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yandere-3-sagau · 7 months

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Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 3

Short Summary: You’re on the Crux and want to test the limits of your new abilities. While you’re on your way to Inazuma, more and more people become aware of your existence. characters: Venti, Xiao, Zhongli, Beidou, Kazuha warning(s): none word count: 2221

(Sorry i’ve been inactive. I stopped playing genshin but i’ve come back for my bby Neuvillette. i’m including him soon to this series hehe)

─── ･｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

The Anemo Archon may be inactive, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening. As they always say, the wind carries words… even those meant to be kept secret.

Despite being a god that hasn’t shown himself to his people in ages, Venti is a lot more informed about his nation than most would think. And it’s not just his nation, but other nations as well.

So, when the wind carries the latest rumor to his ears, Venti drops the wine bottle he’s drinking. The glass shatters to the ground, the red liquid seeping into the wooden floors of Angel’s Share. Diluc groans, putting down the wine glass he was cleaning with a tired look on his face.

“Maybe it’s time you head home, Venti. It seems you’ve had too much to drink.”

Diluc’s words don’t seem to reach him as Venti’s aqua green eyes are widened in shock, his face unmoving. The red haired swordsman snaps his fingers in front of Venti’s face.

“You alright there?”

Venti snaps out of it, shaking his head. There’s a large smile on his face that he’s unable to wipe off.

“Yeah… it’s seems you’re right. I’ll be off, now.” He rushes out of Angel’s Share leaving Diluc bewildered at his speed.

“But you haven’t paid…” Diluc sighs, the words dying in his throat. He shakes his head at the Anemo Archon’s erratic behavior, red locks swaying.

As Venti exits the tavern, he jumps into the air and allows the wind to carry him, not caring who sees it.

His small frame is shaking with excitement over the new rumor… but he had to confirm it.

There have been countless times where the words he hears are false…but on the off chance that this new rumor is proven true, it would be groundbreaking.

So, Venti rides the current of the wind, directing it towards the neighboring nation of Liyue where the subject of the rumor was last spotted.

─── ･｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

You’re shocked, seeing the almost love stricken gaze of the vigilant yaksha.

The curse word slips from your mouth but Xiao doesn’t bat an eye, too dazed.

When you finally regain your senses, you have no time to think about Xiao or how he even knows you’re the creator. All you know is that you’ve been discovered and that you need to get back on the Crux before Grandpa Fuyi wakes up and discovers you’re missing.

With that goal in mind, you close your eyes and try to concentrate, thinking of the lower deck of the Crux and Grandpa Fuyi.

Slowly, you open your eyes but immediately jump back, startled. Instead of the lower deck of the Crux, you’re faced with Xiao who has moved disrespectfully close to you.

Xiao’s body is moving on autopilot, subconsciously bringing himself closer as his mind is only filled with thoughts of you. He wanted in engrain the image of you so deep into his brain that he’d remember every detail even when he closed his eyes.

Your presence is so warm it feels like all of the pain he’s suffered has disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Even just the scent of you is so addicting that he’s unable to remain composed. No matter how disrespectful Xiao may seem for invading the creator’s personal space, the need to be near you overcomes any sense of shame he may have. When he notices your shock, he immediately bows his head down.

He can’t stop the tremble of his hands as he stands so close to you, his heart racing. If he just lifted an arm, he’d be able to touch you. He fights the urge with every bone in his body before speaking so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear him.

“I-I’m sorry! I just… I’ve only ever dreamed of meeting you… to think that you’re really here…”

You don’t notice the internal conflict Xiao is having, only feeling your anxiety rising. If Xiao is already aware of you, who knows who else has been informed of your “descension”.

“Listen, Xiao…” he shivers, hearing you call out his name. You’re heading to the exit, determined to find a hidden spot where you can try again to teleport.

“You may have confused me for someone else. I would love to stay and chat but I have some really serious business I need to attend to-“

“Your grace…”

The deep voice that cuts you off fills you with panic as you slowly turn your head and come face to face with the Geo Archon and the sole reason from your departure from Liyue. His tall stature blocks the only exit, hands twitching as his eyes rake all over you.

Zhongli’s long legs make wide strides over to you. He seems to have lost all reason now that he’s finally found you. That face… so filled with joy that it’s almost insane… it makes you shudder.

With deep fear and desperation, you squeeze your eyes shut.

The Crux, The Crux, The Crux…

Finally, you feel that familiar energy surge through you and you know you’ve succeeded. Zhongli and Xiao watch you disappear before their eyes, the Geo Archon’s hand stretched out to touch you before you vanish completely.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of a tea cup clashing against a table. When you open them again, you’re met with two sets of eyes that stare at you in shock.

In front of you, Kazuha and Beidou sit at a round table, the steam from a freshly made teapot slowly rising in the air as the room is filled with silence.

At least you made it to the Crux.

“Well, hello stranger. That’s quite the entrance you’ve made,” Beidou drawls. Her cheek rests upon her hands as she stares at you with interest.

You’re thinking of excuses to make when Kazuha decides to speak after staring at you for a while.

“You’re bleeding,” he says. Panicked, you look at your clothes for any indication of blood but you’re unable to see anything from the dark color of your clothes.

“N-No, I’m not…” you lie, trying to play it off.

“You are… and it must be a lot since I’m able to smell it all the way from here.”

Of course, you know he’s right. The pain is still there since it hasn’t been that long since you were shot and you’re not exactly an expert at patching wounds.

“Why don’t I help you,” Beidou says. “In exchange for the secret on that little entrance you made.” The leader of the Crux steps closer to you causing you to take a step back.

“No, that’s fine! I’m just passing by. My grandpa is on the lower deck and he’s recovering from a heart attack so I really need to-“

With speed faster than you could even comprehend, Kazuha’s hand grips your wrist tightly, preventing you from leaving.

“You’re too suspicious to let go… state your purpose or we’ll have no choice but to treat you as an enemy.”

Beidou sighs, walking over and patting his shoulder as if telling him relax.

“Give them a break, Kazuha. Can’t you see they’re injured? At least patch them up before you start your interrogations.”

You have half the mind to teleport but their movements are so fast, you’re unable fight back. Within the blink of an eye, your hands are bound and you’re seated on a stool as Beidou lifts your shirt to inspect the wound on your back.

Her eyes widen, seeing the messy cloth stained with golden blood. Her hands pull back so fast it’s as if she was burned. Her ruby red eyes snap to look up at the back of your head.

“The creator…”

Kazuha studies you, his face blank but you can see the surprise in his eyes. Both of them take a step back, as they stare at you in silence.

Unexpectedly, it’s the calmest reaction you’ve witnessed so far.

“What brings the creator aboard my humble ship?” Beidou asks, forcing her voice to stay steady as if a big shot… no… the big shot of Teyvat isn’t bound to a chair on her ship.

You sigh. This is the exact reason you wanted to avoid being discovered.

“I wasn’t lying when I said my grandpa is on the lower deck.”

“The grandpa of the creator…”

“Well, adoptive grandpa… but you know, same thing.”

“You’re heading to Inazuma? What for?”

“…vacation.”

Beidou’s hands move back to you this time, asking permission before touching you. You nod your head allowing her to untie you. She then carefully lifts your shirt and removes the wraps to assess the extent of damage. As you twist your head to look at it, you realize it looks a lot less worse than before.

“Who was stupid enough to attack the creator…” Beidou asks but Kazuha nudges her.

“We tied them up… and threatened them,” he says quietly. As if realizing the severity of their actions, Beidou flinches.

“We greatly apologize, your grace. I hope you can understand us. We were just taking precautions to ensure the members of the ship are safe.”

You nod your head, not thinking anything of it. Beidou helps you patch it up and you wince, feeling the stinging pain.

“I will accept your apology… as long as neither of you speak a word of me being here. Don’t tell anyone what you saw or heard. Act as if you’ve never met me.”

You can sense their confusion. They want to ask you why but they stay silent, only nodding at your request. After Beidou patches you up, you immediately leave to the lower deck of the Crux.

The two of them bow their heads down respectfully, waiting until you are completely out of earshot before speaking.

“You’re gonna keep the creator’s secret, right Beidou?”

“…we’ll see how much mora someone offers me for it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ✧: *.☽ .* : ✧.───

The pupils of Zhongli’s eyes shake as he stares at the spot you had just disappeared from.

When Zhongli had arrived at Wangshu Inn, he immediately recognized the scent he found back at the house he discovered. Like a hound, he followed the scent to the top of the inn and when he saw you… his whole world froze.

Unlike when he first met you back at the stall, he knows exactly who you are. This time, he was able to truly take you in.

Staring at the full glory of the creator, illuminated by the warm glow of candles, Zhongli thought that you were more than he could have ever imagined. For the first time in his thousands of years of life, he was completely awestruck.

He forced himself to steady his voice, quietly clearing his throat before speaking. But just as he called out to you, just before he was able to feel you, you vanished.

Zhongli feels as if the coldest of waters was suddenly poured all over him. His breath hitches and the emptiness of his hand physically pains him.

You disappeared. No… you ran away. From him.

It wasn’t obvious before, but Zhongli is sure of it now. You are running away from him.

Your stall that had been opened for months closed just after you had met him, and now. The moment you heard his voice and the second he almost touched you, you left.

The former Geo Archon feels his heart clench up. He slowly turns to Xiao. The intensity of Zhongli’s stare sends a shiver down the Yaksha’s spine.

“You… why was the creator here? When did they arrive? How come you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I-I’m not sure… From what I can remember, I was just thinking of them and suddenly, they appeared. They were only here for less than five minutes.”

The creator appeared for Xiao when he thought of them… but disappeared when Zhongli came.

The ground rumbles beneath them and the walls of the inn begins to shake. The two can hear the guests of the inn start to panic.

“Earthquake!” someone shouts.

Zhongli takes a deep breath and suddenly the rumbling stops. Still, the words keep circling in Zhongli’s head.

The creator appeared for Xiao.

Why? he thinks. There’s not a single second since he’s been aware of your descension where Zhongli is not thinking of you. For longer than Xiao had even been alive, Zhongli prided himself on being the most loyal acolyte of yours. With how much of his being that Zhongli devotes solely to you… why would you appear for Xiao and not him?

Are you unsatisfied with him? Was there something he did?

Just tell him, he thinks. Instead of running away and leaving him in the agony of uncertainty, just tell him what he did.

Does he need to prove himself to you?

Zhongli is more than willing to prove himself. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to repent and prove himself worthy if the reward is your presence. He’s spent thousands of years devoting himself to you and he’ll worship you til the day he dies.

So now that you’ve finally descended, he doesn’t care if he has to chase you around all of Teyvat. Whether it’s stealing his gnosis back from the Tsaritsa and becoming Morax once more or defeating all the archons of the other nations to prove himself worthy, nothing will deter Zhongli from gaining your acceptance.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

Note

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting.

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself…

Now that is pure hell.

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to.

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today.

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown.

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you."

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too.

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm.

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows.

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you.

"I'm just…"

Jesus, this is just humiliating.

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise.

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one.

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–"

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…"

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven.

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing.

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know."

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done.

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to.

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to…

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is.

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months?

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess."

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution.

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to.

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok."

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly.

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender.

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty.

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him?

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy.

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left."

Whoa.

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop."

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in.

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end.

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you.

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard.

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all.

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core.

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load.

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…"

He sounds dazed.

Relieved.

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..."

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even.

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost fluff #soft simon riley #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon riley x you #fluff and smut #call of duty

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chvrryzpop · 2 months

Text

BRUTAL

c. sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: Chris got into a fight with his girlfriend Paige and you comforted him until things led to another...

warnings: dom!chris, angst, smut, fingering, degrading kink, make out, pet names, cheating, alcohol, use of y/n, throwing up, toxic relationship.

not proofread!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You were at a house party that a few friends of the triplets organized. You were near the drinks table with Nick and Madi while Matt, Chris, and his girlfriend Paige were on the other side of the house. The thing is that you’re drunk right now and you can't help but stare at Chris, the way he caresses Paige's waist, the way he leans to whisper dirty little things to her, you want that, you want to be the one that he says those things, you want to be the one he can touch, love, crave for.

And it killed you that she was perfect and you felt like you would never be like her.

Little did you know...

“Y/n!” Nick snaps you out of your trance waving a hand across your face.

“Sorry, sorry! What were you saying?” You asked while you kept glaring at Chris’ direction.

“Do you want to play beer pong with us?” He asked once again

You nodded and that's when you saw Chris leaving with Paige upstairs.

Ouch.

This shouldn't be affecting you this much, but it hurts like hell. You can’t even recall when you started to feel this way about him, but it drove you crazy.

“Sure, but I kinda need some water…” And that’s when you felt it, your stomach turning, feeling the lump forming in your throat, this was the moment where your decision to get drunk would make you suffer the consequences for it. Kneeling on the floor, wrapping your arms around your stomach, feeling the acid making you gag, your first instinct was to pick up your cup and throw up on the inside, If you were going to humiliate yourself, the least you could do was to not make a mess on the fucking floor.

Feeling the sensation wear off slightly after literally throwing up your intestines (or at least that’s how it felt) you tried to stand up. Failing miserably, causing Nick and Madi to pick you up and rest your left arm around Nick’s shoulders and your right arm on Madi’s shoulders, trying to carry you to the bathroom as fast as they could.

Chris' POV

I went upstairs with Paige since she needed to talk to me. I think I’ve never felt so anxious in my life as I do right now. That’s when we got there and the conversation in reality was just Paige complaining about a trip I was going on with my brothers in a few days. “I just don’t understand why can’t you stay here with me!” she yelled.

“I already told you a few weeks ago that I’m not canceling another trip with my brothers just because you feel like not letting me go, you’re not my fucking mother to tell me where I can go or not, what I can do or not! Because guess what, Paige, I can do the fuck I want.” I snapped back, making Paige turn around and slap me harshly, leaving a red mark across my cheek.

I held my cheek, not feeling slightly shocked anymore since this started way back ago, I could tell by her face that she regretted it instantly.

“Chris, baby…” she tried to place her hand on the spot where she marked, making me pull away from her touch.

“And now you just gave me more reasons to go on that fucking trip,” I added between sobs, trying to hold back the tears, turning my back to her.

"Please, don't leave me… I can fix this..." She gripped my arm.

"As far as I remember, you mentioned the same thing last time we fought." The resentment showed up in my voice, but I couldn't help it. How could someone so perfect turn into a complete monster? How can someone hurt someone they love?

And when I left the room, I would rather not see her face or hear her voice.

Y/n’s POV

You were in the bathroom throwing up while Madi was making you a ponytail and Nick rubbed your back. This night couldn’t get any worse. “Shit,” Nick murmured as you let your head rest on his shoulder, feeling way better than how you were.

“What?” Madi asked, her voice sounding tense.

“Matt just texted me we’re leaving right now.” You sat up straight, panicking, “What do you mean? I thought we all agreed to go until 1:00 AM…”

He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, well, there’s a change of plans.”

You checked your phone, and it was only midnight, “You guys should convince Matt if we can go in 30 minutes?”

They looked at each other and then back at you, “We won’t leave you here, y/n.”

“I’ll be fine, guys don’t need to worry about me.” You smiled at both of them.

Nick shook his head. “I’ll just text Chris to ask him if he can try to convince Matt to let us stay a little longer.” He spoke as he started to type on his phone. “We’re not leaving you here alone, end of the conversation.”

"Alright, Dad," you replied jokingly, having as a response an eye roll from Nick as he was about to laugh.

Thirty minutes had passed, and the three of you were still inside the bathroom waiting for Chris’ answer. “Did he text you already?” You asked as you rinsed your mouth with some mouthwash to get rid of the disgusting sour taste you had.

"Yes, and he's giving me a headache already!" Nick answered as he kept texting back and forth with whom you supposed was Chris, "He won't stop being a fucking baby, and it's bitch complaining to me that Matt keeps insisting that we have to go now."

"Well...maybe we should try to—" You got interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door, you all looked at each other confused.

As you open the door, you see a long-haired brunette and a pair of pretty blue eyes.

It was Chris. His eyes seemed puffy and a little red as if he were crying. “Is Nick here?” Anger was plastered on his face.

That’s when Nick stood up and opened the bathroom door, “What the fuck, Chris? Can’t you do a simple task?” causing Chris to scoff “And you clearly can’t read. I texted you back saying that Matt didn’t give a shit about you guys needing more time. He wants to go now.”

“Did you explain to him that y/n is not feeling well right now?” Nick snapped back, crossing his arms.

Chris rubbed his face with both his hands before scanning your entire face. “Isn’t she okay now?”

“Chris! She could barely walk by herself a few minutes ago, why’s is it so hard for you to do a fucking favor and ask our brother to give us some time?!” Nick answered, his voice rising.

“Because I don’t understand why the fuck you guys need more time, y/n look completely fine, and you’re making a huge fucking deal out of it!” Chris’ voice also got a little louder.

“Because it will be a fucking huge deal when she’s throwing up all over the fucking car!” He shouted.

Chris’ jaw clenched.

“Then why don’t you ask Matt, since it’s such a big deal, huh?”

“Fine, I’ll fucking go and instead you and y/n will stay here while Madi and I sort this out since it’s so difficult for you.” Nick left the bathroom, Madi following his pace as Chris moved out of the way so they could get out.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to—” Chris shut the door behind him and looked at you, tears forming in his eyes. Your first instinct was to hug him.

He just cried as silently as he could. You guessed that alcohol hits him differently than it does to you. He dragged you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, and you began to stroke his hair. “Everything’s going to be alright, Chris.”

“No, it’s not, I’m a fucking burden to everybody and,” His sobs getting louder than before. “First, I fought with Paige and now Nick.”

You pulled back to look at his face, pulling his chin up so he could look at you, “You’re not a burden to no one, Chris.” You said, “You’re like the sun, and when the sun comes out, everyone smiles.” You kept talking, caressing his right cheek with your thumb, “Besides, whatever you and Paige fought about was just because she was drunk, it’ll pass.”

He just nodded and then rested his face on the crook of your neck and kept crying a little.

A few minutes had passed, you and Chris were sitting on the bathroom floor, laughing and talking a little.

“You know, If I’m being honest…I kind of envy Paige.” You said while looking up at the ceiling.

“Why?” Chris replied, furrowing his brows slightly

“Because she’s so beautiful and I’m not…” You admitted.

“Well that’s not true, you are really beautiful too.” He looked at you and smiled.

Beautiful, he called you beautiful.

A buzz sound came from Chris’ phone, he picked it up and looked at the screen. “It’s Nick.”

“What he said?”

“Matt accepted to stay a little more.”

“Excellent! This means I can finally get out of this bathroom.” You stood up and fixed your dress a bit, offering a hand to Chris.

He took your hand and stood up, as he was looking at you. His eyes shifted from your eyes to your lips.

And that’s when you noticed how your faces were just inches apart, feeling his breath hitting your face softly. “Chris…”

“Y/n…”

His palms were resting now on your cheeks, your mouths almost touching, “Do you want to kiss me, hm?” He suggested, grazing his lips against yours teasingly, causing you to shiver a little.

Of course, you wanted it, but was it right? Will he regret it? Will you regret it?

Something snapped you back from reality, cold hands running on your lower back down to your ass, gripping it slightly, “I asked you something.” His voice shifted to a demanding tone.

Fuck it.

You crush your lips against his. At first, it was sloppy, both fighting for dominance, he kept his grip on your ass, gripping it harder. Making you gasp.

And that’s when he gets the chance to slide his tongue inside your mouth, taking control of the kiss. Your body pressed against the cold marble sink that was right behind you, his hands now resting on the sides of your hips. Chris picked you up from your thighs and sat you up on the bathroom sink. Lifting your dress to reveal your black laced panties.

His hand snaked down to your inner thigh. His kisses lowered from your mouth to your jaw and then to your neck. His fingers finally got to your heat, your panties soaking wet. “You’re so wet for me.” He whispered, causing you to whimper a bit. He pulled your panties to the side and began to rub in circles your sensitive nub, whimpers coming out of your mouth. Shaking breaths, your hands gripping on the sink, your knuckles getting white.

“You fucking like that, don’t you?” Chris asked through gritted teeth, applying more pressure on your clit. You nodded but that made things worse, “You better use your fucking words, y/n. Or else I’ll stop and leave you all alone.”

“Y-yes, I l-like i-it.” You handled letting out. Chris smirked and kept stroking your clit. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, your head resting against the mirror wall, feeling the wave of pleasure consuming you. “Fuck…”

But then, the pleasure stopped. You opened your eyes and looked at Chris, he was smirking at you while he sucked his fingers, guiding them back to your throbbing pussy. Slipping them inside you, painfully slow. Your walls clench around his fingers, your legs squeezing with each other, a loud gasp coming out from you. Chris began to pick up his pace, thrusting his fingers in and out of you “Just like that, keep making those pretty noises for me like a good girl.” He groaned, intensifying his speed with each thrust.

He looked down where his fingers were working their way to bring you over the edge, you let pornographic moans out of your mouth, giving Chris what he wants.

Control.

“You look so fucking pathetic right now.” He grabbed your chin with his free hand and forced you to see him, his eyes darkened and full of desire. “Don’t you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? You fucking slut.” Chris whispered to you, pumping his fingers mercilessly in and out of you. “You wanted this? You wanted me to finger you?”

You nodded desperately, feeling the well-known knot forming inside of you, you were about to come. “I-I’m so c-close,” you mumbled. “What was that?” He gripped your chin tighter. Your hands grasp tighter on the bathroom sink, your climax getting closer and closer with each thrust. “Don’t stop, fuck.” You spat, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt finally getting to the edge.

“I won't.” He replied, getting closer to leave a few hickeys on your collarbone and the crook of your neck. That's when you felt your release “Fuck!” a loud moan coming out from you, your walls clenching around Chris’ fingers. Your juices flooded all over his fingers. Chris took out his fingers, a popping sound as he did. Your chest goes up and down violently, and your breath is heavy.

He looked at his fingers then at you, “Open your eyes, now.” You open your eyes slowly to get the view of Chris cleaning out his fingers until there isn't a single drop of your juices around his fingers. “You taste so fucking good, ma.”

What the fuck was going on tonight.

You were in the backseat with Nick and Madi, gossiping about tonight's party “It was fun.” Nick admitted.

“Yeah, I think I’m not going to parties anymore,” Matt added.

And there was Chris, glancing at you a few times before they left you at your apartment.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, alright?” You said to them as you waved at them.

You're finally in a quieter place, where you can think about what just happened tonight with Chris.

It finally happened, you finally got what you wanted with Chris and even more.

But it wasn’t enough, you craved for more.

But then, reality hits.

He was still with Paige, and you were just a distraction to him.

Or that’s what you thought until…

You got a text from someone.

It was Chris.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

a/n: not the best one-shots ever but here you go!!! Lmk if there’s any mistakes!

Tag list: @sturniolossss @tillies33ssss @chrisloyalgf @alorsxsturn

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twice-inamillion · 3 months

Text

The Company

Peeping Tom

Smut and Story Building (Blackmail, Deep Penetration, Defloration, Creampie, Rough Sex, First Time, Choking, Light BDSM, objectification)

Chapter 6

3,585 Words

(You encounter a peeping Tom as you have fun with one of your assistants. She tries to use her newfound information against you, but instead, you end up using her. By the end, you found yourself a new toy to play with.)

You return to your office with IU after a business meeting outside the company. The two of you talk about what just occurred during the last few days and how busy it’s going to get moving forward.

“How does it feel receiving your first private jet, sir?”

“I’m excited; I remember riding on my father’s jet when I was younger and always wanted one of my own. Now I just need to get it customized, and I’ll be able to use it.”

“Before that, we need to hire a flight attendant.”

“That’s true.”

“What about asking your father for one of his?”

“No, I'd rather get someone that has nothing to do with my father. I don’t want them to tell him anything about my business.”

“I’ll try to put a post online to hire an assistant.”

“Sounds good.”

“Any requirements?”

“Someone not too old, eye candy. You know my tastes.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best.”

“Also, any news on Big Hit and JYP?”

“I’ve heard that they are suffering a bit money-wise, so I think they are going to accept your offer.”

“Let’s see what they say. I don’t want to buy them outright, but I do want to hold a good chunk of shares, especially Big Hit. Bang Si-Hyuk seems like a pretty cool guy. He gave me a tour of his small building and even introduced me to his debuting group a while back. I really want to help the guy.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy with anything you give him, sir.”

“Let’s see how it goes.”

IU then hands you some documents and says, “This is some information I found out about JYP Entertainment. If you look at the third page, you can see that JYP was going to debut a new girl group under the name “6MIX,” but it fell through.”

“Oh, it seems like they had a hard time debuting due to one of their members leaving.”

“Yes, they added another member, Sana. It seemed like they were going to debut, but another of their leader also left the company, so they ended up scrapping the whole thing.”

“Poor girls, so much hard work and training to debut only to have it scrapped.”

“Yes, one in particular has been in their company for a long time. I heard she’s a very good singer.”

“Oh really? If JYP accepts the help, maybe I can ask him to release them from their contracts and send them my way.”

“I’ll keep you posted if there is any news, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Would that be all, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I have a meeting with one of the girls, so I’ll head to my office.”

“Actually, I’m going to grab a bite at the cafeteria, so I’ll walk with you.”

The two of you walk towards the hallway, slap IU's ass, and walk the opposite from each other. Little did you know that you were seen by someone, the person IU was going to have a meeting with.

————

You get a message from IU that she has received some inflation about the deal with Big Hit and JYP as you are coming from the gym. It’s been a few days since you got any information, so you’re excited to see what’s going on. Without changing, you walk into her office, sit on the couch, and listen to some good news.

You might not have noticed that Jennie has been curious about the relationship you and IU have since she’s a higher-up than you. She doesn’t know about your real position in the company and only thinks of you as one of the staff members. She was shocked when she saw you slapped IU on her ass and decided to follow you after that.

Today, she had another meeting with IU and planned on having a light snack at the cafeteria before meeting up with her. Since she finished early, she decided to head up to the administration floor and relax on the outdoor patio before the meeting. She exits the elevator and makes it to the top floor. Jennie walks down the hallway and notices how quiet it is. She wandered around and found Irene’s and the CEO's office before hearing a faint noise coming from the hall. She quietly makes her way to the noises and gets to IU’s office from where the noise is coming from.

Jennie tries to listen and places her ear by the door. She hears moaning coming from the other side. She tries to make up what the people instead are saying and can only decipher the male voices yelling that he’s going to cum.

After some silence, she notices that the voices are getting nearer and runs towards the opposite side of the hallway to where the patio is. She peeks her head out and sees you coming out the door and IU fixing her skirt.

“What the fuck, were they fucking in her office?”

“Omg, he’s getting it on with a higher-up in the company. Maybe I can use this.”

————

Later that night, you get a message from Jennie from your staff phone. You read the message, and it is asking you for help moving some items around the house. You’re not in the mood to message her that you can do it tomorrow, but she is persistent.

Somewhat annoyed, you put on a shirt and head down the elevator to the floor where their apartment is. You ring the doorbell, and Jennie opens the door within a few seconds. She wears a loose crop top and small shorts that show off her petite body.

“You said you needed to move some stuff, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the living room.”

You walk to the living room and see the items she was referring to. You spend about ten minutes moving the things, and Jennie is watching you up close the whole time.

“Is that all you needed?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Alright, I’m going. I’m tired.”

“Okay, but I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Please, don’t. The stuff wasn’t that heavy. Maybe try moving it between the five of you before calling me.”

You can tell that Jennie got upset by this based on her facial expression. “I don’t know why you’re complaining; it's part of your job.”

“It’s not. I was just doing this as a favor since you all just moved into the apartment, but that was a few months ago. You girls can figure stuff out,” as you grab your phone and head for the door.

Upset, Jennie yells, “If you’re going to be a douchebag about it all like the CEO, you’re messing around with his assistant.”

You turn around and see a grin on her face, blackmailing you. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I know that the two of you were fucking in her office the other day.”

“Lies.”

“I saw smack her ass a while back, and this time, you were leaving her office, and she was skirted and had a smile on her face.”

“If that’s true, how would you know?”

“I heard the two of you doing it.”

“No one is going to believe you.”

“Hmph, I wouldn’t be so sure. I have the CEO’s number.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have his number.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, holding her phone out.

“Alright, do it.”

“Okay, I will” and is about to press the call button but then says, “actually, he might be busy with important stuff. I don’t want to bother him.”

You know she doesn’t have your actual work number, so you tease her, “I don’t think he’s busy. Why don’t we go visit him and tell him the situation? I think he would be more than happy to hear about it.”

You can see her expression change, and she says, “No, I think we can just leave it like that.”

You grab her waist, “Let’s clear things up. I don’t want rumors that I’m messing with the CEO’s assistant.” You pull her hand, exit her apartment, walk towards the elevator, and press the button for the top floor.

Jennie looks nervous but tries to hide her expression. “He’s going to be upset that we’re bothering him.”

“I don’t think so, plus you’re blackmailing me.”

When you arrive at the top floor, the elevator rings, and you both exit and walk towards the hallway. You ring the doorbell, but there is no answer.

With a faint smile of relief, Jennie says, “See, he’s not here, so let me waist go.”

“Hmm… let me try something.” You press the numbers on the keypad and hear a ring, unlocking the door.

“How did you do that?”

You pull Jennie and lock the door. “Seems like no one is home. CEO-nim! Jennie and I are looking for you!”

“Stop, he’s going to be made that we’re inside his home. Let’s go.”

“No, I don’t want to; let’s have a bit of fun.” You walk towards the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a beer. “He has some good taste, nice.”

“Leave it; he’s going to get mad!”

“No, he won’t.”

“Yes, he is. I heard that he’s mean.”

“Really? They said that?”

“Irene said that he makes them work to the bone.”

“No, I don’t. Wait until I see her tomorrow.”

Jennie’s reaction changes, and she says, “What did you say?”

“Nothing, forget about it.”

“You said something.” She stops, looks around, and walks to the living room. She sees pictures of you and freezes.

Frozen for also a minute, she turns around and says, “Are you CEO-nim?”

You want to play it off, but know that the gig is over. Instead, you smile and say, “Dang, you caught me. Surprise!”

Many things go through her mind, like how she ordered you around the apartment, teased you, and even tried to blackmail you.

“So what’s this about having my phone number and blackmailing me about fucking IU.”

Jennie gets on her knees, rubs her hands together, and begs, “I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I didn't mean it.”

“It wasn’t funny. Why did you do it?”

She bites her lip and tries to come up with a reason, saying, “I don’t know. I just wanted to tease you a bit and got jealous.”

“Jealous? What for?”

“You’re my type, and when I saw you and IU, I wanted to blackmail you so you can do whatever I say.”

“You know, that could have really gone bad and gotten someone hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, how will you take responsibility?”

“Ehh?”

“You said I’m your type, and you’re pretty cute yourself. How about we have some fun?”

Jennie can’t believe what your words. She knows she said that you’re her type, but that was as a staff/trainer. Now that she learned you’re the one in charge of the company, she doesn’t want to do anything that might endanger her chance at debuting but, at the same time, finds it kind of hot.

“What did you have in mind?”

“What do you think?” giving her a smirk.

Jennie knows what you’re thinking; it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it herself. You come close to her and grab her small behind, causing her to yelp.

She’s being this close to her. You know that she’s small and petite, “too, like a doll.”

“What?”

Instead of replying, you pick her up, carry her to the guestroom, and toss her onto the bed.

“Wait… what are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“I didn’t ask you if you were. I’m telling you what I’m going to do to you.”

Jennie is stunned by your words. The image of you has been turned 360 from ordering you around to the other way around. Deep down, she can’t help but feel small and submissive by someone so huge and powerful enough to change her life.

“Okay, I understand.”

“Since you do, then strip. I want to see what I’m going to be working with.”

Jennie gets off the bed and stands in front of you. She slowly begins to undress herself, taking off her crop top and her small shots.

Now in underwear, she shyly takes off her bra, revealing her small, cute breasts. She tries to cover them, “Don’t forget the bottom.”

You smile as she hesitates to pull down her panties and whines, “Do I really have to pull them down?”

“Do you want me to do them for you? Just letting you know that I won’t be gentle.”

“I…I’ll do it then,” as she slowly pulls them down until it drops on the floor and quickly cover her cunt.

“Take your hands off.”

“But…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Jennie removes her hands, revealing her semi-bare cunt.

“Fuck, you have a pretty-looking pussy and a nice pair of tits. Lay down on the bed and spread that pussy for me.”

Jennie feels embarrassed but does what you told her. She lays on the bed and puts her legs up. She tries to spread her legs, but the idea of spreading them open and showing her pussy to someone for the first time is nerve-wracking.

“Spread them more!”

She widens her legs until you see her whole cunt in view. With both her index and middle fingers, she slowly spreads her pussy lips, giving you a view of her unused cunt. “How’s this?”

“Hot. You’re making me hard.”

“Really? I’m making you hard?”

“Yeah. Want to see?”

Jennie has never seen a cock before in real life, only on the internet when she would masturbate while in the dorms. Seeing one in real life is making her both nervous and excited, “yeah. I want to see it.”

You undo the bottom and drop your buttons, leaving only your boxers and a large bulge in sight.

Jennie can feel her heart beating faster as you pull down your boxers, which makes your cock springs out. “Wow, it’s so big. Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” you say with a grin.

Jennie, with her index finger, touches the tip of your cock and throbs, “Haha, it’s likes me.”

“How about grabbing it with your two hands?”

“Okay, but I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my hands around it.” With her small hands, she tries to wrap her hand, almost touching her fingertips.

Turned on, you ask, “Can I take a picture?”

Jennie looks up at you and smiles, “Sure, you’re the boss, right? I have no say.”

“Glad to see you know your place.”

You grab your phone and take a shoot of Jennie handling your cock. “Try putting it in your mouth.”

“Like this?” as she uses the tip of her tongue to lick the head of your cock. “Yes, just like that.”

You record her slowly licking your length, your shaft, pulling the head in her mouth, and even her trying to take a bit of your cock in her mouth as she plays with her cunt.

“Fuck… I knew you were a slut” you say as she has your cock in her mouth. “Hmmm… I’ll be your slut, Daddy,” giving you a devilish smile. You grab her chin in between your hands and say, “We’re going to get along very well.”

She stands and lays on the bed once more and willingly spreads her legs for you, spreading her pussy, and says, “Make sure you get a picture of this.”

“You know how to turn on a guy, huh.”

“I just want to please you, Daddy. Plus, I want everyone to know that you’re going to be my first.”

You can’t wait any longer; you need to fuck her now. You set the phone down, walked back, and spread her legs. She grabs your cock and presses it against her belly, and asks, “Is all of that going inside of me?”

“It’s going to go right in here and reach all the way up here,” as you trace your finger and her wet cunt all the way up to her belly button.

“Fuck me already, Daddy. Make me a real woman,” begs Jennie.

You grab your cock and rub your shaft against her wet lower lips, spreading them and covering them in her sticky nectar. “I’m going to put it in; just relax.” She balls up her waist against her chest, “Okay.”

Jennie nervously watches as you align your massive cock against her small entrance, waiting for you to be her first and only cock she’s ever going to taste.

You press the tip on your cock and slowly insert yourself until you reach her thin barrier, which separates her from womanhood. You look directly into her eyes, signaling that you’re going to go all the way into it. She nods back and tries to prepare herself for what’s to come.

You grab her small waist and, without mercy, put your weight onto her petite body and slam yourself into her fresh womb. “Fuck!!! I’m cumming; you’re too big; you’re making me cum!”

Jennie’s body spasms, and she tilts her head back as she feels her orgasm overwhelming her.

“Haha, you just came from me putting it in? Let’s see how many times you cum.”

You don’t let her rest and put her into a mating press. She groans from not being able to ride off her orgasm, “Daddy, wait. You’re going to make me cum again. Let me rest.”

“A girl like you doesn’t deserve to rest; you’re my sex toy. I get to use you however I want,” slamming yourself inside her once again.

Jennie cries as she feels her insides being rearranged by your cock, “Ahh, you’re messing me up inside! I won’t be able to with anyone beside you! Fuck…you’re stretching my small pussy out!”

Watching her becoming a mess is getting you more turned on. Even if it’s her first time, she’s a natural. You place your hand on her neck and firmly tighten your grip. Jennie panics when she feels your hand choking her, puts her hands around your arms, and looks at you in terror. “Shh… baby girl, calm down; I’m not going to hurt you, just something the both of us to enjoy. Trust me.”

Directly looking at you, she lets go of her hands and instead focuses on you, thrusting inside of her. “You feel so tight, Jennie; I feel like cumming already,” as you tighten the grip of your hand around her neck.

You see Jennie trying to speak, so you loosen your grip, “Ahhh… cum… cum inside me, Daddy. I… I want to feel your cum in my tummy.”

You tighten your grip on her neck again as you fuck her roughly, only hearing the sound of both your flesh against each other. Little by little, you feel your peak approaching, a cold sensation in your back.

“Fuck… I’m going to dump all my cum in your tight little pussy!”

You feel all your cum shoot deep inside Jennie’s womb with your thick cum. Her eyes roll back from how tight you’re choking her as you pump a large load. Her body starts to go limp from the lack of air, so you let go of her neck and see the imprint of your hand around it.

Immediately, Jennie gasps for air and comes back to her senses. “You’re such a good girl, Jennie. I think you’re going to be my favorite toy from now on.”

She gives you a weak smile, grabs your hand, and places it back around her neck, “Keep fucking me, Daddy. I’m your dirty like toy.”

The two of you keep fucking all night long, every time you pump your cum in and on her body. At the end, you take a series of photos and videos of your work, Jennie’s body covered in cum and her cunt oozing out a mixture of both your juices.

—————

You wake up the next day and see Jennie under your arms. You try to get up, but she’s holding on to you. Rubbing her eyes, she turned around and said, “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, Jennie. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. I can still feel some of your cummies in my tummy. I feel my pussy gaped. I don’t think I'll be able to get married anymore, haha.”

“Good. You’re mine, anyways.”

“Jealous?”

“No. I just got like sharing my toys.” You grab her by the neck with a firm grip and say, “Don’t forget that, okay? You’re mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” as she feels your strong hand choking her.

You let her go and walk to the bathroom to freshen up. Jennie looks at her phone and sees text messages from her group mates asking if she visited her mom since she didn’t sleep at the apartment.

Jennie replies to them and immediately gets an idea that makes her smile excitedly, “Daddy.”

“Yes.”

“Since I’m your sex toy, how about making the rest of us your toys?”

“You mean your groupmates?”

“Yeah, how bout it? Sounds like fun, right?”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea; I’ll think about it.”

898 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 16 days

Text

———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

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verstappen-cult · 1 month

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Hi! I saw you taking request for Max and I just got this idea for a scenario where Max and reader got into a fight so the reader opted to drive on their own and got into an inchident nothing serious or whatever floats your boat HAHAHAHA just looking for angst Max

Max was trying to call you to when he received the call that made his world stopped.

You’ve been in an accident.

He can still hear the nurse talking through the phone as he grabs his keys and flies out of his apartment. He doesn’t understand a single thing the woman says because all he can think about is you, and how things were between you two when you decided to go out.

Max feels stupid. He doesn’t even remember what your fight was about anymore. If it was something important it doesn’t matter; you’re all that matters.

He arrives at the hospital in record time and is pretty sure he will receive a ticket for running red lights.

Max hates hospitals. And now that you’re here, he hates them even more.

“Hey, hello?” He walks to the counter where he can see a few nurses. He’s shaking and feels like crying, he needs to see you right now. “My girlfriend had an accident. Her name’s Y/N.”

The nurse smiles softly at him and grabs a notebook. “Are you related to her?”

“I’m her boyfriend.” Max taps his fingers on the counter, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Can I see her, please? I really need to see her.” Max doesn’t care if he comes across as whiny and annoying, he just wants to see you.

The nurse's expression is one of pity as she nods and guides him to your room.

“The doctor will be with you in a few minutes.” She says before turning around and leaving.

Max stares at the door handle for an eternity, feeling nervous and worried. He doesn’t know how you are going to react. You were pretty angry when you left.

Well, he doesn’t care how angry you are. If you want to scream and push him away you have every right to do it, but he won’t leave you. Not now, not ever.

When he opens the door his heart stops beating.

You have a gauze on your temple and your bottom lip is a little swollen, but he doesn’t see any more injuries, which is good.

You meet his gaze and everything happens in slow motion; you start crying, repeating his name between sobs as you open your arms. Max doesn’t hesitate and runs towards you, being careful to not hug you so tightly, even though that’s exactly what he wants to do.

“I’m sorry, I’m so—so so-rry.” You cry against his chest and Max's heart breaks a little more.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Max doesn’t know if he tries to reassure you or him. “Where does it hurt? Are there any more injuries or bruises?”

You shake your head, pulling away and wiping your tears. “No, just my head, really. My side hurts a little but nothing more.” Max cups your face, his own vision blurry due to the tears threatening to slide down his cheek. “It wasn’t big but… your car was actually the one that suffered all the damage.”

Max didn’t think about that. He didn’t even remember you had taken his car in the first place.

“That doesn’t matter.” You open your mouth to complain but he shuts you up with a kiss to your forehead. “I was so scared. I thought I’ve lo—”

“Hey,” You take his hand, squeezing tightly. “I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“It was a stupid fight.”

You smile, eyes softening. “It was, yes.” You place a kiss on his knuckles. “Would you lie down with me? I want you to hold me, please.”

Max waits for you to move and climbs in the hospital bed. It’s very tiny and uncomfortable but he doesn’t care, not when he can feel you and know that you are okay. You rest your head on his chest, sighing.

“I want to kiss you,” You confess, looking up at him. “but my lips hurt so bad.”

Max grins, his soul returning to his body.

“I’m sure we can think of something.”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #f1 imagine

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star-eyed-angels · 4 months

Text

Secrets and Sleep

bang chan x gn reader

fluff 1.6k

where you spill your heart out to your sleeping boyfriend.

AN: A small thing I started when I was sad that morphed into something more hope you like it.

______

It’s nearly 2 a.m. as you lay in bed, your boyfriend at your side. With Chan’s habit of working through the night in the studio, it’s rare you have him in bed with you before the sun is up. But tonight he’d come home earlier, wanting to spend a little more time with you to ease his stress. Tonight that meant cuddling in bed after a takeout dinner.

Now you found yourself wide awake with a sleeping Chan next to you. His body is turned towards you as he sleeps on his side, pillow smushed against the side of his face.

You brush the curly hair delicately out of his face, smiling softly when he shifts closer to you. You’ve always thought he looked so beautiful while he slept. Looking nothing but relaxed. Exuding pure warmth and comfort when he sleeps. You tuck your hands back under your cheek resting on them as you watch Chans even breathing. Your eyes trail over his features slowly, a small smile on your face as you watch him. The room is quiet as you feel your heart squeeze with the need to speak.

“So many nights I used to wish for someone. Nights I dreamed of finding love, the right love,” your voice is soft as you speak into the open room, being careful to not wake Chan from his sleep. “And then the universe sent me you… perfectly wrapped in your endless black hoodies and topped with your messy little curls,” you gently trace a finger around one of his curls.

“I remember the first time I met you at the cafe. You hadn’t even been in the building for five minutes before I was spilling half my order into your lap,” you cover your face in embarrassment. A laugh escapes you as you recall the memory. “God, I was absolutely mortified. And then you were the one apologizing to me.”

“To be honest, I never thought someone could look like you and still be that nice. Hot and kind Mr. Bahng,” you snort out quietly. You remember his smile as he waved off your apologies. Even as the lingering bits of coffee dripped onto his lap. You think you hadn’t

“But there you were. Being so kind even after I ruined your clothes. And then you just stuck, like me embarrassing myself in front of you just made us friends. You were so willing to bring me into your circle and into your life.” You pause, staring off into the room around you.

The room is still quiet as you glance at the photos and decorations littered around the space. Memories of before and after your relationship started, pieces of furniture you’d bickered over before laughing at how much you sounded like an old married couple. Even the bed you sleep on holds the memory of putting it together and suffering with Chan as he struggled to interpret the instructions. You can't help but feel sentimental in your room, your home. Thinking about how it all started with meeting Chan.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how grateful I am to have you. Ever since we met, you’ve always been so kind and willing to help. Even without knowing you, I could see that. And when we became friends that didn’t change, you offered me someone to lean on and the opportunity to make my own little circle with your members. In the short time after we met you added so much joy to my life and I genuinely couldn't believe it.”

You turn back to look at Chan, who is still asleep, his slow breaths the only sound in the room.

“And then you asked me out and I had never been so nervous in my life.” The memory of when he asked you out warms your heart. You don’t think you’d ever seen him that nervous as he avoided eye contact with you. His ears and cheeks pink as he had stumbled over his words. To be fair you weren’t doing any better, with your barely controlled giggles and warm face. You’d thanked whatever in the universe kept you standing on your feet as you listened to his confession.

“I was scared, you know, to fall in love again. Even though I wanted it, I didn’t think it was for me…” You hesitate, but decide to continue, “Everyone before, they didn't- They didn’t make me feel like I was worth the effort… I felt like a chore really…

“I was so convinced that I was unlovable. Each and every heartbreak just made me feel I wasn’t worth the effort.You place your hand on his cheek, softly rubbing your thumb against it.

Your voice is soft as you continue, ”But you’ve never made me feel like I was invisible. Like I was a cutout in this relationship. When it comes to you, you’ve shown me what it really means to be in love.”

“The ways you love me, you’re so attentive, so caring, so.. You. I’ve never felt a love like this. I wish there was a greater word to use than love, because you do more than love me. It’s like you give me the world in every little thing you do for me.” You laugh, a hint of embarrassment making you warm even though Chan is sleeping quietly next to you.

“We’ve been together for so long, yet you’re still here giving me butterflies like a schoolgirl crush. I know it's a little silly, but you just make me feel like I’m something special”. You pause, stopping the words on the tip of your tongue.

Even after all this time, the hesitation from past relationships makes you nervous. But one look at Chan makes your worries fall away. He’s been your safe place for almost as long as you’ve known him. Even with this. Even if the thought of saying it out loud scares you, you know Chan would never judge you. You smile as you look at him, taking a calming breath. Even in his sleep it still feels like he’s helping you to calm your nerves.

“You make me feel like I’m worth a forever,” Your confession comes out in a shaky whisper. You pause, even in the still room it feels like the world may suddenly come crashing down at your confession. But nothing changes. The room is still quiet. Chan still sleeps peacefully next to you. Your heart is still slightly beating out of your body. But a weight on your chest has slightly been lifted.

“I know that being in a relationship isn’t easy. But even through all the ups and downs, I’ve never felt unloved by you. Even the hard days don't feel as hard.

“I know at the beginning, loving me was hard. A lot of the time I let my fear of us get in the way… but you were always patient. You never pushed me, never made me do something I didn’t want to. It’s like you know me better than I know myself most days.

“And I just… I just really hope you know how much I love you. How I would bring heaven down for you if I could. Catch all the stars in the sky for you. I want to give you the world like you do for me. And I kinda really want to spend the rest of my life with you.

You pause smiling softly at him. You lean forward, gently brushing your lips across his forehead. “I don’t know if you feel the same, but I really hope you do,” you mumble softly.

You place a gentle kiss against his skin, smiling as you lean back.

“Sweet dreams my love,” you say softly, bringing your hand back down to your side. You watch Chan’s steady breathing, feeling your eyes get heavier with the need to sleep. The last thing you remember is moving closer to Chan, before you’re fast asleep next to him.

_______

Chan has no secrets. He’s always been open with you. Even with the occasional surprise he still manages to give it away.

‘I did get you an anniversary gift. But I won’t tell you what it is.’

‘I’m planning your birthday party, what kind of cake do you want?’

Most people would be put off by this. Something about needing surprises to keep a relationship going. But you love Chan's openness. You love how he wants everything to go perfect, paying attention to every little detail.. It makes you feel special and you love it. Other than that, Chan has no secrets.

That is until tonight.

Tonight as he lays with his eyes closed next to you. He shifts closer to you sleepily as he feels your fingers near his hair. He’s about to open his eyes to look at you when you speak. His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest as you open your heart out to him. He thought that he couldn’t fall even more in love with you, but here you are stealing his heart once again.He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more in love with you than this moment.

He fights the urge to jump up and trap you in his arms, to pepper every inch of your skin in kisses and tell you how much he loves you. He knows this is a delicate moment. One he’ll treasure for the rest of his life.

So after tonight Chan has two secrets.

The first being that he’s not actually asleep next to you and can hear every word you’re saying. He figures he’ll tell you eventually. When the moment is right.

Which brings him to his second secret.

When he’s gonna give you the ring he plans to buy you first thing in the morning. His commitment to never stop showing you what you mean to him. A promise to a forever that you deserve.

A forever that he really wants to spend with you too.

#stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #bangchan x reader #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #writing #✍🏼

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biioshocker · 11 months

Text

Why Spider-People Suffer

Subtitled: How “Othering” Miguel Killed Hundreds of Cops

I loved seeing Miguel getting othered by his fellow spider-people so casually during this movie, both intentionally and unintentionally, and I believe it’s the reason he convinced everyone their loved ones had to die.

“Othering” Moments in the Movie

I’ve only seen the movie twice so I may have missed something more subtle, but here are the moments I remember where the main cast othered Miguel:

Gwen (unknowingly) making a joke (from Miguel’s perspective, re: “You’re not funny!”) of the fact Miguel doesn’t have a spider sense by letting him get decked by the Vulture.

Peter B. Parker commenting, “You’re not funny, spider-men are funny.”

Miles blatantly in fear of Miguel, on the tram shouting, possibly half-joking, “You have claws? Dude, are you sure you’re a spider-man?”

These seem like inconsequential, even humorous, moments but I believe they’re a lot more meaningful to Miguel than he lets on. It’s not that these moments are massively consequential in and of themselves, but more so that they are part of a persistent, consistent assault on Miguel's Spider-Man Authenticity™ that began with his very…

Origin.

In the comics, and what it appears to be in the movie, Miguel isn’t a “natural” spider-man. Not in the ‘bit and changed’ sense. There actually wasn’t even a spider surrogate for the virus in Miguel’s origin story. Instead, in Miguel’s universe the lab he worked in was attempting to directly recreate their original, dead-slash-vanished Spider-Man by splicing actual spider DNA with human DNA. This immediately deviates from the “typical” spider-person origin story as, usually, tests were being done on spiders and the subsequent escape, bite, and transformation that followed was a complete accident. The only actual accident within Miguel’s origin story was that it was Miguel at all, every other aspect was more or less exactly what the institute Miguel worked for was actually trying to accomplish.

A pretty notable difference between the comics and the movie is the introduction of Miguel’s injections. From what I know of the comics, Miguel doesn’t need to ‘re-up’ his spider-human powers, but we see in the movie that this Miguel needs some kind of supplement. Whether it be to replenish his abilities or to keep his delicate spider-human balance stable, we don’t know yet, but what we do know is that no other spider-person does this and it seems like a private, shameful ritual. A subtle nod to this theory, in my opinion, is Miguel’s “I’m different than them” line taking place at, or almost at, the exact moment he injects.

So, his origin is “wrong,” his creation was a “mistake,” in some manner he has to supplement is spider abilities, and believe it or not those aren’t even the most obvious discrepancies he has from other spider-people. Actually, some of his most noticeable differences lie with his…

Powers.

Compounding that “otherness” Miguel already feels within spider society, he doesn’t have “typical” spider-person powers, notably lacking a spider sense. This is because he wasn’t made the same way other spider-people were. As a literal spider-human hybrid, Miguel derives his powers — talons, paralysis, fangs, light sensitive eyes turned red by super sight — from just some normal, non-radioactive version of whatever spider breed was used in the splicing experiments. The lab didn’t actually know what gave the original Spider-Man his distinct powers, and so what Miguel ends up with is a lot more off-putting than other spider-people.

Humans, and even other spider-people (re: Gwen feeling she needs to reassure Miles he doesn’t need to “be afraid”) are frightened, or at the very least are put-off, by Miguel. I believe this can be attributed at least somewhat (if not entirely) to his powers. Yes, he doesn’t have a very approachable demeanor, but I would hazard that that wall he puts up is in response to the reactions he gets to his powers (ex: “I’m a good guy!” “You don’t look like a good guy!”). They aren’t the pretty, petite, charming powers that other spider-people have. They’re very gritty and raw, and they’re lifted directly from a species of bug that people are notoriously afraid of. And while it’s true that the other spider-people also have behaviors that associate them with the creepy crawler as well, those spider-people have a way to combat their negative character associations that Miguel doesn’t. They’re funny.

Humor is an under-appreciated, though well-established, part of a typical spider-person. The movie even goes so far as to call spider-person humor a “crutch,” but it's more than just making light of dark situations. Humor is how other spider-people connect with their community. This is why despite a persistent hate campaign from the Daily Bugle and calls of vigilantism from local police organizations, spider-people are almost always able to stay in the good graces of the communities they serve. Spider-people, through humor, are able to reassure, console, and win over the hearts of millions of New Yorkers.

So, it is especially obvious to other spider-people that Miguel is distinctly not funny. He is reminded both in comics and in the movie that he’s not approachable like a spider-man “should” be. Miguel doesn’t have humor to use as a “crutch” to offset his unsettling characteristics and because of that, he’s not well-liked by… really anyone.

These perceived shortcomings take a toll on Miguel, and are why he is so convinced of the importance of…

Canon.

Miguel views canon events as the holy grail of spider-person origins because he didn’t have one himself. I don’t think Miguel fully believes he is a true spider-man. Not only were his (atypical) powers acquired through a (botched) scientific experiment, and not only is everyone constantly reminding him that he’s not a “normal” spider-person, but Miguel’s universe already had its “canon” Spider-Man, and he died.

Or, at least he did in the 2099 comics. We can’t be certain about the movie-verse yet, but on the assumption it and the comics share a backstory, Miguel knows the full extent of his Spider-Man’s life. Beginning, middle, and end. That Spider-Man’s story is over and done within Miguel’s universe, which means that Miguel isn’t a “real” spider-man. He’s a knockoff. He was an accident, a fluke, a recreation.

With this in mind, I feel Miguel’s reasoning for dedicating himself to The Canon is two-fold:

Firstly, I think it stems from the idea that because his universe’s Spider-Man story is “complete” that is how the story must be told. There was a set beginning, middle, and end to the Spider-Man of his universe, and he’s easily able to reference it. There’s no guesswork around his Spider-Man’s story because it’s concluded. And to him, that finality is infallible, so he plays it out over and over and over in other spider-verses.

Secondly (most speculatively, but most importantly), but I don’t think Miguel has told anyone that he isn’t a bitten (or born) spider-person. In his introduction, we don’t get the usual “I’m the one and only Spider-Man” cinematic intro we had with the rest of the main cast (excluding Jess). He keeps his introduction short, sweet, and secretive. This leads me to believe he hasn’t told anyone of how he became his universe’s Spider-Man. He might think that if he did, the other spider-people would shun him. He might think they would hate him. He might think they would leave him.

A very, very prominent theme across many of the main cast’s stories is that they felt alone in the world until they found other spider-people, and I believe Miguel feels this isolation the strongest of all of them. He set up the Spider Headquarters in his own home universe. He recruited hundreds and hundreds of spider-people to join him and it looks like many of them live there for at least some period of time. I believe he’s so afraid of being left out of the social spider network that he has outright lied about his origin story, calling on the only Spider-Man story he knows the entirety of— his universe’s Peter Parker. Then, to cover his tracks he began collecting similarities across every spider-person’s reality, enshrining them in gold, and cementing them as The Canon.

And, unfortunately, what many spider-people have in common is…

Suffering.

Suffering isn’t unique to spider-people. Prematurely losing a loved one isn’t even unique to spider-people. Sadly, it’s not very uncommon at all, and those moments are often defining in people’s lives; they can be even more impactful than the joyful moments. I believe because of their efficacy, tragedies are something that Miguel could most easily use to connect with the spiderverse. Not because these tragedies were meant to happen, not because they’re a part of some greater, cosmic prophecy— but, sadly, because they’re so prevalent in every person’s life.

And most compelling of all, tragedy rarely ever has any reason behind it.

Miguel wasn’t able to find some incredible, world-defining Canon Event among the many hundreds of spider-people he met— he was simply able to find tragedy. The senseless, horrible, incomprehensible moment in every person’s life where they’ve lost someone they cared very deeply for, and no one could tell them why. There was no rhyme or reason to it, their loved one just simply ceased to exist— and what was so insulting about it was that the world didn’t end. The planet didn’t stop spinning, the sun rose the following day, and no closer came. Everyone else’s story just continued to be writ, and that was just as painful because it left them alone with their grief in a moment where they felt helpless, hopeless, and inadequate; in a moment that was impossible to reconcile because they wanted so badly, just like all of us, to understand why it had to happen. But there isn’t a why. The universe is random and underwhelming and every day a few unlucky people will draw a card that ends their game, completely by chance.

And then Miguel came along and he assigned the importance to that tragedy that the spiderverse, and all of us, felt like it deserved.

Miguel told them that their suffering wasn’t random. He told them it wasn’t just another case of wrong place, wrong time. He told them there was a purpose to their suffering. All the pain they endured, it had served to make them better, stronger, more resilient. Finally, there was a reason for it to have happened.

Miguel told them they weren’t alone. He reassured them that this horrible Thing that seemed to happen to all of them was cosmically indomitable, universally inevitable, and entirely inescapable— it was Canon. It was the price of power, it was the universe’s exchange. But now, in that tragedy, they would never be alone in their grief again, and that made all the difference.

When Miguel gave them a reason for their hurt, it became a rallying point among the spiderverse. Not only could they alleviate the guilt and the grief their loss has crippled them with, but they had something more tangible to blame it on— The Canon.

The Canon Miguel introduced to them didn’t have feelings, it didn’t feel anger or resentment or spite. It didn’t hurt them for no reason— it was simply the vehicle navigating them through to the landmarks of their lives. And there was comfort in believing that these tragedies were ordained by some unfathomable, all-knowing narrative. And so the spiderverse seemingly collectively decided it was easier to believe in the Canon than it was to believe in an unpredictable universe, until…

Miles.

Miguel sees his own perceived “flaws” in Miles.

Miles wasn’t supposed to become spider-man in his universe.

Miles has an atypical spider-man origin story.

Miles’ “canon” Spider-Man is dead.

For all intents and purposes, he and Miles are likely the most closely related spider-people to one another, but a key difference between them is Miles… doesn’t care. Sure, Miles is lonely in his own universe; and sure, Miles is overwhelmed by the expectations heaped onto him social and familial; and sure, Miles doesn’t even know he’s an accident. But he’s happy. He’s a happy kid and he was close friends with other spider-people who love and accept him, trained and mentored him. That’s not something Miguel had, and he resents of Miles for it.

We still don’t know for certain if there were other reasons Miguel chose to isolate Miles, but from what we can gather in Part One, it seems like Miguel only had the “original anomaly” excuse. Which he used to prevent Miles from interacting with other spider-people, and other spider-people with him. His reasoning doesn’t really add up though. In theory, the “damage” to the multiverse “caused” by Miles was concluded at the end of the first movie. Outside being an anomaly, Miles isn’t causing any harm to the multiverse by just existing in it (that we know of currently). So why restrict his access to other spider-people? It certainly wasn’t because Miles hasn’t experienced a crucial story beat (Dead Police Captain), because as we saw in the movie, Pav hadn’t experienced his either. Yet, Pav was allowed to join the spiderverse. From this perspective, there was no actual reason to exclude Miles from the spiderverse when he could have helped the cause.

Instead, for what appears to be no other reason than jealousy (or fear) that Miles was (and would be) so well liked by other spider-people, Miguel isolated him in his own universe for a year and four months, barring him from a society he had every right to join, and forbidding any other spider-person from even visiting Miles.

I think that’s what it comes down to with Miguel, really. Jealousy that Miles is an anomaly like himself, but unlike Miguel, people don’t question Miles’ Spider-Man Authenticity ™. They don’t make a joke of his shortcomings. They don’t “other” him. They like Miles. No one likes Miguel.

And on top of it all, probably the most infuriating (and frightening) part to Miguel is that Miles isn’t ashamed. He isn’t ashamed of being an accident; he isn’t pouring over his Spider-Man’s history trying to meet made-up expectations; he didn’t even parody the spider-people who were right in front of him when he was just coming into his own. Miles decided at 14 years old that he wasn’t, and couldn’t, be a Peter Parker copy. He accepted himself as his own, unique Spider-Man, and in breaking that mold and allowing himself to take a leap of faith, he became something incredible.

I think that scares Miguel, not only because his entire organization is founded in the belief that all spider-persons must experience specific events, and not because if Miles refuses to follow his story beats then the entire multiverse will unravel, but because if Miles is right and the multiverse can be as diverse and varied as it wants to be, then Miguel has hated himself for so long for no reason.

And I think that fear and jealousy and resentment all comes to head on…

The Tram.

Miguel’s meltdown during the tram scene felt like it came almost out of nowhere. The abuse he hurled at Miles just didn't correlate with what could reasonably be expected of an annoying chase around the city— and it was completely unnecessary. By the time it happened, Miguel had already subdued Miles. He was pinning him to the tram, he had already caught him. There was no reason to be so viscous at that point.

Except Miles had just moments ago done what everyone else had been doing to Miguel this whole time. Miles had “othered” him.

“You got claws? Dude, are you sure you’re a Spider-Man?”

The skepticism must have felt different coming from Miles, because Miles was supposed to be like Miguel. They were both mistakes, they were both the product of a dead Spider-Man, they were both supposed to be outcasts, but instead, here was Miles acting like all the others. Treating Miguel as different and lesser, and I think that was the final straw for Miguel.

I wouldn’t say Miguel had kept his cool up until that point, but he certainly hadn’t set out to hurt Miles— at least emotionally. In fact, he had previously just been trying to ease Miles into his Canon. Miguel had been trying to console him in the same way he had consoled hundreds of other spider-people before Miles.

But then Miles made a hurtful joke because spider-people make hurtful jokes (a theme, maybe, since hurtful jokes had been what provoked the Spot into a rampage, too: “I’ll become strong enough to be your nemesis. Then you’ll take me seriously.”) and Miguel, who already saw so much of his own story in Miles, was enraged by his audacity— dragging Miles down (to him, to his level), pushing his way into Miles’s personal space (look at me, hear me, respect me), and forcing him to listen to just how “other” he was too (we’re anomalies, carry the shame of it like I do).

There’s really no excuse for it. Miguel was clearly in the wrong. No one should be told they were a mistake, or that they’re the reason someone else died— and especially no one should be made to believe that the value of their life was less than another’s.

It’s horrible what Miguel said to Miles. I do believe Miguel was venting his own self-loathing, but he leveled his abuse squarely at Miles and now Miles is forced to struggle through the aftermath, and there’s no excuse for that.

Conclusion?

I don’t think Miguel is a villain, I think he’s just a damaged man. That doesn’t absolve him of the shitty things he’s done, especially to Miles, but I do think it helps to explain them somewhat. Ironically, as much as he feels ostracized from spider society, I think he’s just like every other spider-person. He’s looking for friendships and acceptance and his happy ending, and above all, he doesn’t want to be an outcast. Much of that feeling probably comes from his unwillingness to accept himself as he is and pave his own way as Spider-man.

I hope in the next movie Miguel begins to consider the similarities he has with other spider-people rather than focusing on the differences, because while the Canon may not be real (or maybe it is, guess we’ll see in Part Two), the connections he made with others through loss and grief were. He helped the entire spiderverse find comfort in one another and because of him, they aren’t alone anymore.

#atsv #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #atsv spoilers #miguel meta for the thirsty soul 😌#corrected this bc i said he didn’t make organic webs but i misremembered lol

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you-have-a-metal-arm · 3 months

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Don’t You Ever Leave Me, Don’t You Ever Go.

Pairing: Bestfriend!Bucky x Bestfriend!Reader, Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 0.7k (723 words)

Trope: Best friends to lovers, hurt and comfort

Warnings: Toothrotting amount of fluff, nightmares and insecurities, mentions of Steve, and… I think that’s it?

Summary: Bucky wakes up from a nightmare, and you are there to comfort him.

Author’s Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. I appreciate every feedbacks! Thank you for reading!

**gif not mine

“Please… Please leave me alone...”

You heard a soft murmur followed by multiple screams from your room. It was coming from the other side of the hallway, exactly where Bucky’s room was.

‘I thought he was getting better…’

You thought to yourself because your best friend’s night terror hadn’t woken you up for over a week by now. But, oh boy, how wrong you were. As soon as you heard him starting to hyperventilate, you ran to his room.

“Bucky, hey, wake up.”

You shook him to wake him up, but it was no use. He was in deep sleep even though all the monsters were messing with his head.

“Bucky!! Please, I need you to wake up.”

You said with a more demanding tone while shaking him harder than usual. He woke up, sweat dripping down all over his face and his hands frantically shaking as he tried to touch you with his hands.

“Another nightmare, huh?”  You asked him with a gentle tone, hoping it wouldn’t startle him.

He just nodded in reply and looked away from your face. He was too scared to look at you and see the hurt in your eyes from seeing him so messed up. But you took Bucky’s face with two tiny hands and gently tugged him to look at you.

“Buckaroo, what’s wrong?”

You asked, knowing he wouldn’t open up.

“Nothing”

He replied, as you expected.

“We promised Bucky, remember? We promised each other that we’d tell each other whatever was happening in our heads. And I promise you I will never judge or leave you for anything. I promise.”

You whispered, keeping eye contact, hoping he could feel your honesty. He just nodded and smiled to assure you he was okay. But you could see it from his eyes that he wasn’t. After all, you two have been each other’s soulmates for the past three years. So you quietly hugged Bucky’s torso, and to your surprise, Bucky gently laid his head on your chest, feeling your embrace with every nerve of his body.

“You aren’t going to leave me, are you?”

He whispered so quietly yet rapidly that you almost couldn’t hear it.

“What do you mean?”

You asked in confusion.

“You’re not going to leave me… Right?”

“Why would I ever leave you, Buck?”

“‘Cause you will someday find a true love, and you’ll leave me for them, just like Steve did.”

You knew Steve’s absence made Bucky fall into his dark thoughts again, but you didn’t realize he was suffering this much. You felt so bad for him that you left him with his mind running all over the place, spiraling with all kinds of scenarios that would never even happen.

“Bucky… I love you.”

You told him while you were massaging his scalp.

“Don’t say that. You’re saying that to make me feel good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better, right?”

“Buck… we’ve been telling each other ‘I love you’s for about two years. What are you talking about?”

“I love you, but it’s- it’s different.”

“What do you mean it’s different?”

“I- I- I love you Y/N, and it’s a feeling I’ve never felt before- it’s like butterflies- it’s like someone is drawing inside my stomach when I look into your eyes, my heart flutters, and I can feel my face turn red, and I know that’s not what you should feel to your best friend, and I’m sorry- I’m sorry that I’m ruining this whole thing up with the stupid little feelings… God… I’m so sorry.”

Your brain instantly clicked as you heard him sob in your arms. You gently cupped his face, and you softly kissed his lips. You felt Bucky getting all tense, but a while later, you could feel Bucky kissing you back, pulling your hair fondly. To you, he smelled like peppermint and salt, probably from sweating from the nightmare, and to him, you smelled like strawberry.

After you broke the kiss, you two started grinning as if you were a child again.

“That was… good.”

The both of you stated together.

You held Bucky into a warm embrace, hugging him from behind. Playing with his hair and whispering sweet nothings. That night was the best sleep you two have ever had in your entire lives.

—————————————🦾—————————————

Thank you for reading 🖤🖤

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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Fool Me Once (part 3)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: With the birth of your child looming, you and Aemond finally lay your cards on the table. A growing problem reaches a boiling point.

Warnings: more lying/manipulation (y’all know the drill by now), Aemond once again gaslighting, mentions of s*icide

A/N: it’s been such a fun time writing this. It is definitely different from most things I’ve written, so it have been a nice change. I’ve gotten so much support from it and I hope to keep making stuff you guys like. Also slight disclaimer that the way I write Alys is not really way I read her in the book. Much like Aemond in this. They both kind of suck lmao. I wanted this to be the last part but then I thought of more things so… we shall see how this goes 👍🏽. I wanted this chapter to be a build up to events in ep 8-10 mainly 9 and 10 of the show.

Fmo masterlist

You can’t remember the last time Aemond and you have had dinner, just the two of you. So, when he insisted you that you two do, you had a feeling it was about the talk Queen Alicent said she wanted to have with him. A private dinner with your husband would have been a dream moons ago.

Alicent did not make you privy to what they discussed. It only made you more weary. You know she is hurt and upset. But you also know she is more hurt that the son she propped up so much turned out to be just as unreliable as the man she made him with.

That is the painful part about love; the only place to go is down.

Nevertheless, his suffering is what you want; it does not matter if the ire stems from a place on genuine care for you. The uncomfortable nature in which he moves the castle makes the pain you have suffered a little bearable. It sounds deranged, but if you are to be trapped, he should be as well. You want him to wake with the same lump in his throat you do.

The letters had stopped. A constantly stream of communication abruptly ended. Lord Strong gave you a funny smile when he told you.

Ser Quinton rarely leaves your side when Aemond is around. He gave you a reluctant glance when you tell him about the dinner. While Aegon, already deep in his cups midday, tells you to keep a grip on your fervor.

The corridor was empty except for the two of you.

“I know how him and mother are,” he point his fingers at you emphatically. “They probably already concocted something to keep you quiet or make you look like the problem. Keep you…. Idle.”

Despite the slurring of his words, and clear bitterness towards the relationship Alicent and Aemond have, he may not be wrong. Alicent had already taken it upon herself to write to your father, suggesting he visits soon. She is proactive to a fault; her behavior simultaneously holding the Seven Kingdom together and enabling her family’s indecencies.

Everything can be hidden under the right tactics and false goodwill. You want to say she got that trait from her father, but you know it comes from years of being a woman in the Red Keep. From being the Queen.

The dinner begins uneventful. You wrinkle your nose at the meat pie in front of you. A dish you normally like making your stomach churn. It is hard not to feel sick or uncomfortable these days. You’re huge; feet swollen and belly protruding to a remarkable degree. The sheer thought of how big the babe will be plagues your mind most days.

It is unbearable having to engage in meaningless small talk with Aemond. Like he is insulting your intelligence by tip toeing around everything.

“Are you going to tell me why you wanted this dinner,” you want nothing more to leave his chambers and go take a bath.

“I think we need to talk.”

You can’t help but scoff at him. Aemond looks even more haunting in the dark lighting of room. Like the brutal knights the septas used to make you read about. He has a nasty look in his eye, like he wants a fight. You wonder if his Alys gets this look or if it just reserved for you. One special thing for his wife.

Despite all the formal swordsman training, Aemond plays dirty in personal affairs. Much like a feral cat backed into a corner. You’ve seen it to many times with Aegon. The only thing he responds to is equally cruel jabs.

“Yes dear husband,” you sigh out of boredom, rolling your neck.

His next words take you by surprise.

“Daella told me she is not excited about her egg hatching,” he huffs out. You stop rolling your neck, and blink blankly at him. The two of your stare at each other before you bark out a laugh.

“That is what this is about? You are pouting because a child is no longer enraptured by an egg.”

“It is not only about the egg, and you know it,” a nasty tone to match the look he gives you. “You fill her head with assumptions. You debase something that is her birthright. Something that is the birthright of her father, and her ancestors.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, if I disparaged the great Targaryen legacy or dragons in front of her it must have been a… mistake.”

You swear you see Aemond’s eye twitch a little at the word.

“Have you ever thought maybe it is not the dragons themselves, but the person she most associates them with?”

Daella’s change in behavior was notable. She never wanted to go to the dragon pit with her father, the few times she does work up the nerve to go it is always with her aunt to see Dreamfyre. She is no longer enthused to learn High Valyrian despite how quickly she picks it up.

You did try to keep your child out things, but kids are perceptive. The way from a young age Alicent kids picked on her strife with their father, maybe she picked up on yours with Aemond.

Aemond’s anger radiates off him. Once the truth finally comes out, the words begin to spill from your lips.

“And do not pretend this is just about Daella. That is an insult to her, and a waste of my time,” you lean forward, and lower your voice. “This about you losing your favor around here, and this about her.”

There is an uncomfortable hush comes over the room. The only sound is the crackling coming from the fireplace.

“She was pregnant,” it comes out like whisper. The spite that was laced through his voice is gone. All is left is confusion.

Your vision blurred red. There’s a painful twinge in your stomach, and you wince.

“What do mean was.”

There was always the possibility this could happen. As naive as it sounds, it was not a thought till ironically Aegon of all people brought it up. If anyone would know about possibly fathering bastards it would be him. Then he promptly told you that the two of you could hop on Sunfyre and burn her to a crisp. The offer that you quickly refused in the moment has never sounded so tempting now.

“I-I do not know where she is,” Aemond admits curtly. “One day she is telling me she is with child, and the next she’s…gone.”

He looks so small; his eye has a faraway look in it. It’s utterly pathetic. You never considered that a greater pain to him would be not only to be seen differently by his family, but also have to reason why he did it leave.

“So what now Aemond? She left you, and you want to just erase everything you have done. Pretend you care or love me,” you say coldly.

“No. I do not lo-“

He stops mid sentence, and an empty smile appears on your face. Neither of you have said it out loud but it is the plain truth.

“Go ahead and say it,” there is a deep pressure in your stomach that won’t go away. The pain only makes you even more upset. “Love requires respect. It requires give and take. You surely do not respect me, and all you ever do is take.”

Another twinge hits the underside of your belly. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, eyeing the door.

“You are not completely innocent in this,” your eyes go wide at his remark. “Do not give me that look. I see the way Ser Quinton looks at you. And now Alys is…”

He trails off. It is the first time you have heard him say her name out loud. Another surge of jealously runs through you. She is gone, and you are once again stuck with the carcass. Expected to uphold your end of the bargain while he frets over a child and mother that never should have been around to begin with.

You refuse to sit and let him turn the tables around on you. It is a struggle, but you manage to get up from the table, but only to have him rise and block your way.

“For someone who has such clear distain for my house. You sure do not hide your fire well… just like a dragon.” His eye flutter down to the scar on your arm, then back to your eyes. You see the blame in his.

“If I was that rash, or temperamental, your head would have been on a spike. Along with your whore’s,” you narrow your eyes. “And I would have made Ser Quinton sully his white cloak, because he would for me. Hells, I would have had your brother while I was at it. It’s not like he has not tried before.”

You are not sure you even want Ser Quinton in that way, let alone Aegon. Ser Quinton devotion is not something you know if you are willing to take that level. And Aegon’s cock has been in half the maidservants in the castle and most of the whores in Flea Bottom. Him wanting you is not special, it’s just Aegon being Aegon. But the deep look of rage in Aemond’s eye makes the statement all the more worth it.

You skirt past him quickly towards the door. His heavy footsteps behind you. Ser Quinton leaning against the wall opposite of the door does not surprise you.

“Are you alright,” he rushes over, concerned when you pause to in the hall and lean over in pain. His hand coming to rub your back.

“Oh well is this not sweet,” Aemond’s bitter tone cuts through the empty hall. “I can handle it from here Ser Quinton.”

Blood rushes to your ears, and you can barely hear the hushed disagreement that begins between the two. Your painful groans becoming background fader to their pissing match.

A familiar snap happens in the lower part of your abdomen, and a pool of liquid flows out of you. Both cease arguing, and you and Aemond share a knowing look.

“The babe is coming.”

Alaric Targaryen came into the world fast, and with a haughty disposition. As if he could tell the family dynamic he was coming into. His cries were piercing and sharp, matching the tears of relief you cried when he finally came out.

You had insisted to only have your lady in waiting and some septas in room, especially after the clear tension between Aemond and Quinton. Helaena and Alicent come in and out of the room sporadically, giving you words of encouragement and knowing glances at the pain you were in. Alicent had been shocked to see her son and Ser Quinton trying to get you back to chambers.

Lord Larys followed casually behind her. He gave that funny smile of his again. The smile he gives Queen Alicent when he thinks no one is watching… or maybe he hopes someone is watching.

She’s gone

Even while giving birth to your son, that woman plagued your thoughts. Aemond could be right; you two have more in common than you like. Bewitched by the same woman.

It took everything in you to look up when Aemond finally came into the room. Acknowledging his presence met remembering how he is half of Alaric. How so much of you belongs to Aemond. You live in his home, dress in his colors, your children will be in the history books as Targaryen’s. He will have ownership over your boy after calling him a mistake. No matter how much you try, you will be remembered as his wife.

If that fact did not make you sick enough. Alicent’s next words did the trick.

“Oh, he looks like how Aemond did when he was a babe.”

You look down at him in your arms. While Daella was a combination of Aemond and you, her brother is every bit of his father. Small tuff of straight blonde hair, lips town turned in a scowl. You did not know a babe could look so refined especially after just being born. The only resembles to yourself you see in his in his big glassy eyes looking up at you.

There’s an energy that gets sucked out you when Alicent hands him to Aemond. She sees the weary look on your face.

Opposed to the elation you felt after having Daella. Dread creeps in; dread that comes from a place of sadness and protectiveness. All you have is your children. Even with the bonds and alliances you may have made, only they are extensions of you. Daella, your sweet girl, a reminder of what could of been. You have Alaric, the flesh and blood reflection of what you have been through.

“Have you two thought of a name,” Alicent asks. Before Aemond, who is still looking down can answer, you beat him to it.

“Alaric. Ser Quinton told the sweetest story about a knight he admired as a child. I thought it would be fitting.”

Alicent’s brows raise but she does nothing but nod. “Handsome name for a handsome boy.”

Aemomd does not say anything about the name. He just quietly hums a melody when Alaric starts to fuss. He turns his back to you as he bounces him in his arms.

All you have is your children

When you think about a sword to the throat. You don’t know which situation would be more satisfying. One to his or one to yours.

“I am sure you were… relieved to hear about your problem being gone.”

You do not see Lord Larys again till weeks after Alaric is born. The day of a feast Alicent insisted you have to celebrate his birth. Your father and mother writing you that they can not wait to see their second grandchild.

While Daella was a fussy, energetic baby, all Aleric does is sleep and eat. He stares at you with curious eyes. Always taking in the scene around him. He lays sweetly crib next to your bed. After his birth, you were all but forced to move back into the one you shared with Aemond.

“Do you know what happened to her,” it’s been on your mind for since Aemond uttered those words.

Larys tilts his head to the side with a wry look. “You and I both know it is hard to place the whims of a difficult woman, especially a supposed magical one.”

You know he is not just talking about Alys.

She is out there, possibly with Targaryen blood in her and no one knows where is. It does not make any sense. Larys can read the skepticism all over your face.

“It is quite suspicious, witch or not. A bastard woman with no means or worth to her name, gone in an instant. And right after the truth comes out within the family. Right after the Queen and the Prince talk.”

He gives you no help, only more questions. Makes you more suspicious of those you have to call family. In this moment you hate the way he speaks in riddles. He never states things plainly till he is ready to. As if he expects you to do something before he can reveal anymore.

“But look on the bright side princess, your family will be back at court soon enough.”

Alaric begins to coo, as if he trying to tell you something.

“Well, thank you for your time, Lord Larys,” you give him a fake smile. “I should start getting ready.”

Your lady in waiting, Jayne, comes in once Larys finally leaves.

“I quite like this one princess,” she holds up a green and black dress. It is old dress of Alicent’s, one she gave you when you first married Aemond.

A flash of satiny purple in the back of you wardrobe catches your eye. A smile appears on your face. It may be a bit snug as you have two children since wearing it but it worth the try.

“I think I might want to try something a bit different Jayne.”

Your father used to tell you that the strongest flowers grow even when there is little sun. In conjunction, your mother told you that flowers are meant to be admired. Prettiest ones will often be picked and disregarded when a new bloom happens. Wilting was never an option for you in their mind.

You are their lower. Planted, watered, and urged to grow. Even in the deep darkness that is King’s Landing. The darkness they said was critical to helping your house.

The looks you get when you walk into the Godswood, head high in your deep violet dress only spurs you on when in other times it would make you want to hide. Daella and Alaric both in darling lavender outfits. You three stand out against the various muted greens, blues, and greys amongst you. Except for the few specs of purple that you see on the side wooded area.

“My dear girl,” your father’s hug makes you want to cry. Seeing your parents put into perspective how young you feel… how young you are.

Already married, mother of two, and all you want is your parents to hug you and tell you everything will be ok. When your father pulls you to the side and asks you about the letter Queen Alicent sent him, you are surprised to hear what she put in it.

“She said you are having a hard time,” he runs his hand over your arm. “That it is affecting your marriage.”

It should not surprise you she failed to mention her son’s cheating. But the onus being placed on you only proves what you already felt. They will protect their own, so you must protect yours.

Before you can muster up an answer, an anxious looking maidservant comes over with Jayne in tow.

“My Lady, I am sorry to interrupt. I went back to grab Alaric’s sweater. I saw something you may want to see; it was left it your chambers.”

Your eyes go to a box Jayne is carrying.

You must hold back a scream when you open the box and see Alaric’s favorite blanket, the one always in his crib, soaked in blood.

You frantically look over to the opposite side of the garden, your mother happily holding Alaric, Daella by her side. You look over to catch Aemond and Alicent giving you a questioning looks from across the Godswood.

As your vision blurs, you notice box had a tripartite of pale blue, red, and green on it.

“Jayne, please go fetch me Lord Larys and Ser Quinton.”

All you have is your children

Tag list: ok I’m sooo sorry to anyone who does not get a tag. I swear I am not ignoring you. I am only allowed to do 50 which is so annoying bc I want to tag everyone that was kind enough to support and ask. Also sometimes tumblr won’t let me tag certain people idk. If y’all know a better way please let me know, so I can try it ❤️❤️.

@simp-is-what-i-am @rey26 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @crispmarshmallow @dc-marvel-girl96 @stargaryenx @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @neenieweenie @iwanttohitmyself @helloitsshitzulover @lazypinkpig @shisuchiha @leoramage @viperixsworld @luvremlu @this-is-a-bad-idea @landlockedmermaid77 @inpraizeof @blacpiink @carriellie @s0urmarvel @blackravena @bregarc @hvx @let-love-bleeds-red @fangirls94 @v7nt7 @m1ndbrand @highexpectationsgurl @m1tzifa1ry @spaceslutty @elleclairez @kitkat-writes-stuff @paprikaquinn @widemiffyhappy @poisonedsultana @what-is-your-wish @lilliansstuff @rebelfleur22 @aloneatpeace @alastorhazbin @alexa4040 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ensolleildelune @clora95 @yu3kkii @mischiefmanaged2 @its-sam-allgood @papery-maniac

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #aemond x fem!reader #black!reader #aemond x oc

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edenmemes · 7 months

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baldur's gate 3 starters (part 2)

part 2 / ? .

❝ i’m also worried about me, but i somehow seem to be worried about you more. ❞ ❝ you put the stars to shame. let’s sit here a little while - i want to drink you in. ❞ ❝ i’d tell you not to get in trouble, but i suspect it will find you whether you like it or not. ❞ ❝ well, this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on. ❞ ❝ i just….need some air…clear my head. ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since i shed a tear. i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had a feeling you’d show up. it’s sort of our thing. like it’s fate or something. ❞ ❝ i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little. ❞ ❝ if that was an attempt at flirting, i should let you know i prefer the strong, silent type. ❞ ❝ no matter how far you come, you’re still on the road to ruin. ❞ ❝ i thought you a hunter. wrong. you’re prey - small. snivelling. pathetic. ❞ ❝ and what am i owed? what about the injustices i’ve suffered - am i not entitled to anything? ❞ ❝ i can’t help but feel the strangest twinge of disgust as i look upon you. ❞ ❝ i trust that you will continue to remember who is really on your side. ❞ ❝ better a short life built on truth than immortality woven of lies. ❞ ❝ i won’t make excuses. i can’t make amends. but i want to help, if you’ll let me. ❞ ❝ gods, it’s horrifying…and a touch fascinating. ❞ ❝ there are many names for you --- and all of them inspire dread. ❞ ❝ destiny is at your door; won’t you at least twitch the curtain? ❞ ❝ the gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. a hunger crueller than bloodlust. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ revenge sounds so sweet until you’ve taken it. then all you have is…no one left to blame. ❞ ❝ some mistakes can’t be resolved with an apology. some mistakes, you have to carry with you, forever. ❞ ❝ you’re plotting something, aren’t you? come on then - out with it. ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ think of all we’ve been through just to get to this moment. that wasn’t luck. that was us. ❞ ❝ feel like i should laugh but i’m just too godsdamned tired. ❞ ❝ there is something i lost…no, had taken from me. i want it all back. ❞ ❝ careful - you’re in very real danger of hurting my feelings. ❞ ❝ one thing i’ve learned - real saviours never label themselves as such. ❞ ❝ less thinking of bad thoughts, and more breaking of bad bones. ❞ ❝ i rather like interfering. it’s kind of my thing. ❞ ❝ evil is evil, even if it once was innocent. ❞ ❝ you know, i've been catching myself smiling more lately. i think that's your fault.. ❞ ❝ oh, i’m no innocent. but evil? you tell me. ❞ ❝ i still want to believe you’re better than that. but even i am having my doubts. ❞ ❝ i can’t afford to lose my nerve. safer to just not think, and keep forging ahead. ❞ ❝ when all this is over, will you stay with me? for good? ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ is there a reason you're always such an utter drip? do you have some sort of condition? honestly, it's like you hate good news. ❞ ❝ all of nature’s beauty pales in comparison to you. ❞ ❝ i can’t save you from yourself. it hurts terribly, but i can’t. ❞ ❝ if i seem suddenly flush with hope and soft feeling, you have only yourself to blame. ❞ ❝ is there good and evil within us all? ❞

❝ i’ve been watching you fight. your skills are improving. ❞ ❝ you know, for all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place, i really feel quite at home here. ❞ ❝ and you? you’re wholly without vice or sin or the occasional lapse in judgement? ❞ ❝ i wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are. but i do. ❞ ❝ one might say you’re paragon of luck. i’ll be there when it runs out. ❞ ❝ i've always had a soft spot for the confident ones…they always disappoint though. ❞ ❝ i concealed nothing from you. i simply left out the details that were not pertinent. ❞ ❝ you’re an odd friend. but, i suppose, a friend still. ❞ ❝ i won’t let you do this. i won’t let you win. ❞ ❝ you are my puppet. make no mistake. without me, you have no value. ❞ ❝ well, this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside. ❞ ❝ whoever your enemies are, they have good reason to fear you. ❞ ❝ this place is astonishing, a bard’s tale made real. ❞ ❝ i may not regret my actions, but i do regret that they were necessary. ❞ ❝ experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope. ❞ ❝ if this adventure has taught me anything, it’s that there are things in this world more valuable than power. ❞ ❝ a wise man learns from his mistakes, and strives not to repeat them. ❞ ❝ no more hiding things from me. agreed? ❞ ❝ my friend. my companion. i adore you. ❞ ❝ your face is sour. by all means leave, if i am so distasteful. ❞ ❝ careful, it’s dark around here. would be a terrible shame to lose you forever. ❞ ❝ you startled me. i…i was miles away. ❞ ❝ you have to know who i was. you have to know who i really am. ❞ ❝ nothing special, of course. you’re only the first person who i truly care for. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ anything you ask, i’ll answer as honestly as i can. ❞

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