the night is as beautiful as she thought it would be. It wouldn’t be surprising at all if Link had merely decided to enjoy it. But as she traces his steps, out of the castle, through Castle Town, a vaguely unsettled feeling takes root within her. And the longer she searches for him, the stronger it grows. Something is amiss here, she is certain of it. It only makes her quicken her steps more.

She finds him just outside of Castle Town.

He stands, a solitary figure, silhouetted against the glow of the moon. His scarf flows out behind him in gentle, gallant waves, and his armor glints almost threateningly. But his stance is not of someone prepared for battle. It is of someone struggling not to cry.

Zelda steps forward, taking in the fists balled up at his sides, the slight tremble in his shoulders, the choked, strangled sounds of his breathing. In just the few moments she stands there he seems to curl in on himself even more, as though he wishes to simply disappear.

“Link?” she murmurs.

He starts at the sound of her voice, whirling around to face her, hand already on the hilt of his sword. But then he realizes who it is, and the panic drains out of him as quickly as it came.

“Zelda,” he breathes, sounding relieved. “What’re you doing here?”

“The weather is lovely.” Zelda moves to stand beside him, a small smile lifting her lips. “I couldn’t stay inside and ignore it. So, I decided to take a stroll. It’s nice to get away from the castle once in a while.”

“Yeah…it is.”

His gaze is trained ahead once more, eyes slightly glazed. Wherever he is right now, Zelda is certain it’s not here.

“I apologize for frightening you.”

“Oh–” Link chuckles but there is no humor in it. “You hardly frightened me. It’s just–I…it’s always good to be prepared.”

“It certainly is,” she acquiesces, trying to shove down the feeling that this conversation is rapidly heading nowhere. “I suppose that’s what makes you such a good captain.”

His face falls at that, expression quickly hardening into something bitter.

“I’m not.”

It’s a hoarse whisper, torn from a constricted throat, and Zelda hardly catches it. Still, the words hit her with breathtaking force. She turns to him, with a frown, hoping desperately he isn’t saying what she thinks he is.

“You’re not…what?”

“I’m not a good captain.”

And there they are, the words she knew were coming, hanging heavily in the chilly night air. Before she can address them, however, he plows on.

“The war started because of me, Zelda. Cia knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t gonna stop until she got it.” His voice breaks and he squeezes his eyes shut. A tear trails down his cheek. “But I didn’t–I didn’t want to be hers…and people died because of that. Countless, innocent people.”

Zelda reaches out to lay a hand on his arm, and he shudders.

“You can’t blame yourself, Link,” she says, firmly, even as her heart breaks for him. “Cia was unwell. Even if you had given her what she wanted, it wouldn’t have stopped the bloodshed. Ganondorf was using her, and you know that.”

“The darkness,” he whispers, after a long moment filled only by his ragged breathing, “I caved to that too. What kind of hero does that?”

“A human hero. You may be the goddess’s chosen, but you are still only mortal.”

“Mortal.” He chokes on a laugh. “Zelda, I can’t afford to be mortal. The hero doesn’t get to be…people die if he…”

A sob wrenches its way out of him, and he crumples beneath its weight. Zelda goes down with him, wrapping her arms around him even as he falls to his knees. He sags into her, gasping for breath like a dying man.

How long he has harbored these feelings, allowing them to eat him alive, she doesn’t know. But seeing him like this, breaking into a million pieces within her embrace, tears her apart.

“It-it should’ve been me that died,” he manages between hiccupped cries that soak her sleeve and drip down onto his tunic. “My men had-had families, and the civilians they–”

He breaks off again, yet Zelda knows what he was going to say.

Many noncombatants had fallen during the war—women and children and men who had had no desire to lead the life of a knight. She’s seen the carnage of their lives too many times to count–burned ranches and homes, tables overturned and dinners spilled, toys and furniture sprayed in blood. It’s only natural, she supposes that it should haunt him as it does her.

“It should’ve been me,” he says again, and she holds him tighter, pressing his head to her chest.

“No, Link,” she says through her own tears. “Don’t think for a moment your death would have ended the war. Or made anything better for that matter. All it would have done is deprive me of a dear friend.

“Your existence has only made my life brighter. Please, Link, don’t forget that.”

Her words only make him cry harder. But he wraps his arms around her now, clutching her like a lifeline, and that at least she counts as a victory. Tonight, is the sort of night when she doesn’t expect to get much else.

Still, if she could take this burden from him, erase the guilt and painful memories she would do it in a heartbeat. Even in a realm of magic, one can only do so much, however. And so, she holds him as he pours his heart out, and rips hers from her chest along with it. She holds him as he breaks.

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday27 #mentions of blood and injury #tw implied suicidal thoughts/ideations #survivors guilt #loz #hyrule warriors #artemis x warriors #zelink #trin writes #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu artemis

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satansapostle6 · 11 days

Text

love and blood | killian jones

The course of history is changed forever when a ruggedly charming pirate’s fate is intertwined with that of a dark sorceress more powerful than any he had ever encountered.

Warnings: Violence. Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

I. The Encounter

II. The Witch

“Who am I?!” Killian Jones demanded angrily. “Who the fuck are you?!”

He heard a low, amused chuckle before seeing the figure before him vanish in a cloud of enchanted smoke, just as a tall, slender figure in a long black dress appeared before him, all of the candles in the room spontaneously lighting.

“I’m the witch,” the same serene voice he’d been hearing said simply.

Hook stopped for a moment as he finally looked at her in the light.

“Are you the ruler of this place?” he asked cautiously.

“One might say so, yes,” she answered.

The woman standing before him, he couldn’t help but notice, was beautiful. It was the very first thing he saw, whether he could help it or not. There were no other words that could describe it; she was just beautiful.

It couldn’t be explained the way Hook felt himself gravitating towards her, even in spite of the danger he was most certainly in. He was as close to hell as possible, but somehow, all he saw when he looked at her was an angel.

“What have you done with my men?” Killian rasped.

He was both confrontational and fearful.

“Relax; they’re safe. Back home, actually,” the witch assured him.

Everything about this woman confused him; her calmness, her lack of violence. She’d had the opportunity to kill all of them, and yet she hadn’t. To Killian, it seemed she’d almost gone out of her way to keep him placated. It was extremely suspicious. Despite this heated situation, she just stood there, hands together as if waiting on him.

He stared at her in awe, eyes wide as a giant raven came swooping down, parking itself onto her shoulder like a perch, cawing loudly. The black bird just sat there, as if it were also watching him. He found the bird to be very unsettling; it moved and behaved like a human, somehow.

“Who are you?” Hook demanded again. “What do you want with me?”

She studied him for a moment before answering his question.

“My name is Carmilla. You’ve been sent to me by an enemy, and I wish to know why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hook stated, attempting to get away with as much as he could.

Why he was sent to this castle, he still had no idea. He was still trying to figure out whether Col was anywhere to be found.

“I wouldn’t advise you lie to me,” Carmilla said softly, “It isn’t a good idea.”

Hook nodded, realizing that attempting to convince this sorceress of his innocence could only result in his own death.

“I don’t know anything, alright?” he admitted. “The man who sent me to you… He was strange. I never even saw a face… I’m not even sure it was a man.”

“Strange, you say?” Carmilla thought. “Describe this person to me. Where did you meet them?”

“In the Enchanted Forest,” Hook told her. “My men and I… we were stumbling about, drunk. This cloaked figure came to us… The man. He asked if we liked diamonds. We said yes… He said he’d pay us, if we took some of his magic, and came here to carry out a task.”

“And what is that task?” the sorceress wondered.

“He said we needed to find someone named Col,” Killian Jones explained. “He said to find someone named Col, and obtain something called the ‘Blue Scroll’ from him, my any means necessary. Those were his exact words,” he supplied, laying all of his cards out on the table.

“The Blue Scroll?” Carmilla’s voice grew thin like a whisper.

Hook nodded in response.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes,” he promised. “That’s what he said.”

“This man, or whatever it was…” she thought for a moment. “Can you describe him?”

“Not much,” the pirate offered. “He was, er… A bit shorter than I am. Dressed in all black every time I saw him. Lived in a hovel. Deep in the woods.”

“A hovel?” the woman echoed.

Hook nodded, watching her reactions carefully.

“Can you describe his voice?” she asked hopefully.

“Like I said. Hard to tell if it was a man or a woman,” Hook told her. “It was rather soft for a man, but a bit too deep to be a woman.”

“Oh, I know exactly who sought for you and your band of mercenaries,” Carmilla grinned, a glimmer of unmistakable bloodlust in her eyes.

Hook smiled charmingly, slowly beginning to feel better about his chances of survival. Although this strange sorceress was completely unpredictable and foreign to him, he felt that if he could figure out a way to align himself with her, he’d be able to leave her palace alive. As he wracked his brain for an angle to use with this woman, he suddenly realized; she was a woman, and he was a man.

“So, Carmilla,” he said finally. “Now that I’ve told you everything you need… How else can I be of service to you?” he asked softly, his voice thick with seduction.

But he was met with a derisive laugh.

“You think you could be of service to me?” she questioned.

Hook shrugged humbly, still laying on the rugged charm. “I’m sure given enough time I could think of a few ways I could be of service… your majesty,” he cooed, kneeling before her.

Hook knelt down before the woman, boldly taking her hand as he slowly pressed a soft, gentle kiss to it, not breaking eye contact. Carmilla looked down at him in every sense, picking him apart as her raven would a dead body.

“Perhaps ‘mercenary’ was not the proper epithet,” Carmilla remarked lightly, mussing up his hair and pulling it as he looked up at her with wide eyes. “Perhaps I should have said ‘whore’.”

“I could be anything you like, love,” he promised her, still on his knees.

Hook’s motivation was no longer survival. Now that it was apparent that if she had actually wanted to kill him she would have done it already, his motivation had shifted over to something different, but equally primitive.

“As much as I’d like to explore that proposition… There is something I suppose I could ask of you,” she concluded, seeing his eyes light up, “That requires you vertical,” she added quickly.

“I assure you, your majesty,” he remarked with the utmost flattery as he stood, “I can work vertically.”

“Would you like to offer your services in exchange for a reward, or do you insist upon being nothing but distracting?” Carmilla asked coldly.

“Apologies, love,” Hook replied, “Let’s talk business… What is this reward you speak of?” he inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Gold, jewels, treasure, I have it all,” she stated. “I could pay you by the boatload if you wish. None of it is of any use to me.”

“Mmm… Perhaps I’m no longer interested in material possessions,” the pirate suggested, pushing his luck.

“Then what, might I ask, are you interested in?”

“You,” he announced, looking her up and down. “I think you’d have your way with me if you could—”

“Do you?” she raised an eyebrow.

Hook continued brazenly.

“—and I must say, I’m very interested in seeing that happen.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Carmilla asked. “Are you seriously proposing I reward you with sex?”

“I’m not not proposing it,” Hook offered humorously.

“Well, the reward definitely wouldn’t be mine,” she thought aloud.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he teased. “But, no. You’re right. Sex, while accepted, is not the form of payment I had in mind.”

“Then what do you want, pirate?” she glowered at him. “I don’t like having my time wasted.”

“I want a way to travel between the realms,” Hook asserted. “I know you’re powerful enough…”

Suddenly, the energy in the room shifted with a single movement. Carmilla did not appreciate the challenge. She only waved her hand, as Killian Jones seemed to be sucked into the palace walls, shackles of iron appearing on his hands and feet, as he found himself unable to move. He struggled against them at first, but then chuckled darkly once he saw the look on her face.

This was less of a genuine threat, and more of a demonstration of power.

“Hate to break it to you, your majesty,” he sighed coyly, “But I’m not exactly opposed to this…”

“Don’t forget, pirate, that I could kill you any time I like, and you’d still be none the wiser. Not killing you is my true gift to you,” she promised him with a smile. “I don’t even have to pay you… I own you.”

“Again. Not against this, love,” Hook quipped.

The iron shackles tightened even more, and he gasped aloud.

“Alright, I’m sorry!” he apologized quickly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t intend to disrespect you, Carmilla… I-I will be perfectly obedient from now on! You have my word!”

He winced as the heavy shackles disappeared, and he dropped to the ground like an apple from a tree, looking his serpent in the eye as he rose.

“Hmm,” the sorceress remarked with satisfaction. “And all I had to do was threaten your life… Do yourself a favor. Learn magic. Don’t be such a liability.”

Killian looked up at her with resentment. Never had he felt such hatred in his life for something so admittedly magnificent. This woman, this sorceress, standing before him was potentially the most foul thing he had ever encountered in his travels, apart from perhaps the Crocodile to which he’d lost his hand.

Taking one look at Carmilla, he would have bedded her in an instant, there was no doubt about that, but from the looks of her, he wouldn’t have trusted her if his life depended on it. Looking into her eyes, Hook already felt hypnotized. Mesmerized. The darkness of her eyes was one that called to him, like a black hole looking to devour.

Hook knew that he couldn’t resist her if it came to it; he knew better. He knew better than to put himself in a situation where he’d have to pit his inhibitions against her long, dark locks, and get back stare. Getting into bed, literally or not, with the likes of Carmilla was dangerous, but Hook had no choice but to brave it on his own. She was the only one with the ability to give him what he wanted. His revenge.

He knew that if, someday, he wanted to skin his Crocodile, he would have to befriend someone at least half as powerful. And so far, it seemed the witch of the Land of Blood was his best bet.

“This sorcerer. The one who sent us here,” he said, looking at her with urgency, “Who was he?”

“No one of any importance,” the enchanting witch said with a suspicious smile. “But, we do need to return to your land.”

“My land?” Killian questioned. “For what?”

“He has something we need,” she explained. “Something we both need.”

“And what might that be?” he wondered. “All the man had to offer me was diamonds, and gold.”

“That’s because he took advantage of you, my dear,” she reminded him, tapping at her temple with a finger. “You don’t know magic? You don’t ask the right questions.”

“And what questions might those be?”

“I have one for you, pirate,” the woman ignored him, stepping closer as her fingertips lightly brushed his face.

She examined him the way she would a statue, lifeless and solely meant to be admired.

“Is there someone you hate?” she thought. “Someone whose mere existence makes your blood boil?”

Hook seemed to find humor in the question. “Is it that obvious?”

“Tell me, Hook,” Carmella said, whispering into his ear, “What would you say if I told you there was a way we could travel between realms?”

Hook considered the idea for a moment, fully aware that the longer he remained aligned with this witch, the more he came to realize that he could benefit from it.

“What do we need?” he asked her with a newfound resolve.

Carmilla allowed herself a tiny grin beneath her cruel exterior, recognizing the commitment in his eyes.

III. Bloodlines

#killian jones #once upon a time #captain hook #hook x reader #ouat #ouat hook #captain hook ouat #captain hook x reader #colin o'donoghue #killian jones x reader

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becomingbts · 1 year

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NUMB - 08

Summary: It was hard to live on as if nothing happened. As if she didn’t lose her hands and one of her best friends in that accident. It didn’t help that her hands were everything she had and everything she was. Without them, she wasn’t sure she had any reason to breathe anymore.

Pairing: Y/N (fem) x Yoongi

Genre: Heavy angst and fluff

Warnings: deal with depression, suicidal thoughts, screaming, self-inflicted pain, mention of death.

768 words

Yoongi didn’t know why, but something felt wrong. He had tried speeding up on his way back home as if it would settle that uncomfortable feeling that had been plaguing him ever since he left the convenience store. Yoongi wasn’t often uneasy, but when it happened, his gut feeling rarely betrayed him. Everything had been fine before he left for groceries. Even while he had been paying, his mind had remained serene, only slightly shivering due to the cold temperature. However, once outside, something felt wrong. It was like an itch under his skin telling him to hurry. Hence, remaining prudent, he hurried up, trying to reach home as soon as possible before anything could happen.

Maybe he was unsettled because of (Y/N)’s reaction to their last outings. That must have been it, right? It could be anything, but Yoongi didn’t like the way chills ran down his spine.

Turning the key, Yoongi sighed at the gentle warmth of their apartment.

“(Y/N)? I’m home.” Quickly ridding himself of his coat and shoes, he ventured into the living room to drop the groceries in the kitchen before hurrying to their bedroom. However, he had not expected to see (Y/N) in the kitchen, in front of the stove.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing, you know it’s dan-” Yoongi’s breath hitched before he yelled her name in pure panic. He instantly dropped the bags, dashed into the kitchen, and tore (Y/N)’s burnt hands away from the stove, pulling them into the sink. Panicked, he opened the valve and put both of her hands under the cool water. The sleeves of her sweater were obviously getting wet, yet Yoongi couldn’t care any less. With only a brief glance, it was obvious that her hands were in poor condition. They might need to go to the hospital if his observations were to be confirmed.

“What the fuck were you thinking about? Why did you do that?” Yoongi did catch sight of her tears before he spoke, however, his own anger and panic clouded his mind for a few seconds. He definitely had not sounded nearly as calm as he usually was. (Y/N) did not react to his words, as if in a state of shock—Yoongi wondered if it was because of the pain or because of him.

“Answer me! Do you realize we might need to go to the hospital because of your-”

“I can’t feel anything, Yoongi.” Her voice wavered, barely containing her shock and terror. Yoongi’s eyes widened a bit at her words, “I couldn’t feel anything, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t do anything.” Yoongi swore in his mind.

It couldn’t get any worse, could it?

“I tried cold water, warm water, hitting the wall, cutting with the knife,” Yoongi was ready to burst at her words, but she continued as if not sensing his growing anger, “but nothing worked. I couldn’t feel anything, I thought-” she pinched her lips between her teeth, trying to keep herself grounded but it was obvious that (Y/N) was losing this battle against herself, “I thought that if the damage was extreme, maybe I’d feel something, maybe it would wake up the feelings in my hands, but it did nothing!” Her voice had rarely been that loud, except for one of their fights. With trembling hands and irregular breathing, she struggled to keep herself up, her body slowly giving up as the realization hit her. She might never feel her hands again.

She broke.

Yoongi had believed that (Y/N)’s state couldn’t get any worse, that she had already hit rock bottom. He had believed that the very little and slow progress they made together would never shatter, that he’d never let her touch the ground again, and yet here she was.

Breaking in his arms, burnt hands under the sink, while the sound of her tears fractured what was left of both of their hearts. Maybe Yoongi had been too optimistic, too trusting of her never-ending courage. His girlfriend was strong. He knew it. Despite everything that had happened to her, she had never fully resigned herself, never fully given up. That day, however, something that Yoongi couldn’t see but could clearly feel shattered, and once again, the only thing he could do to help was to hold her. It would not stop her tears, it would not prevent (Y/N) from breaking again, but he wouldn’t let her go through this alone. He was there with her, holding her as tightly as he could, and there was nothing else that Yoongi could do.

UPDATED EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY

TAGLIST: @fluffyydumplings, @harmonie-writes, @might-be-a-rat, @wobblewobble822, @cuteipat, @0funsite0, @borahae-reads, @princxssly82

#networkbangtan #magicshopnet #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x oc #yoongi x y/n #sad yoongi #heavy angst #mention of self harm #please read cautiously

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mostlygibberish · 4 months

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I liked the part with the cicadas.

A slow stroll through beautiful visuals, calm atmosphere, and the gentle sound of a đàn nguyệt.

Extremely light on plot and structure, but consistently enjoyable. The last act did fall apart a little when it became a sort of rushed, melodramatic montage, almost devoid of dialogue. I much prefered Man San Lu's great, natural performance as Mùi, to Tran Nu Yên-Khê's vaguely unsettling expressions and demure posturing.

Lots of satisfyingly presented cooking and mundane chores, bringing to mind a Ghibli movie. I particularly enjoyed the way ambient sounds like cicadas and rainfall were mixed, sometimes verging on overpowering the dialogue but in a way that felt intentional.

The use of a sound stage was obvious, but the sets looked fairly good and some of the camera movements allowed by missing rear walls worked quite well. I also liked the use of windows and doorways in framing shots, which complemented the semi-open feeling of traditional Vietnamese architecture.

For some reason the synopsis on SBS On Demand said this was about a girl who gets married and learns to play the piano, but only half of that is even implied to have happened, off-screen, in the final two minutes of the movie.

The Scent of Green Papaya is more accurately about the life of a girl in 50's and 60's Saigon and not a lot else. That it even takes place against the backdrop of the First Indochina War is only hinted at by the occasional sound of passing aircraft or curfew sirens.

A pleasant, serene movie. Very good.

#the scent of green papaya #the scent of green papaya 1993 #mùi đu đủ xanh #movie review

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narcisosims · 5 months

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Noah's Story 𓆩♡𓆪

Noah King (teenager) - Sidney Price (teenager) - Diesel Knox (teenager) Noah King is a transgender ftm teenager originally from Windenburg who has just started studying abroad in Copperdale as an exchange student for a year. Almost three years prior to this, him and Diesel Knox have known each other though social media by following a blog dedicated to transegner people only, to which they've been subscribed to for years, and that they had both recently joined. At first they got to get to know each other through a public groupchat for the group members, then becoming pen-pals since. Not really having a lot of friends but two close ones in his hometown, Noah had found a lot of comfort and support into getting to know Diesel better, not only because he was similair to him for his gender identity and journey, but also because he was also a misfit who liked the same things as him such as video games and music, but with a sparkle of passion for fast cars and the adventurous life. On the other hand, Noah was still bottling up most of his passions and desires due to his awkward nature and unsettling feelings he still felt about being your true self around people because of growing up in a place where being like him wasn't too easy. In a sort of way, he'd get attached easily to people like Diesel who were not afraid to be who they were and serenely laughing about it. That's why it was too easy to temporarely move into his house when Noah had the chance to move to Copperdale in order to be an exchange student there for a year! Both their parents were always way too busy with work that they had quintessentialy left their respective kids alone on their own, which was perfect for the two who just wanted to live alone with their independency and rebellion! But, turns out that as Noah was shyly getting to know more people around him, Diesel was not the only one who had caught an eye for him. Sidney Price was an extremely kind person with a special attention for Noah. And let's just say that, with one thing leading into another, Diesel was not too happy about the thought of Noah not needing to be too much under Diesel's wing and protection anymore.

#sims4 #simblr #the sims 4 #the sims #sims 4 #sims screenshots #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 #sims 4 story #video games

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heartsleevemag · 1 year

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A Journey of Self Discovery: A Conversation with Deadbeat Girl

Photos by Jada Solèy Rodriguez

For many artists, music serves primarily as catharsis, a way to explore your experiences and express what you’ve learned. Deadbeat Girl, also known as Val Olson, is no stranger to this. They released their new catharsis-infused EP What Will It Take? last Friday, crafted over Olson’s coming of age and serving as a soundtrack to it.

As a queer person growing up closeted in South Florida, it makes sense that Deadbeat Girl wrote their debut EP from a personal perspective, using the process of writing, recording, and producing to work through their experiences. “Music is definitely my number one outlet to process my emotions. No better way to articulate the way I feel in certain situations than with both lyrics and sounds to evoke emotion,” they shared with Heartsleeve. “In South Florida I was extremely repressed, and even when I felt like I was being authentically myself, I hadn’t even reached my full potential because I had no queer people around me to introduce me to different ways of self-expression.” As part of their creative process, Olson moved to New York City, and they shared that it exposed them to a community and allowed them to discover more about themselves. “After moving to a place completely free of judgment with so much artistic influence, I have expanded my artistry in so many ways when it comes to my sound, artist image, physical appearance, and even the way I approach things as a person outside of my music. I write with so much more honesty, artistry, and unapologetic authenticity.”

We asked Deadbeat Girl why they chose What Will It Take? for the title of the EP. Their answer? “I originally saved it in my phone as a tattoo idea. I really resonate with it because I consider myself someone who’s very driven when it comes to things that I care about and at the start of my career that quote felt important. I changed the quote from “what would it take,” to “what will it take,” because that one word change felt more willing and eager. When coming up with the EP title, I then remembered the quote and I felt like it was very true to how I was feeling at the time.”

What Will It Take? opens with “Take Me Home,” which immediately feels open and vulnerable, a preview of the authenticity that Deadbeat Girl strives for. Olson sings about relying on another person for her sense of safety – “When I see you, all I feel is bliss,” they confess – while acknowledging the attachment might not be healthy. It holds a self-awareness that stays present throughout the EP. Olson has cited Girl in Red as one of their influences, and it’s apparent with this kickoff that they’re interested in that same kind of rawness with the audience. The following song, “She Loves Me,” continues this theme, up-front lyricism discussing two sides of a relationship Deadbeat Girl can’t help but compare. The layered guitar melodies blend well with Olson’s vocals, creating a serenity that makes the lyrics feel even more unsettling. The self-awareness is back in full force, Deadbeat Girl finding herself in a relatable situation: to stay, or to go?

youtube

“She Loves Me” flows seamlessly into the next track, “These Walls.” The vocals take a backseat to the instruments in this one, a muted echo adding to the despondency felt in the lyrics. “I grew up feeling like I could never be myself,” Olson shared when discussing the track. “I was violently closeted through high school. When I did have a relationship and people found out, I got so much shit for it. It was a nightmare.” The lyrics reflect Olson’s experiences – “Feeling trapped inside these walls, does anyone understand me at all?” she asks, letting the audience feel and understand that hopelessness. The repetition in the chorus only adds to it, making the listener feel trapped in the cycle. But there’s always someone who’s on your side, and Olson explained to Heartsleeve who that was for them.

“At the end of “These Walls,” you hear a voicemail of my guy best friend from home. The song has aged interestingly… the voicemail was originally supposed to be a female voice, but I ended up getting him to do it because I was scared of raising suspicion. I did not know that by the time I would be releasing it that I would be out to the world and to the people around me. Additionally, it’s funny because he is my ex-boyfriend who I dated two years prior to making the song (before I knew I was fully queer). Having him do it was also very true to the situation at the time because, just like I talk about in the message of the song, I was extremely closeted and he pretty much saved me at that point in time. We rekindled our friendship two years after our breakup, I came out to him before I came out to anyone at my school, and he was there for me at the really difficult point in my life that I wrote about in my EP.”

Acknowledging the pain will pass seems to be a theme on the EP, as the next track, “Another Day,” expresses blame and heartache, but is clear that “Life is worth the living.” The lyrical changes in the first and second chorus make the song more hopeful as it progresses, and as the heaviest song on the EP it feels punk-inspired and defiant. The last song, stripped back “More” could not be more different in tone, but holds a similar theme of putting yourself first; it discusses falling in love with someone you can never have. “I’ll let you go, I guess I’m better off alone,” Olson sings, asserting that even though the experience hurts, it’s for the better.

If you’d like to listen to What Will It Take?, you can stream the EP wherever you listen to music. If you’d like to keep up with Deadbeat Girl, you might want to follow them on Instagram, as they’re keeping pretty busy. “I’m celebrating my EP release by booking shows for the first time and by spending time with my close friends and family,” they shared with Heartsleeve. “Up next, I am working hard on developing my next project, promoting my music, booking shows, and honestly anything to put myself out there.” We’re excited to see what Deadbeat Girl has in store, and to witness where their journey of self-discovery leads them next.

#deadbeat girl #new music #new artist #new releases #new release #music #feature #reviews and interviews #music publication #new music friday #by vi mcdonald #by%20jude%20mcdonald

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harryhoney-bee · 3 years

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heyyy hope you’re doing good! im not haha.. Feeling extremely sad and like shit since morning but yeahh nvm. Can you please do a fluffy hslot fic about y/n feeling really sad and not knowing why but harry comforting her and making her feel better! please thanks❤️

Serene

Summary: Harry finds reader crying after his concerts.

Word count: 900

A/n: This is the tiny blurb i had a break down over <3 I'm gonna take a tiny break from posting writing on tumblr, because I'm feeling burn out, btw 😭

Hope you liked it baby!! Kissy on your forehead 😚

Harry didn’t expect to find his girlfriend crying when he came back from his show.

He knew she wasn't feeling completely ok when she said she didn't want to watch the concert that night. Y/n was usually his number 1 fan, dancing to every song and blowing kisses to Harry while he was singing, but during the afternoon she was just different.

"Just tell me what happened, baby?" He begged while holding her in his arms. "Did the fans say something to you? Were they mean?" The man was trying to come up with reasons why she would be sad, but nothing came to his head, and she wasn't opening up either.

Y/n just pecked his lips, freeing herself from his hold. "Nothing happened, I just want to stay here, just for tonight," she said while smiling.

Harry knew that was a fake smile for the way it didn't reach her eyes, they had a gloomy, unsettling light inside of them, something very different from her normal warm and inviting gaze.

When Harry was about to interrogate her about her sad demeanor, Jeff knocked on the door, saying that Harry was going to be late if he didn't leave now. He looked at her guiltily, not wanting to leave her alone.

"Please, come with me, you can stay in the dressing room, I don't like having you all alone while the crew is at the arena, it's dangerous," the man said, holding her hand and pulling her close to his body until he could touch his lip on her forehead.

"H, c'mon, don't worry about it, I genuinely want to just lay down and watch a movie or maybe read a book,” Y/n told him. “Now you need to go, my rockstar.” She gently guided him to the door.”

“Your rockstar, huh?” he said teasingly, kissing her one last time.

“Yes, mine. The prettiest in town. Now get out of here before Jeff loses his mind, you know he is impatient.” And with that the man opened the door, saying goodbye to Y/n as Harry went to the arena, followed by a group of security men.

The girl didn’t know that, but Harry requested two security guards to be waiting outside of the bus in case something happened to Y/n and he couldn’t get there in time. Harry was just very cautious when it came to her.

But right now, his concern for her was worthless, because Y/n was laying on the bed, hugging her pillow tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping her sane. Harry sat on the bed by her side, snuggling her to his chest as tears fell down her cheeks.

“Hey, what is wrong?” he held her chin, tilting it until she was looking at him with her Bambi’s eyes. “Talk to me, I’m worried, love.”

Harry was at the edge of crying himself, he had never seen her in that stage before. Her breathing was uneven and her body slightly shaking, she hadn’t said a thing since he came back, and that was killing him inside.

Did something happen to her family? Did somebody sneak inside the bus? Bile rose to his stomach at the thought of somebody hurting her. “Y/n, please, are you in pain? Why didn’t you call Jeff? I would leave the stage without a second thought!”

He began rocking her body softly, noticing her crying was more moderate now. “I- I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to break down like that,” she mumbled against his chest, her voice scratchy from the crying.

“You never, ever, apologized to me about something like this, do you understand?” He said sternly, but still stroking the skin of her thigh so she wouldn’t think he was mad at her. “You are my heart, it pains me seeing you sad. Please tell me what I can do to make you feel better, talk to me.”

“I don’t have a reason, I just woke up feeling so empty,” she confessed, hiding her face from his gaze. “At first I thought it was just a fleeting feeling, but it didn’t go away.”

“But when did this happen? You just woke up feeling blue?” he asked, trying to understand what she was saying. “Do you think you need to talk to a professional, love? I can make an appointment with some therapist when we get to Pittsburgh, what do you think?”

“No, I just want you to hold me, please.” She kissed his cheek, feeling the warmth of his body on her own. She waited for Harry to take off his shoes so he could lay in the bed with her. In less than a minute her head was resting on his chest, his heartbeat somewhat helping her feel safe and serene.

“I just feel so hopeless sometimes, like I can do anything right and there is nothing I can do to make me feel better,” she finally said after 5 minutes of complete silence. “I don’t know if that makes sense, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

“Your feelings don’t need to make sense all the time, It’s ok to feel a little confused, just make sure to tell me next time, alright?” He stroked her cheek, cleaning her face from the remains of tears.

“I will,” she whispered. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Always, my love.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting a hand on her belly. “Always here for you.”

#harry styles #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction

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emblemxeno · 2 years

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Dimitri honestly felt so supportive during my AM playthrough when Jeralt died, like "I understand what you're going through because I've been through something similar and if you want to find who did this and deal with them I'm right beside you no matter what" is like. extremely personally comforting. it's absolutely not comparable to Edelgard's "suck it up I won't even try to understand how you're feeling but come fight for me when you're done" response and pretending like it is is disingenuous. also side note but am i the only one who actually really liked the times pre-timeskip where Dimitri snaps and yells at Byleth? like the way he responds like that when something terrible has happened made me feel like he really cares with all the gravity the situation deserves and it made me connect with him more because i can understand how caring so much about people and seeing awful things happen to them can make a person so distressed and feel the need to do anything they can to help. Edelgard reacting to people suffering like it barely matters really unsettled me and the "funny" responses Byleth can give during a lot of her scenes don't help.

I feel the exact same way. Dimitri having moments where he's genuinely mad at Byleth are very engaging, and it makes you believe he cares, cuz he does! When you (Byleth) treat death of civillians as a cold reality, he reacts with a "wtf" because yeah. A guy telling his villagers to die for him because he's angry about his tinfoil hat son being executed for an assassination attempt? Pretty fucking insane.

By comparison Edelgard's pragmatism and serenity just moves into her being ignorant, insensitive and callous for me. As a character it makes her interesting, but as a person she's kind of the worst.

#queue #fire emblem discourse #edelgardiscourse

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astrolocherry · 3 years

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The land of Goddesses & Monsters in Neptune in the 1st house -

written by cherry

Neptune in the 1st people have an unseen battle being carried out just below the surface. Where her spirit meets body, endless conflict between light and darkness and darkness and light takes place all day and night. She hears the call to surrender to the sleepy serene of midnight for eternity while being drawn to a glowing echo. Sometimes her spirit is unsure where to go and it creates a lability of her existence that makes it all seem too real or surreal. She often gives up trying to tell whatever could come next. Everything seems a certainty in this mythic choreography. She often gives up trying to tell whatever could come next. Everything seems a certainty in this mythic choreography.

While Neptune in the 1st people are notorious for evoking dreamy, faraway, and surreal impressions, her life within is anything but a dream. The Neptune in the 1st visions are direct divinations from the divine flame. Her imagination and spellbound reverie becomes a nation in itself where she expends an astral adrenaline in exchange for metaphysical energy. When she closes her eyes, sets her sights on the conquest and chases the fantasy, she can sense the fire burning the dream into her real life as she catches it in her hands.

This excessive expenditure of physical energy in immaterial realms can result in a tiredness that she can’t seem to sleep off. Neptune in this position can design vivid, peculiar and poignant, and trilogy-like dream episodes that may result in her questioning if certain events occurred while she was awake or slept. There may be frequent unsettling themes involving combat, violence, cruelty, bloodshed, and fire, and sometimes with a seeming impaired ability to run, freely move, or escape. In some extreme cases, the dreaming is excessive and even involves repetitive or demanding physical labour. Even when the individual has forgotten her dream or believes she slept the whole night through, the side-effects of her secret life become evident throughout the day. She may experience a vague or heavy daytime fatigue, a listlessness that cannot be explained, a weariness when she gets home that can make socialising at times seem a marathon effort.

The condition of Neptune in the 1st house may produce adrenal-like episodes in the individual involving or similar to feverish spikes of temperature, emotional reactivity, excitement, inspiration, impulsive desire, and anxious anticipation that end with the sense of the blood is being drained out of her. Frequent and chronic headaches or migraines with intense auric experiences at the onset, often with sleep-deprivation being major causation may be another Neptune in the 1st side-effect. She may also possess veins notorious for swimming away whenever she needs blood drawn, turning even the most simple venipuncture or blood test attempt into a routine ordeal - for both the clinician and the individual.

The First House is the astrological house of self-expression, presentation, and exhibition. Neptune casts a great vision onto the character she appears to be and the impression she wants to create in others. As Neptune is a planetary muse, the individual may enjoy the masquerade of make-up and experimenting with various palettes, styles, cosmetics, costumes and watching the character in the doll that comes to life.

The First House also belongs to Aries, and Neptune’s fog of redemption can be next impossible to resist and will be closer defined depending on the sign and aspects made to Neptune. It may produce an inclination for harsh Aries and Mars tainted regimes, possibly involving strict physical exertion and activity, punishment and restriction, even the bloody carnage, agony, excruciating recovery, and faded scarring of cosmetic surgery to attain and maintain the vision. This brutality in her nature may be quite surprising and seemingly at odds with her appearance - especially one of Neptunian aesthetic, glamour, and grace. It can be all-out blood, sweat, and wet mascara tears behind these picturesque scenes.

This is why the mirror is a symbol that follows Neptune in the 1st around life if she can see it or she doesn’t. It’s the altar where she catches a glimpse of the inner Priestess as particles move from the light to her eyes for the enchanting illusive moment. The mirror can cast a reflection that blurs and changes before her eyes. Her transfixed gaze are all that remain unchanged as her face swirls like mixed watercolour into mirages, memories, mermaid ancestors, and sometimes a small child.

The mirror can also be a site of self-confrontation, declaring torment, heartache, and attempts to remember who she is. It can be where she cries out and for the girl staring back in a private ritual of saving herself.

In some scenarios, extreme rage and self-contempt can distort the image into a girl that she wants to hurt or even destroy, that she could shatter this mirror and see the broken pieces of herself everywhere.

The compass beneath all of this is the spiritual task of Neptune in the 1st in action, felt most evidently through the ill-defined identity that can trouble her throughout life. That evasive ‘tangible’ identity she saw others grow into and thought she would eventually too. That is not the Way for Neptune in the 1st. The archetypal Neptune is The Mystic, The Muse, The Magician, The Mermaid and The Matriarchal Holy Trinity, who all and more go through the process of ‘waking up’ in her first house as they move away from the comforts and familiarity of dewy darkness and into the light. Her story is the rebirth of a new Priestess in the spring- the Goddess who breaks each dawn, a new initiate, a new leader to guide us toward the next vibration, astral territory, and undiscovered dimension. A new teacher of scholars, a new visionary to lead the dreaming. From victim to victory, the only possible ending of this story.

Much awaited, ordained, celebrated,but most of all, content, at ease, with who she is.

Light at last,

without a shadow of a self-doubt

🍒Cherry art by Kurtis Rykovich

#Neptune in the 1st house #1st house #Neptune in the 1st #Neptune #Neptune in the 1st battle #dreams #nightmares #1st #astrology

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

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Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk.

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”

“I was not, I was just—”

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.”

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.”

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.”

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined.��She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.

“Sure thing, any in particular?”

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever.

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #bruce banner x reader #carol danvers x reader #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #pocketful of posies #posies chapter 3 #will reblog w tags in a bit

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