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humanpurposes · 5 months

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Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

#michael gavey #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey x ofc #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #my fics

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slttygeto · 8 months

Text

MY PUNISHMENT, AN ETERNITY WITHOUT YOU--GETO. S

synopsis: you were never there for suguru, and he isn't scared of saying it to you.

c.w: gn! reader, angst, hurt/no comfort, reader is a terrible friend, insinuations on suguru and reader possibly liking each other, suguru feels terribly left out, confronation, there is a dialogue here from an old movie so that's where the inspiration came from!

word count: 1,1k

note: very quick drabble before I head to bed. sorry for choosing violence so late at night.

Everything happens for a reason. What a lame way to comfort yourself through the horrifying realization that you’ve been betrayed by one of the closest people to your heart. You stand in front of Yaga and Satoru with a broken heart and a body that is so cold you could be mistaken for a corpse and you breathe in—you try to inhale through what you’ve been told.

“Suguru killed those people, he also killed his parents and—“

Enough. You’ve heard more than enough for today. You squeeze your eyes shut and your hands find your face, covering it whole. You’re not sure what the gesture is supposed to do, you believe that you simply did not want to see the people that have delivered those news for you and it’s a little unfair to them. But then again, if they hadn’t known how poorly you’d handle it, why’d they look so apologetic when they asked you to wait for them outside of the classroom? They knew how you’d feel and they still went through with it.

You don’t realize that a week had passed since the incident with Suguru until you’re receiving a text Shoko and Satoru telling you about his whereabouts, and you don’t think you’ve ever ran so fast in your life just to see a person—to see him, for what felt like it was going to be the last time in a while.

Suguru stands in front of a flower shop owned by an elderly couple and his face seems to be empty of any emotion as he stares at the many flowers displayed by the old woman tending to her plants. Yet his eyes seem to be fixated on a specific flower—a bouquet of pink Cyclamens that looked as though it was freshly picked and put together, placed neatly on the tiny green table outside of the shop. His hand reaches down towards it and traces the pink wrapping paper with the same fingers that once held your chin as he tended to your wounds after missions.

“Suguru,” you sound out of breath, your hands are trembling and you feel as though you’re about to faint very soon. “What are you doing?” A part of you hopes that Suguru comes up with a good answer, something that justifies what he’s done, what he is about to do now that he has the entire Jujutsu society turning against him. You want answers, you want to be comforted by this abrupt and sudden decision of his. But when he stands there silently, doesn’t even bother to look up from the bouquet he seemingly bought prior to your arrival, your heart sinks. So, you ask again.

“Sugu-“ your throat closes up and you can’t muster up the courage to pronounce his name properly. “Answer me.”

“What do you think I’m doing, hm?” the nonchalance in his voice feels like a dozen of needles poking through your skin, each one injecting you with a different poison and only Suguru’s warmth can heal you.

“You lied to me, you deceived me.” You say quietly and when you hear his chuckle—the first sign of emotion in very long, your heart sinks to your stomach. Why does he find this amusing? It shouldn’t be funny, you were seriously suffering and he was being so… different.

“I’ve deceived you?” he finally looks up and it’s so difficult not to run away and hide when he was eyeing you so dangerously, daring you to repeat what you have just said.

“You’ve deceived me,” he continues and approaches you with the bouquet in hand.

“I am tired of trying to listen to you—“

“You have never listened, you never tried to listen,” he presses on every word and his looming figure towers over you with so much ease. You cower under his gaze, try to stutter a few words out and the confusion evident on your face irks Suguru even more.

“I did try to listen! What are you-“

“Then where were you when I needed you?” he tilts his head to the side, and the action is mocking as he lets out a pensive hum. “On missions… with Satoru… out with Shoko smoking—that’s right, I stopped being fun to hang out with, didn’t I?”

“You stopped needing me because I stopped being useful.” He spits it out like venom and your blood runs cold. You try to blink the tears coating your lashes and back away from him.

“That is not true,” the whimper that escapes your lips is pathetic, but it does nothing to the tall man standing in front of you.

“Then where were you when I needed you?” he asks again, and he knows that you don’t have an answer—or it was simply clear that Suguru wasn’t worth the additional baggage on your shoulders. You never wanted to be there for him as simple as that. Your friendship with him was only fun when he was the sweet, soft and flirty Suguru. Hanging out with him was only fun because he paid for the food and pushed you on the swing, it stopped being fun when his thoughts got darker and it was harder for him to smile when you apologized for the umpteenth time because you forgot to check on him.

Suguru simply had enough.

“You gave me your heart, you know?” The taller male suddenly speaks up after a minute of awkward and painful silence and your head shoots up. “You’d like me to hand it back whole, but I won’t.” He takes a step closer and strangely, you don’t flinch nor move away.

“You live a long life, an eternity without me. You will look at the faces of passersby hoping for something that will bring me back to you, you will find stargazing on the rooftop and summer nights strangely empty—your heart will long for something, anything that would make calling out for my name worth it and would somehow bring me back.” Suguru is seemingly calm through it all, like the sight of the fat tears cascading your cheeks doesn’t move him and for the first time ever—it truly doesn’t reach his heart, and doesn’t try to pull at its strings.

“Your heart will always ache for me, and your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that this—“ he points at the both of you, referring to you confronting him. “Was the brave thing to do.”

And through gritted teeth, you manage to find your voice again.

“You dare talk about bravery?”

“What else do we have to talk about, hm?”

—in case anyone needed to know, “Cyclamen flowers can also represent love, affection, and admiration. They are sometimes used to display affection and romantic feelings towards someone.”

do with that whatever you want.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

#moon's works #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #geto x reader #geto angst #jjk angst #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen geto #jjk getou #suguru geto #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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egcdeath · 11 months

Note

peanut

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: you and joel have a blowout argument… over peanut butter.

word count: 600

warnings: don’t read if you have a peanut allergy, borderline crack fic with how unserious joel and the reader are, crunch peanut butter slander, fluff, established relationship, domestic, slice of life, no outbreak, no use of y/n, not edited

authors note: send me a random word or phrase and i’ll write a drabble!

“Joel, what is this?” you were disgusted and appalled as you turned the blue-lidded jar over in your hands. What was meant to be a nice mid-afternoon snack had quickly devolved into a mid-afternoon nightmare as you laid your eyes on that label.

“What do you mean, ‘what is this?’ It’s peanut butter,” Joel dismissed, coming over from where he was lounging on his favorite recliner in his living room to the kitchen island where you were currently assembling yourself a snack. He wasted no time taking the jar from your hands, and evaluating the object that had caused all of this commotion in the first place.

“You’re kidding,” you said with a bit of a quirked brow and a slight squint of your eyes, attempting to gauge whether or not your partner was purposefully fucking with you.

“I’m not. What’s the big issue?” Joel unscrewed the lid and grabbed the knife you had sitting by your pre-jellied slices of bread. “Looks like peanut butter to me.”

“You don’t notice anything… off about it?” you pressed, watching carefully as Joel dipped the knife into the fresh jar and revealed an unappetizing, chunky paste.

“Mm… no? Should I?” from the way Joel made eye contact with you as he ran the now peanut-buttered butter knife against his tongue, you knew he had to be fucking with you.

“No special tastes or textures?” you emphasized, trying to get to the bottom of the situation. There was no way you’d married someone who buys chunky peanut butter on purpose. There was simply no way.

Joel shrugged dismissively once more, but the slight smirk he was sporting told you all that you needed to know. “Not a fan of crunchy peanut butter?” he finally asked, thoroughly entertained by the slack jawed look you were giving him.

“You actually like crunchy peanut butter?” you replied, somehow even more horrified as Joel happily crunched away on his monstrosity of a spread.

“Always have,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t dropping a massive bomb on you.

“No way,” you argued, in a bit of disbelief. If Joel really enjoyed crunchy peanut butter that much, your whole life was a lie. Your whole marriage was a lie! “You’re pulling a prank on me.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, still seeming quite pleased with himself.

“My God,” you gasped, clutching your chest. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“Someone with taste,” Joel pushed back, thoroughly entertained with your dramatics.

“You don’t even know how wrong you are,” you scoffed.

“Oh, come on, honey. Don’t you ever get tired of smooth PB?” he asked with a grin, taking pleasure in your horror.

“No, clearly not!” you exclaimed, a bit offended at even the idea of getting tired of such a classic treat.

“Well, I do,” Joel defended himself. “Just try it once. I bet it’s not as bad as you’d think.”

“Oh, I know it’s as bad as I think,” you rebutted, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched Joel dip the knife back into that sinister jar of peanut butter.

“Just try it once,” Joel repeated, inching the knife towards your mouth in the same way that you’d seen him do for your daughter a multitude of times. It seemed like a small miracle that Joel didn’t give you a, ‘Here comes the airplane!’

“If you don’t get that knife out of my face, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” Joel cracked a smile at your reluctance, which only fueled your annoyance more. “Joel. I’m not kidding.”

“Come on,” he sing-songed, amused by just how stubborn you were being. He continued to inch the knife closer and closer to you until you finally accepted your fate, sticking your tongue out unenthusiastically and trying out the peanut butter.

“Alright,” you conceded. It wasn’t half as bad as you thought it would be, but you would never tell your partner that—especially with the way that Joel was grinning at you from the other side of the counter. “It was okay. But you’re still sleeping on the couch tonight.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us fic #one word drabbles

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blues824 · 11 months

Note

♡.•° To Dearest Blues824 :

Heya! My Brain Was Going Places And Was Thinking About The Dorm Head's With An Alastor (From Hazbin Hotel) Like Reader? :D

☆.•° - You Can Call Me Stardust Anon If Ya Want!

I see what you did there, Stardust Anon!

Gender-neutral reader, supposed to be platonic since Alastor is aromantic, but can be interpreted as romantic. Cursing, 1920’s slang because I’m good at it.

Riddle Rosehearts

You were definitely very loud and boisterous, but he just chalked it up to your radio personality that was typically required of you. Aside from that, the two of you got along quite well with each other. You both used the same sort of formal language, but you did not know how to use a phone. You actually hated it a lot, and the Housewarden found it rather amusing.

One thing he found absolutely infuriating about you was how you thought the Queen’s Rules were absolutely laughable. However, since you were a demon, you were able to memorize each of them and went along with them out of pure boredom. But, when someone was disrespecting the rules, you wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence. Riddle has had to tell you that the punishment for breaking a rule would simply be a collar rather than a black eye and a bruise about their neck, but you shrugged your shoulders with a smile and went on with your day like normal.

He could tell that you were from a different time period, since you often used slang that was popular in the 1920’s. Even in Twisted Wonderland, it existed. You once caught him while he was doing his makeup and you asked why he was getting ‘all dolled up’. The question caught him by surprise, as he had never heard any of his peers ask it like that before.

Leona Kingscholar

He absolutely despised you. He thought you were too loud, and you often disrupted his naps along with the annoying hunter. Like, you were right next to him. You didn’t need to use your weird-ass microphone to project your voice to the cosmos. He may be sleeping, but he can hear you when you speak normally.

During his overblot, you were not afraid to use your power as a demon and as an Overlord of Hell to put an end to it within seconds. Actually, someone had to stop you so that you didn’t kill Leona. In the infirmary, you apologized and said that old habits die hard. His eyes widened when he asked about and processed what in the actual fuck you just said and you just laughed before leaving the room.

There was one time where you had invited him to walk to your classes with you, but he refused and said that he would much rather be sleeping. You told him to not be such a pill, and he was so confused. Bro looked it up, and was then offended that you called him boring in a 1920’s sort of way. Now he just calls you ‘gramps’ because you’re old.

Azul Ashengrotto

Also despised how loud you were, and thought that the microphone you carried with you was excessive. However, the first time he saw you quiet was when you told him that you were the one that did the deals around here and benefitted from them. Now he prefers your boisterous self more than your quiet self.

He has seen your secretly violent nature when Floyd snuck up behind you to try and squeeze you. A tendril came up from out of the ground and wrapped itself around the tweel’s neck, and it started to suffocate him. Azul was absolutely horrified as he screamed at you to stop, but you just had your big smile on your face. The only way he was able to tell that you weren’t happy was how you said, through gritted teeth, that you did not appreciate the eel’s actions.

One thing about you that always leaves the cecaelia confused was the slang you used. Like, you once compared the Mostro Lounge to a speakeasy, but instead of selling liquor he was selling dreams at the cost of a [most likely illegal] contract. He was about to say something about underage drinking when he remembered that you were a demon who has been alive since before the 30’s. That being said, you were of-age.

Kalim Al-Asim

It was Jamil who told him to stay away from you, but you just looked so friendly. Imagine him as a more ditzy version of Charlie, and Jamil as Vaggie. However, you had no plans to take advantage of him. He had nothing to take advantage of, or nothing that you wanted at least, as you were already the Housewarden of Ramshackle.

Your violent side came out when you saw that the Vice Housewarden of Scarabia was hypnotizing Kalim. You used your magic and held him by the throat (much like Darth Vader) and leaned in close. You made his vision go staticky and said that if he were to do something that you did not agree with, there would be heavy consequences to pay. It was fortunate that Kalim was not there to see your little threat.

The young Al-Asim was always awe-struck by the 1920’s terminology you often used. You told him that Jamil was such a wet blanket and Kalim had no idea what you just said. You explained that a wet blanket was someone who was a killjoy or a ‘party pooper’, to make it a bit more modern for him to understand.

Vil Schoenheit

He could tell that your happy and friendly persona was really a mask. After all, it takes an actor to know an actor. However, you seemed to have even Rook fooled, so he had to give you kudos for your act. He didn’t tip anyone off either, but it’s not like you would have minded being known as the most powerful being within Twisted Wonderland.

You showed your relentless and more sadistic side when Vil made a rather passive-aggressive remark about the way you dressed. Sure, it was a bit older and on the more formal side, but that gave him no right. So you used a tendril from Hell to snatch him off the ground and emphasize your point and say that it was better than the pool of fabric he called an ‘outfit’. You also said that any snide statement about you again and it would result in his untimely death and arrival in Hell.

The only reason why he knew about your slang was the fact that he had to play the role of a mobster in the 1920’s before in a movie. He’s even translated for you when you said that his outfit to match you was swanky. He said something about how he wanted to put on the Ritz for the upcoming photoshoot, and Epel just stared at the two of you, confused as to what the fuck you were saying.

Idia Shroud

You reminded him of a character from a popular show, and you had the microphone, suit, and smile to match. Honestly, he reminded you of a certain god of the underworld, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. That aside, you both were the exact opposite of each other. You were really loud and extroverted, while he was really quiet and introverted. You often liked teasing him and making him flustered and just moving on like it was nothing, and it left him with a whirlwind of emotions.

The one time you showed your aggressive side was during the time where the Phantom Bride kidnapped him. The only one who could torment your dear friend was you, and not some dame dolled up to the Ritz who was already bumped off the Flivver. Now, you typically were one to make some snide remark, but you were past that. There was no reason to bump gums when none of the other Housewardens were helping Idia out of his rather strange predicament.

He was surprised when you had summoned a tentacled monster of some sort and you threatened to have the ‘little’ monster drag them to Hell for interfering with matters in the overworld. Eliza let out a shriek as she hid behind Puffy and Gramps, shaking out of fear upon recognition of your name. You were one of the Overlords of Hell, after all.

Malleus Draconia

You were rather amusing, at least according to the dragon prince. You were also much more powerful than him, a fact that only his retainers found absolutely horrifying. Instead, he was actually very interested in you. You dressed and talked in a much different way than he did, but it was very… snazzy?... as you once said.

The more demonic side that you had made its debut during each of the overblots, and every time someone had a problem that they wanted you to deal with. You made it a point to emphasize time and time again that you were a demon who would do charity work when you wanted to, not when someone asked. After all, you needed some form of entertainment, and this was not it. Malleus often offers to order his knights to stop people from harassing you, but you told him, in a grim and menacing way, that you would love to give them a painful reminder.

One time, as you both were going on a typical nightly walk, he asked if you could show him what your time period was like. So, you being you, broke into a jazzy musical number as you used your magic to bring him into a little scene from the 20’s. He was dressed in a similar suit as you, and you used your mic to sing a song about what exactly happened in the world and to you right up until your death. Honestly, he didn’t really care that you were a cannibal. As a member of the royal family within Briar Valley, nothing phases him anymore.

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eoieopda · 1 year

Note

hello! i have a song for the game. Thank you for doing this!

I really like Anywhere by Rita Ora and Namjoon.

thank youu x

oh this was such a cute song! 10/10

listen here

ft. boyf!joon, a whole-ass adventure across Europe in the span of 30 days, reader getting zooted after consuming the tiniest bit of an edible.

just take me anywhere / take me anywhere / anywhere away with you

Until now, every bit of your month-long trip across the European continent had gone according to plan.

Well, plan was generous.

Apart from identifying locations in each of your favorite books; purchasing all necessary travel tickets; and making hotel reservations, there had been no real plan. It was simply you and the best boy, taking in whatever sights you could. Good wine, even better cheese, and perfect company.

You’d left Korea on the first of November, landing in London and staying for two days. The turn-around was almost as quick as the Eurostar, projecting you onward over the rails to Paris. Most of those four days were spent nudging Namjoon along through the Louvre, wondering if he’d ever willingly leave. Begrudgingly, after several hours, he did — no assistance from security was necessary.

The first of your horrifying, turbulent, rickety, budget flights — in a tin can with wings — had delivered you to Barcelona. The second carried you to Milan, with your death grip on Namjoon’s hand lasting for the duration of your time in the air. After train rides from Milan to Rome, then Rome to Venice, a bus had carried you off to Salzburg.

When you’d found yourself in those living, Sound of Music hills, you didn’t even have to ask. Namjoon — without question or comment — joined you in spinning like a fool until you both dropped dizzy in the grass. Maybe it was the altitude, but you could’ve sworn the “I love you” he‘d murmured in that moment hit a little harder than usual.

A train to Vienna, a bus to Budapest, then — gulp — another panicked flight; this time to Kraków. Two days there, then — with a whine and several glasses of its homophone, downed quickly at the airport bar — a fourth flight to Prague. Shortly after, you’d boarded a train to Berlin.

By your fifth low-cost, high-anxiety flight, Namjoon had discovered an antidote. If you were at least as high as the plane itself, the creaking of that tiny, shaky hunk of metal was significantly less upsetting. It was fitting, after all, landing in Amsterdam while still floating off one (1) quarter of an edible.

God, what a light-weight.

Your incessant giggling had been overpowered by Namjoon’s, though he was stone-cold sober — just thoroughly amused. There, the two of you realized you’d made a mistake: the phallogical museum you were fascinated by was in Iceland, not the Netherlands.

On the subsequent train ride to Bruges, you’d vowed to hit the world-renowned dick museum on your next trip. Your current trip was now at its end, leaving you to scurry off to Brussels for a commercial flight back to Incheon.

Unfortunately, inclement weather had grabbed Belgium in a chokehold.

With your backs pressed against the wall, you and Namjoon sat weary on the floor near your gate. Your respective legs were sprawled out in front of you. Head resting on your shoulder, Namjoon spent a large portion of your wait in the liminal space between the dream and waking worlds.

If there had been any local hotels available for the night, he might’ve actually gotten some proper rest — in a bed, but likely still using you as a pillow. Instead, you were stuck where you sat: huddled together in the same terminal you’d been in for many, many hours.

Languidly, you traced mindless patterns into the denim fabric holding onto his quads for dear life. You sighed through a frown as you glanced down at him, “I’m sorry we can’t seem to get home, love.”

Too tired to move, Namjoon merely mumbled from where he’d nestled into your side, “Home is anywhere with you.”

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iyote · 9 months

Text

storm aroace moments

A compilation, because I recently re-read Survivors: The Gathering Darkness and Storm is an aroace icon.

[Spoiler alert for the series obviously]

Storm is consistently shown being confused at the idea of romance, finding the idea of it uncomfortable and not understanding the point:

For a time, she even chalks this up to her "Fierce Dog (doberman) nature,” although this is quickly disproven:

^(once again calling romance “nonsense” here)

When she finds out that Arrow has been sneaking off to spend time with Bella - well, this whole section speaks for itself:

It must be noted that Storm is plenty affectionate with her friends. She’s repeatedly described licking and nuzzling them. But as soon as that’s put into a romantic context, she finds the idea repulsive.

She’s relieved that Arrow isn’t a traitor, and she supports their relationship, but...

"Sickly load of romantic rabbit fluff”

When Storm learns that Whisper has a crush on her, she’s horrified and says “I don’t want a mate! At all!” and “I can’t think of anything I want less!”

Mickey seems surprised that she never considered having a mate, and laughs off her discomfort, but Storm is genuinely upset and uncomfortable. She is even more disturbed by Whisper’s affection from this point forward.

Then there’s this whole conversation with Moon, where Storm asks why dogs take mates at all. Beyond the practical need for reproduction, she simply does not understand.

“That’s not how I’m going to live my life. It’s not the way for me,” Storm says, and carries on to say: “I’m not afraid. It’s what I want. To be my own dog.” Moon tells Storm that she is young and inexperienced, but Storm knows who she is, and she firmly isn’t going to force herself into anything she doesn’t want. “I think a dog should know what she wants, though, and I’m very sure of my path.” (Again, Storm’s disinterest in finding a mate is treated with amusement, as if it’s naïveté. It must be noted that although Storm is relatively young, she is an adult dog, not a pup. She is constantly dismissed when she tries to express her disinterest in romance or mating, and it unsettles her. This is very much the same sort of treatment that aro and ace people get in real life.)

After Whisper’s death, Storm regrets her curtness towards him, but every time she thinks of him fondly, it’s still only as a friend. She never thinks of him romantically - her dedication to avenging him is out of loyalty as a good friend.

Here, once again, she simply does not understand appeal of having a mate (Storm supports her straight friends, even if she doesn’t personally understand their lifestyle choices):

Storm is fascinated by how close Bella and Arrow are, but feels disturbed by the thought of herself being involved in a relationship of that sort:

(I want to note here that Storm craves to be understood. She loves her friends and wants close relationships with them. When she spends time away from the Wild Pack, with only Bella and Arrow and the pups, she reflects specifically on how nice it is to be surrounded solely by friends who understand her and love her and accept her for who she is. However, when that sort of deep understanding is put in a romantic context, she is not comfortable with the idea.)

Once again, Storm is bewildered but supports her straight friends:

And finally, in The Exile’s Journey:

“She would never understand what made dogs want to be mates”

Storm never wants a mate. This is a fact which is consistent throughout the series and does not change. It will never change. It’s just who she is. This is about as much confirmation as you can get in a series about talking dogs who don’t use terms such as “aromantic” and “asexual.”

tl;dr: Storm expresses multiple times that she has no interest in ever becoming mates with anyone. She's also consistently confused at the concept of romance and mating - she can't understand the appeal. And even though others initially dismiss her as being "too young" to know what she wants, it stays a consistent element of her character through the entire series.

Storm is aroace.

#storm #survivors dogs #aroace storm #analysis #I love her so muchhh #I first read the books when they came out #and of course I hc'd her as aroace #and I mean it basically got confirmed in canon so I was ecstatic #I mean look at this #she's literally aroace and romance-repulsed #it meant a lot to me as a kid and it still means a lot to me now #she's just so confidently queer I love her!!

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mc-lukanette · 1 year

Text

Marinette hummed to herself, scribbling as she laid on top of the fountain's edge at the park. The stone wasn't great to lay her papers on, but her crayons did well enough at letting her draw. Her parents were busy in the bakery as usual, so as long as she didn't go too far, she was allowed to come to the park as she pleased.

It was times like these where she let her imagination run. She was still a child, after all, so wherever she couldn't go, she could simply draw whilst daydreaming about it. Her papa told her that it was important to cook up all the ideas in her head, or else they'd be raw and gooey when they came out of the oven. She didn't really know what that meant, but it sounded scary enough that she wasn't going to take any chances.

As she looked around, she spotted a boy who was just walking into the park. He didn't have any parents with him despite looking to be around her age, so she naturally wondered if they were nearby like hers.

He had messy black hair that was almost long enough to cover his eyes, and she couldn't help staring at his blue highlights. Were they natural, or did his parents let him get them? Maybe he had a special ability that changed the color of his highlights with his mood? What did the blue mean then?

She wanted to ask, but couldn't bring herself to open her mouth and call out to him. That tended to be the norm for her, wanting to make friends but also not wanting to make a fool of herself. Thus, she reached for her crayons instead, fumbling a bit with pulling out the blue one as she got to drawing. She drew herself first, then followed up with the boy she'd seen.

After coloring in his hair, she went to do his jacket but stalled, unable to remember what color it was. She looked up, searching the area for the "magic highlights boy," but she couldn't see him anymore. Frowning, she wondered if maybe he'd already left, a thought that saddened her even though their theoretical friendship was only in her head.

She'd been so invested in drawing that she hadn't sensed a presence coming up behind her, at least not until said presence spoke up.

"I like your drawing."

"wAH—!"

Surprised, Marinette recoiled from the voice, not realizing her mistake until she stopped feeling the stone underneath her. She saw a flash of blue and black just before her body hit the water, her limbs flailing in a panic whilst she tried to reorient herself. Water seeped into her hair and clothing, making for a thoroughly unpleasant experience as she attempted to reach for the stone edge again to pull herself up.

However, she grasped a hand instead, which tugged and helped her up into a sitting position. She blinked rapidly, rubbing at her eyes to get rid of all of the water messing with her vision, then noted the pretty highlights boy standing there. It was his hand that was grasping hers.

Her face flushed in embarrassment. She was known for her clumsiness and was all too familiar with this situation; she fell or dumped food on herself, and then everyone would immediately start laughing at her. She didn't doubt that this would be the same either, and the boy she'd been imagining as her friend would—

"I-I'm sorry!" he cried out, horrified. "Sorry, I didn't wanna scare you!"

Marinette's trepidation turned to confusion in an instant, especially as the boy continued pulling her and his other hand went to her side to help her out. She looked downwards and noticed that his leg was up on the stone, like he'd hurried up onto it after she'd fallen in. The faint laughter of other kids off in the distance didn't even register with her, too taken by the boy who looked anything but amused by her fall.

"You looked like you were havin' fun drawing," he explained once she was safe and standing back on the ground, "so I waited for you to stop, but..."

She imagined that, and it made a little bit of sense to her; she probably would've been more surprised if he started talking while she was still drawing him. Maybe she would've jumped the entire fountain in surprise then?

"Um, here—" the boy fretted, hurriedly removing his jacket. He tried using it to dry her and Marinette found it oddly charming.

Noting that she hadn't spoken the whole time he'd been talking, she said, "I-it's okay. You didn't mean it." When he continued trying to dry her anyway, she reached for the jacket to still his hands, adding, "My house is really close, and this isn't that bad."

He frowned at her, not looking convinced. She smiled to get her point across, taking the offered jacket to fiddle with and dry her skin.

"T-thank you," she said sweetly. Then, remembering his comment before she'd ungracefully fallen into the water, she asked, "You really like my drawing?"

He blinked, looking surprised that she'd brought the conversation back around, but nodded. "Mhm. I did." He glanced at the paper, which had droplets of water on it from her earlier splash. "Is that me?"

She thought it was cute that he didn't assume it was him despite it being obvious. Still, feeling shy, she hugged the jacket to her chest. "Y-yeah. Sorry if it's not okay."

He shook his head. "I like it. I mean it." Though, he paused, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. "What made you draw me?"

Marinette blushed. She'd already embarrassed herself in front of him, though she couldn't tell whether that was a good thing because it meant that there was no reason to worry about it now, or a bad thing because she was just stacking more embarrassment on top of herself. Settling somewhere in the middle, she admitted, "I like to draw my dreams. You looked fun and in'testing, so I wanted to be friends?"

He breathed up, his soft eyes opening wide. "I'll be your friend?"

"Huh?" she squeaked out, squeezing his jacket in her hands. "N-no, you can't!"

"Why not?"

"'Cause—'cause I'm not cool!" she explained like it was obvious. "T-there's a girl. She told me that I'm not cool 'cause I don't have friends, so I can't be friends with you 'cause I'm not cool!"

His brows furrowed in concern, then confusion. "Uh, but then I'm not cool, 'cause I don't have friends too, so then we're the same."

"Whaa?" That baffled her. "But you are cool!" She gestured at him with a hand for emphasis. "You dress cool and have cool hair!"

"You make cool drawings," he argued, hands on his hips.

Marinette paused, mind whirling. Perhaps it was a belated realization, but maybe what that girl had told her was a trap to trick her. Well, she wasn't going to be tricked!

"Then—then I guess we're friends!" she decided, but hesitated after a moment. "I mean, if that's not bad?"

"Why would it be bad?"

"It's a lot of work!" She waved an arm wildly, then pointed at him. "I never had one, but I watch them on TV! They have to meet a lot and play together, then they hug and have a lot of sleepovers! It's super duper serious!"

She also saw two boys who kissed once and her grandfather called them very good friends, but maybe that was only older friends, so it wasn't a worry yet.

"That..." The boy pouted. "But I like how that sounds?"

"Hu—Really?"

He nodded insistently.

"Oh." She shuddered at the realization; did she truly just make a friend? "Oh! But I didn't say hello even though you're my friend, and you don't know my name!" She held her hand out, waggling her fingers encouragingly. "Hello, I'm Marinette!"

He grinned, reaching his hand out too to shake hers. "I didn't either. Hi, I'm Luka."

Luka! She could finally put a name to her new friend!

She giggled excitedly, putting his jacket down on the stone and grabbing up one of her drawings to show him: it was her as a fairy in a pink dress. "Since we're friends now, I'll make you an even better jacket when I grow up, 'cause I'm gonna become the knitting fairy!" She wiggled her hips, still feeling the water from the fountain in her clothes. "And then I'll make water proved clothes so it won't be bad if you accident'ly scare me again!"

Luka took the picture in hand, listening intently in some sort of awe. "I bet you could." Though, he paused, considering her words. "I don't know what I wanna be yet. Everyone thinks I'm gonna be a rock star like my dad."

"That's okay!" She pumped her fist up proudly, puffing out her chest. "I'm your friend now, so what I say means more than everyone else, and I say it's okay so it's okay!"

He giggled, which only further excited her. A friend of hers should have a cute giggle and he did.

"Thanks," he said with an equally cute smile.

Marinette beamed at him, then turned to pick up her things when something registered with her. While holding Luka's jacket, it was difficult to hold her drawings and crayons as well. Luka apparently noticed as well, walking over to offer to help carry them.

"I got it!" she insisted, feeling it rude to make her new friend help out. Thinking fast for a solution, she stared at the jacket and turned it around in her hands. It was a little damp from drying her but she was already wet anyway, so she opened and slipped on his jacket. With that, she was able to easily pick up her things and turn to Luka.

"Now I can show you to my parents!" she exclaimed. Then, remembering that permission between friends was important, she added, "Can I?"

"Mhm~"

And then they were walking back to the bakery together. It was only on the way where Marinette remembered something important, turning to look at him while they walked to point out, "Oh, I forgot! Since we're friends, we have to trust each other too, and make sure we don't forget our birthday! And talk to each other when we feel sad!"

She'd said it as another warning, but he tilted his head at her as if he didn't get it. "But I'd still like that?"

At that, she understood the true appeal of having a friend, and silently hoped her parents would be proud of her for finding such a great one.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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wetcatspellcaster · 5 months

Note

For the ask - I really just want to copy and paste the entirety of the interrogation scene but since I can’t this bit really sticks out to me:

“She paused, then added, “but on the other hand, the cruellest you ever got before Ascending was when we fought over Cazador and then… well… you kind of did it, didn’t you? I basically lost that argument. If that’s what we fought about before, and then it just happened, it wasn’t like we could make up.”

Astarion was still watching her. Gods, she needed to make sure she was saying the right thing.

“And you were the one who was always telling me to be less selfless,” Rose offered, as a last resort. “And well, you know, staying with you just to be yelled at and degraded is perhaps the most selfless thing I could do, but you used to never want that from me. It used to annoy you, more than anything. I don’t know, I thought I was honouring you in a way… well, you know, not you. The lessons you taught me. Before-”

“Before I changed,” he said, a dangerous note in his voice. “The other me.”

“Um... just to check, do you prefer to think of yourself as two separate people, or is that actually the case, metaphysically?” Rosalie said nervously. As he glared at her, she clarified: “it would be useful to know, more generally, but mostly I’m asking because I just want to make sure you’re not upset, or if I’m being unfair to you. I don’t want to hold you to standards that you’re simply not capable of reaching.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said with a wave of his hand.

Thank you for wanting to play the ask game! :) x

So, it's one of the only pieces of drama (except for... *gestures at the general trauma congaline that is Act 3*) in An Honest Lie so I won't go into laborious detail, but Rosalie was obviously horrified that Astarion ever wanted to appropriate the Black Mass in the first place. Even the death of his siblings is too much for her (given that she values family, but also wants him to have some kind of a family survive in tact). When Astarion argues that none of the spawn or his siblings are worth saving as they all have blood on their hand, she just assumes he's also talking about himself.

In the 'canon' playthrough fic (or in the fic, someday soon), she actually gives Astarion the silent treatment over this conversation, which is how you know shit has gotten real lmfao. So writing the timeline where she lost that argument has been amusing to say the least. We'll see how that argument unfolds in real time in the other story ;)

Writing a charmed pov was super interesting because of the parameters of the vampiric charmed spell. The exact text was: The charmed target regards the vampire as a trusted friend to be heeded and protected. Although the target isn't under the vampire's control, it takes the vampire's requests or actions in the most favorable way it can - this means that at certain points, where the real Rosalie would've just left the room, she had to search for a favourable take on the situation, even if (given the circumstances) it occasionally strains her credulity and her ability to censor herself, meaning she does let a couple of bitchy things sneak through.

In the case of the section quoted here, Rosalie is just trying to appease Astarion however she can, but the 'trusted friend to be heeded and protected' also influences the conversation. She cannot find anything to heed in the current Astarion's words, so she reaches into the past, to the times he complained about her being selfish, and argues she's heeding those instead. That is the version of him that was a trusted friend, so that's what comes most easily to the fore of her mind.

"“it would be useful to know, more generally, but mostly I’m asking because I just want to make sure you’re not upset, or if I’m being unfair to you." - Rosalie, when charmed, is genuinely trying not to hurt Astarion if she can help it, and that's why she asks if he's not the same person he was before. The intellectual part of her - the part that frees her from the charm eventually - is fishing for information (absolutely it is!) but her guilt about 'making' Astarion this way and then punishing him for it is also absolutely real.

As to why Astarion cuts her off and in response to whether Astarion is metaphysically two different people before and after the Mass - [REDACTED]

DVD commentary ask

#wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth #dvd commentary ask #asks #ask games #sorry for the cheap ending but i'm trying to not spoil key plot points of the fic lol!

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kpforpresident · 2 years

Note

Clexa #46 please

~out of envy or jealousy~

“Clarke, wait,” Lexa calls out desperately behind her, sighing in slight frustration as the mane of blonde hair whipped around the hallway of their apartment building. Fading footsteps pounded furiously up the slightly tilted stairs that lead to their cozy third story apartment. Keys rattled in the door, and then the resounding sound of that same door slamming echoed in the hallway.

Lexa slumped against the very bottom stair, pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly. Letting her head fall back with a thump against the wallpapered hallway, she dug her phone out of her pocket with a weary hand and pressed two on her speed dial, waiting.

“Hey, kid. What have you done now?” An amused voice blares out of the small speaker as Lexa presses the speakerphone mode and taps the phone against her forehead, holding up her head with a weary finger to her temple.

She wiggles uncomfortably in her suit, undoing her jacket with one hand as she tries to sit without wrinkling it more. She had only worn this particular green one, slightly tight as it was, because she assumed that Clarke would be peeling it off her as soon as they had gotten home from the law school gala. Preferably with her teeth. Clearly, she muses as she looks up at their very shut front door, that was not happening tonight. She scrubs a tired hand over her face, remembering at the last moment that she had put on eye makeup tonight. Damn, double damn.

“Ahn, why do you assume that I am the one who has fucked up,” she snarls slightly, looking with betrayal at the phone. As if Anya can see her through the speaker, all the way out in sunny California.

“Because,” the knowing voice on the other end of the line says, “you wouldn’t be calling me at-” a shuffle as Anya leans over to peer at her kitchen clock- “two am New York time if you hadn’t fucked up in some manner.”

Lexa nods slightly. Then, remembering that Anya can’t see her, says quietly, “yeah, I mean you’re not wrong. The problem is, I don’t think I’ve done anything. But Clarke clearly thinks I have, and now I am locked out of my own apartment because she has the only set of keys we brought out!”

A tinny laugh oozes out of the speaker and Lexa rolls her eyes as she smiles slightly, waiting for Anya to get her kicks. Then a crackly sigh pours out of the speaker, followed by the whoosh of what Lexa assumes is Anya’s fridge opening. The bubbly crack of a beer can follows as Lexa can hear Anya getting settled again. She can picture her, slinging herself onto her kitchen counter as she gets comfortable, long legs dangling off, beer in hand.

“Ok, Lex. I’m ready. Hit me with whatever fuckery you’ve managed this time.” Lexa rolls her eyes for real this time as she wiggles out of her jacket fully, draping it carefully over a higher step as she toes off her favorite dress shoes.

“I don’t know what happened, Ahn. The night was going well, we had been having fun. Clarke was wearing this insane midnight navy dress that I was honestly losing my mind over-”

“Ew, Lexa,” Anya interrupted, sounding horrified. “I’m really glad you've been sickeningly in love since you were like, eighteen, but I do not need to hear how badly you want to bone your girlfriend. Believe me, we all know it.”

Lexa smiles for real as she conjures up a vision of Clarke’s dress- strapless and shimmering in the soft lights of the ballroom, clinging to her legs and generous curves as she moves and dances. Lexa had barely been able to keep her hands off Clarke, the liquid silk appearing as it had been simply painted on her girlfriend. Clarke had topped off the look with strappy black heels that made it so she was able to look Lexa squarely in the eyes as they danced.

Lexa had had visions of those shoes in particular throughout the night, them falling into bed after, light off of expensive champagne and tiny plates of appetizers supplied by Lexa’s law program to celebrate the end of their third year. Clarke wearing only those shoes, creamy alabaster legs wrapped around Lexa’s shoulders in their bed.

Lexa shakes the image out of her head as Anya’s inquiring, exasperated “Hello, earth to Alexandria,” blares into her eardrum.

“Sorry Anya, I’m here,” She says as a faint blush steals across the tops of her ears. “Anyway, everything had been going so well, we had been having fun. Clarke had sat for a little while because her feet were hurting, and Costia and I were dancing-”

“Wait, wait wait,” Anya cuts her off, sounding decidedly less amused. “You were dancing with Costia? Lexa, anyone with eyeballs and a pulse can see how badly that girl has it for you, she practically makes up excuses to come talk to you at your internship. You know it bugs the hell out of Clarke!”

The friendship between Anya and Clarke wasn’t one that Lexa completely understood, as they teased the hell out of each other. But at some point over Lexa and Clarke’s six plus year relationship, Anya had become as protective of Clarke as she was of Lexa.

“I know Anya,” Lexa growls back, wiggling down completely now to lay on the rickety wooden step. The accusing face of her watch reads 2:45 am.

“But Clarke needed to sit, and Costia’s date Echo was off schmoozing up one of our law profs, and she asked and I felt like I couldn’t say no. It was one dance, Ahn! We talked about Clarke the entire time! We were talking about her latest exhibit!”

“Does Clarke know that??” Anya demanded through the speaker, pitch of her voice stepping up incredulously. Lexa’s arm that isn’t holding the phone shoots up into the air, gesturing in exasperation as she clamps the phone between her jaw and shoulder.

“I didn’t have a chance, Anya! Clarke was so pissed after that dance that she barely said another word to me as we cabbed home, wouldn’t listen to me. Then she sprinted off in those damn heels and now I’m here, talking to you while my girlfriend fumes inside. What do I do?!”

Silence.

“You know what to do, Lex,” Anya’s unamused voice said. “Go up there, and fucking grovel. Tell her exactly what you told me. Relationships are based on trust and mutual love, but Clarke has communicated to you clearly that she’s uncomfortable with Costia, and you danced with her anyway. Your intentions were good but your execution needs a lot of work, little sister.”

“Love you too, Ahn,” Lexa snarls, but there is no heat behind it.

“Bye, Lexa. We’ll talk tomorrow?”

Lexa murmurs an affirmative before hanging up, dropping her phone on her chest as she sits, thinking, for a long moment. She hoists herself up, tucking her phone into her back pocket as she grabs her shoes with her right hand, slighing her jacket over her left shoulder as she slowly walks up the meandering staircase. Before she can hesitantly knock on the door, it creaks open.

Liquid blue eyes meet her apologetic gaze. Clarke’s face is scrubbed clean of makeup, the skin around her eyes slightly red. Golden curls tumble around her shoulders, the glamorous waves from the event falling slightly. She’s dressed in one of Lexa’s oversized Columbia sweaters, the sleeves rolled so that her hands are free, legs and feet bare. It’s Clarke’s go-to comfort item when she’s upset. It hurts something in Lexa’s chest to see how sad this made Clarke. Lexa drops her shoes again as she reaches for Clarke, instinctively wanting to comfort her.

Clarke lets herself be folded into Lexa’s embrace, tucking her chin into Lexa’s shoulder. They stand in silence for a moment in the doorway.

“I heard everything.”

Lexa’s shoulders slump in silent relief. While she doesn’t exactly love that Clarke was listening to her phone call with her sister, if it has turned the angry lioness back into her pliant and loving girlfriend, she’s willing to let it slide.

Clarke tugs her into the apartment, door closing behind them. After Lexa has changed, shedding her beautiful but impractical suit for a threadbare Artists Do It Better tie dye t-shirt that they had found while thrifting, they curl up in bed together.

“I get jealous, Lex,” comes the quiet admission into her shirtfront as Clarke’s arms twine around her for comfort. Lexa stamps a loving kiss to her hairline, waiting for her to finish as she smooths an encouraging hand down her spine. Clarke props her chin up on Lexa’s sternum so they can lock eyes.

“It’s hard for me to feel like I compare sometimes, with Costia being in your law program and your internship, and you’ll probably work at the same firm after graduation, and I know I’m good at what I do, but it’s just hard to feel like I fit into your world,” comes out in a shaky whisper as those heartbreakingly blue eyes fill with a ream of tears.

Lexa grabs her tighter, rolling them so they are facing each other on their sides.

“Clarke, you are it for me,” she states honestly as she smooths her tears away. “You are my world.”

Clarke nods into her shirtfront. She doesn’t say anything for a moment before she lunges at an unsuspecting Lexa, their mouths clashing together. They kiss heavily for a moment, lips and teeth and tongue battling for dominance. Clarke eventually pulls away first, breathing heavily. Lexa’s eyes are still zeroed onto her lips, eyes dark and wanting.

“What was that for?” she asks huskily, running a lustful hand over Clarke’s hip.

“Because, you’re mine,” Clarke snarls back, somehow rolling them so she pins Lexa underneath her. She reaches behind her to pull the baggy sweatshirt over her head, preening slightly as Lexa’s eyes zero into her chest.

“And I intend to show you that.”

#this somehow took on a life of its own #i just really love this little stupid mid twenties clexa #kiss prompt #clexa #thanks for asking anon #anya is two on speedial because the assumption is clarke is one #kpprompts #ny au

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gbee-writes · 3 months

Text

A Star Shines

Epilogue

---

“Play us a song!”

Kantus stopped in the doorway at the demand. When he turned back around Bratha was sitting up again, which unfortunately meant that the other three were following suit.

An exasperated smile pulled Kantus’s lips. He should have known they wouldn’t let him forget.

“Alright, but you must go to sleep after I play.”

The children were quick to agree to his terms.

After tucking them all back in, Kantus pulled out his violin and made sure it was in tune before pulling the bow across the strings. Music filled the air and warmth flooded his chest as Moa pulled Nich in closer.

He planned on playing one song and returning to the others but Kantus couldn’t bring himself to stop. His children dozed off one by one. It wasn’t until Nalluk was sleeping soundly that he let his hands fall.

“Ye cannae tell’em no when they ask fer it, can ye?” Des slid her arms around his shoulders, resting her head beside his. Her tone was so caring it hurt. She must have slipped into the room sometime during his songs.

Kantus leaned into her. “No, I simply do not have the heart to refuse them. How can I, when they look so sad when I do?”

Des hummed lightly. Together they watched the children sleeping for a quiet moment. Kantus couldn’t help the swell of affection and joy he felt. His chest seemed close to bursting.

“Sometimes I wonder if this is how my mother felt looking upon Jekle and me.”

“I ain’t doubtin it.” Des murmured. “From what I hear she loved ye more than anythin.” As Kantus leaned into her he felt her lips brush his cheek. He turned his head so they could kiss. “Ye head up an get some air ‘fore bed, aye?”

“Yes ma’am.” Kantus gave her another kiss before slipping quietly from the room.

Up on the deck he spotted Yewle at the railing watching the last rays of sunlight fade away. Her hair ruffled in the wind. She didn’t seem to mind the chill it surely brought.

As he approached she glanced over. A warm smile greeted him closer and Kantus rested his arms on the railing next to her. They stayed in comfortable silence until the sun was hidden in it’s wait till the morning, listening to the waves lapping the side of the ship rhythmically. He could never stop loving that sound.

“Can you believe how much has changed since that day?”

He looked over to her. Yewle almost couldn’t be recognized as the same woman she had been. After all she truly wasn’t. Her gentle features had weather hardened, perfect complexion marred by scars and marks. Most ladies of her standing would have been horrified. Yewle wore the experience as a mark of pride.

But that was only her looks, and her looks very well reflected how she had grown inside as well.

“Do you recall the first dual you were in?” Kantus chuckled.

“Oh goodness Kantus, don’t you dare remind me of that.”

His shoulder shook with the effort of keeping his laughter down. “After only three lessons-”

“I challenged someone; I was swiftly shown my place.” Yewle made a face at him, doing nothing to help the amusement.

“You had the enthusiasm!”

“And the foolhardiness. I truly don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’m not sure you were.”

Yewle leaned back and crossed her arms. “I thought quite a bit actually, simply not about anything but my fantasies.” After a moment where Kantus couldn’t hold his laughter anymore she rolled her eyes. “Are you done dredging up my past blunders? I have plenty of yours to return the favor if not.”

He chuckled himself into silence. “Oh I’m sure you do. I would love to trade them but I believe it’s time for me to tuck in. Do get some rest soon as well.”

He gave her a friendly pat on her arm before returning to the captain’s quarters. Des was already snoring as he stepped in the room. A warm hum fell from his lips at the sight.

Her arms were hugging a pillow close, her cheek squishing in a deeply charming manner. Kantus found that her rough and earthly beauty was something so deeply alluring, even after all their years together.

There were nights Kantus would lie awake and trace every scar on her face. Each one of them told a story, each one led her to become the woman he had married.

He was quick to changing into his nightclothes. When he climbed into the bed next her Des grunted and with a heaving twist she rolled around to latch onto him instead of the bedding.

She released a deep breath before going back to snoring. Kantus wrapped his arms around her and was quickly drifting off into peaceful slumber.

---

A deep yawn pushed from Jekle’s chest. The candle was nearly down to an unusable stump as he sifted through more papers. He was certain it was beyond a point where he should have been awake, and he hadn’t planned on being up so late, but a few more pages sorted out wouldn’t hurt.

“My darling,” Jekle jolted at the voice. He turned to the door where Ston was waiting. “It’s late.”

He sighed as he turned back to the papers. “I’m nearly finished. I’ll be in bed short-” Ston’s arms wrapped around his waist and caused him to falter.

“It’s late.” The whisper broke his resolve. Jekle gathered the papers in a neat stack before blowing out the candle. All his exhaustion became much more noticeable as Ston led him back to their bedroom.

It was strange to him that the small, homey room was far more comfortable than his room at the manor ever had been. Maybe it was the lack of danger, or the freedom from overostentatious decor, maybe it was the joy of who he had the delight to share it with. Whatever it was Jekle found himself relaxing further there.

He waited until Ston was comfortably laying in bed before crawling in himself and curling to his husband's side. A contented hum spilled from his lips. Ston pulled him somehow closer. "When did they say they would return?"

"Hmm," Jekle slipped his eyes closed. "Less than a fortnight, weather permitting."

"Are you excited? Their children will want to play with us all hours."

A smile pulled up the corner's of Jekle's mouth. He loved his neice and nephews no matter how ragged they ran him. When he had found out that Des was pregnant he had celebrated nearly as much as Kantus and reasured his brother in his worries about fatherhood.

Little Bratha was a wonderful blessing. Kantus was just as doting a father as Jekle had predicted, wrapped around the babe's little finger.

And of course after getting over the momentary surprise at their sudden appearance, Jekle had welcomed the two slave boys they'd saved with wide open arms. He had happily done the same when Nalluk had been brought into Des and his brother's brood. The Star's old crew had quite a time teasing them about inheriting Cabern's children aquirement habbits.

Jekle hummed again. "I am quite excited for their return. I wish to spoil the children rotten before they grow too big for such things."

"They could be ancient and you would still spoil them." Ston countered with a light prod to Jekle's side. He let out a chuckle as he half-heartedly tried to pull away from it.

After Bratha had been born they had decided to speak about whether they wanted children too or not. Both of them decided their niece and nephews was enough, a choice that would have Jekle's father rolling in his grave, he was sure.

If his father was in a grave that is.

Jekle idly wondered if Kantus also questioned how Toun was doing. Perhaps not, given how Kantus was treated far worse than he had been. Lonette also crossed his mind from time to time but he was much less invested in what had happened to her after the failed wedding. She barely spoke with him after all. Not unless she had found a quality to heckle out of him.

"Darling?"

"Hmm?"

"You're thinking of them again, aren't you?" Jekle sighed at the question.

"Yes," He said rather bluntly. "I struggle to help it sometimes. I am aware of their transgressions against Kantus and I but..." Another sigh. "Curiosity is a strong motivator. I often wonder if Father would be proud of me."

Ston placed a kiss to his brow. "I know it is not the same but Cabern is proud of you, as am I, and your brother."

Despite how different that was, hearing it did make Jekle feel slightly better. All those years ago when the new boards on the Star had met Cabern and the rest of the old crew they had been welcomed in as if they had been part of the family since the beginning.

Going from Father's strict upbringing to being gently nurtured by Cabern was...jarring. It wasn't a surprise when Jekle found himself viewing the man as something of another father figure. Kantus had clearly done the same, to a much more prominent degree. He would often refer to Cabern as "Cappa" like all of the retired captain's other children did.

Jekle let out a thoughtful hum. As sleep pulled his mind down he hoped, not for the first time, that Toun had allowed himself to heal and become better.

---

It was such a beautiful evening. Birdsong filled the garden air and a soft breeze rustled the leaves. Toun breathed in the perfumes of the flowers with a smile. It was bittersweet but that was why he loved his walks after tea.

Walking down his normal path was slower than when he first had the garden reverted to the last arrangement Essaira had it in, with his reliance on the cane he had aged into, but that simply meant more time to reflect. Without Lonnette’s constant changes the plants had grown to a beautiful maturity Toun had sorely missed.

He ambled past the great willow tree, one of the few things his now remarried ex-wife hadn’t touched, and seated himself upon the bench he’d had installed.

“Hello Kantus,” Toun murmured to the figure across from him. It wasn’t truly his son, and that fact made him ache horribly, but the stone statue would simply have to be enough.

“I’m having a lovely day. My apprentice has taken so well to the tasks, I fear I don’t have much left to teach him. I was unneeded in doing paperwork and as such he insisted I returned home to rest.”

The statue was silent as always. Dappled lighting danced across Kantus’s carved features, drawing the eye to his carefree smile.

The figure curved in a faux turn, swaying to silent music it played from the marble violin held gently in its hands. It was a memory, a glimpse at the last time he had heard his son play. Toun had been quite proud of the artist for capturing Kantus so well.

“I do hope you’ve had a good day as well.” Toun pulled himself back to his feet. As he made to continue his journey he turned back. “Please return home soon. I miss you, I miss your melodies.”

He trailed past a few bushes, a flower bed, and found himself at a fountain. In the center was a decorated column. The relief carved into the rock was of Jekle in a lovers embrace with his servant.

Toun had only learned the young man’s name after he had lost them. An ache grew in his chest. Ston had deserved better.

He remembered how Jekle had tried to convince him of letting them marry: the way his son described the boy. His eyes had lit up in a way Toun hadn’t seen in years.

The carver had been instructed to have wedding bands showing on their fingers. Perhaps they never got to marry. Toun so very much hoped they had. Jekle had the same love-struck gaze that Toun had proudly wore when he had his Essaira with him.

“I’m so sorry, I should have given you both a chance.” He let out a weary sigh. “If you’ve stayed with each other I pray your lives together went better than mine and your mother’s. I pray you get to grow old together...”

The wind whispered past. What secrets did it hold? Toun would probably never know, but he would listen all the same.

“Sir!” Toun turned to a servant rushing towards him. “You have guests, sir.”

Toun’s brows rose. “I do?”

“Yes sir, they are waiting in the tea room.”

He nodded. Odd that someone would visit. It had become a rare occurrence after being shamed so horridly all those years ago. Not that he held any grudges upon his sons. No, he understood their need to escape quite well.

Further adding to his confusion, the sounds of rowdy children met him at the tea room doors. Who did he know that would bring their children?

As he reached for the handle another voice came through and-

“Bratha please, the drapes will not hold your weight like the rigging.”

Was it? It had to be! The voice held a seasoned undertone it hadn’t before but it was unmistakable!

Toun flung the door open faster than intended, slamming it against the wall. The room went silent. His eyes were graced with Kantus mid-way at pulling a young boy off his curtains, Des sitting at the table with two more young boys, and a young lady seemingly either attempting to help Kantus or distract him.

A cough drew his attention to the second table where Jekle and Ston sipped tea, sitting almost inappropriately too close. Wedding bands glinted on their hands.

Both of his sons had grey peppering in their hair, but only Kantus had a beard. The boy in Kantus’s arms was clearly his own son, sharing his eyes and a birthmark under his right eye. The two boys with Des and the young girl shared her darker skin tone and general features but in a way that made it clear she was not related. They held no visual traits that matched Kantus at all. However, it was clear from the way Des protectively leaned towards them that blood or not, they were considered her children.

Kantus had children. He was a grandfather. Jekle and Ston had been able to marry. Tears blurred Toun’s vision as he processed the sight. A smile pushed through his shock.

“Boys...” The breathy whisper broke the tension and a warmth he hadn’t felt in decades filled the room. “You’re home.”

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Please click the art for quality, I didn’t spend the time I did on these for tumblr to do me dirty this way.

@cinnabarmint

@givethispromptatry

#My writing #not a prompt #a star shines #a star shines epilogue #I can't belive I got myself to actually finish this #it took so much #I didn't want to finish it because I loved writing it so much #I also had a lot of rough life stuff going on that put this on hold #Also I redrew the family portrait a few times as my art style improved

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kyratittyfish · 1 year

Text

Anytime, Jeff

Inspired by the one word prompt "answer" Summary: Having a sentient AI as a copilot makes overworking yourself to exhaustion challenging. Note: EDI & Joker' platonic friendship's relationship is a purely platonic friendship. He's happily together with his Commander Shepard. Read on Ao3

Joker groaned as he stretched his arms, trying to loosen the knots in his sore muscles. Starting his shift four hours earlier than usual hadn’t been one of his greatest ideas, and eleven hours later his whole body was particularly keen on reminding him of why Chakwas always nagged him about moving around a bit during his breaks. Of course, he would have had to actually take breaks for that to happen. Which he didn’t. Outplayed you, mom.

“Are you alright, Jeff?” EDI asked him. It still felt strange to hear her voice coming from the copilot seat rather than from her console hologram, but he was getting used to it. Especially since she loved to exploit her newfound mobility to wander around the ship, often returning to her post with a warm cup of coffee for him.

“Yeah EDI, just peachy.”

“Are you sure? My sensor readings indicated you are experiencing physical distress.”

Her… sensor readings? “EDI, we’ve been over this. Keeping track of people’s bodily functions is creepy as fuck.” He squinted at EDI’s mech, wondering exactly how many information she was able to collect

“I meant my optical sensors, Jeff. To put it in more colloquial terms, you look like shit.”

“Wow EDI, you sure know how to make a guy feel good,” he snorted. The AI – the woman, it was getting harder and harder not to see her as a person, and damn, one year ago that thought would have horrified him, but now it didn’t bother him at all – sure knew how to be blunt. A side effect “growing up” under his influence, most certainly.

“I meant to say, you clearly look to be in pain, and I believe the amount of consecutive hours you usually spend in a sitting position are significantly to it.”

Joker sighed and massaged his shoulder. He hated to show his physical discomfort, hated to appear vulnerable, hated to give the world a reason to see him as weak. He didn’t mind it too much with EDI, though. He wasn’t certain she could even feel pity, and if she did, she certainly didn’t show it. What she did display, in her own peculiar ways, was that she cared about him. Their friendship was certainly unusual, but he was glad to have it nonetheless.

“I’m just feeling a bit achy, that’s all,” he admitted.

She cocked her head to one side and studied his face. “Perhaps you would benefit from some rest, then. I could take the helm until your next shift begins.”

“Rest?” he cackled, “I have two more hours of looking at buttons and occasionally pressing them before I can call it a day.”

“You took the helm four hours before the official start of your work period. Considering this, I believe nobody would complain if you left earlier.”

“I suppose so…” he hummed as he considered her offer. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

He would have thought it impossible for a robot’s eyes to lit up in amusement, but somehow, EDI’s did. “Jeff, I am literally the Normandy. I would be simply piloting myself. As you would put it –” she raised her hands to accentuate her next statement with air quotes, “easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

Joker stared at her wide eyed for the couple of instants it took his overworked brain to process her answer. That was a combination of word he would have never expected to hear coming from a mech’s mouth. To be fair, up until not so long ago, anything else than “get on your knees, meatbag, and bow to your new synthetic overlords” would have fallen in the same category. How the times have changed.

“Uh, in that case...” He swiveled his seat around and pushed himself to his feet, a movement that didn’t make his sore back too happy. Ok, maybe EDI and Chakwas had a point, not that he’d ever openly admit it in front of either of them. “Just… call me if you run into trouble, alright?”

“I will,” EDI promised. “I believe the human saying is ‘enjoy your nap’.”

He snickered and limped away, heart and mind already enthralled by visions of the warm sheets and soft pillows on his bed. Shepard’s bed, technically, although he’d spent most nights sleeping in it than in his own bunk lately. “That can do. And, uh, EDI –” he added, one foot already out of the door, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Jeff.”

#my writing #jeff joker moreau #EDI #mass effect #friendship #background Shoker #EDI's is Joker's friend #a very good friend

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like-rain-or-confetti · 2 years

Text

I thought of a little scenario in my head now here I am writing a small snippet for it. This is only for fun! I don’t think all vampires are clued into how things are now and this is only poking fun at how shook they’d be if they found out how different things are now.

F!Reader x the Volturi

"Well, I imagine at your age, you'd have a husband and possibly children whilst you're still fertile." Athenodora kicked her crossed over foot ever so slightly and you paused. "Uhm...not exactly." Athenodora seemed to raise an eyebrow at this. "Don't you want to be married to a man to take care of you?" Your brain almost stopped working, realising how closed off to the modern era Athenodora actually was. It made the idea of her being in this tower all the more horrifying. Even her dresses were dated. "Uhm...I'm not opposed to it. Marriage just isn't a priority for me." You admitted. "Oh honey, if you want to find a good man, you have to be quick about it. Never settle for the scraps." Sulpicia sent you a look. You could die on the spot. "Well...that could always mean I find a wonderful woman instead." You said uneasily, a small hint to your sexuality that you really hoped they caught. Athenodora tilted her head. "Pardon?" "My lady, if I may," Heidi sent you a sultry smile. "In modern era's most humans are no longer bound to the previous ways of life. It is legal in places for same sex marriages and sexualities are much more...varied." Heidi's smile widened. Athenodora leaned forward. Slowly she pieced it together as she turned to look to you. "Pardon my prying but your sexual preference is...?" "I'm bisexual, my lady" You responded. "Bisexual? What does that...?" Athenodora turned to Heidi. "It means our (Y/N) feels sexual attraction to both male and females." Heidi grinned. She was enjoying this too much. Athenodora's jaw hit the floor. You considered what Caius might do if his mate were to die here and now because she looked like she just might die from shock. It was comical, hilarious to see Athenodora completely stop functioning. You broke, letting out the laugh you tried hold in. "My apologies." You mumbled. "I have never heard of such a thing." Athenodora finally said before turning to Heidi. "You know of this?" Heidi giggled. "Yes, my lady." "So...how does it work? Is courting the same? How does a woman court another woman?" "Courting isn't as it used to be, my lady. Majority of the human race can freely pick their partners whether it be permanent partnership or...more fleeting." Heidi smirked. She really needed to stop enjoying this. "They even have 'types', preferences by appearance and such." Athenodora slammed her palm upon the arm rest of her chair. "They can choose!?" Athenodora looked to Sulpicia in shock. "Why yes, my lady. For example, (Y/N)'s type is the more dominant types." You choked on your own air. "Heidi! How-How do you even know that!?" "It's obvious, darling. You can hardly keep your eyes off a few guards like Felix, Demetri-" You shushed her. "-and me." Heidi giggled as you were certain you were blushing completely. Sulpicia hummed in amusement. "My type is men in power." She smirked. Everyone knew that. "Alright, what's your type then? You know mine, I should know yours!" You gawked at Heidi. She looked you up and down with her sultry gaze. "Don't worry, little (Y/N). You're certainly my type. I'd have you in my bed any day of the week." "Heidi!" Sulpicia scolded. "That is inappropriate." Heidi simply grinned, sending you a wink. "Wait, have- have you been in romantic settings with females!?" Athenodora gawked at Heidi. "I've dabbled." Heidi said innocently. "The times weren't always so accepting. So they were secret love affairs." "For how long!?" Athenodora demanded. Heidi shrugged. "A century or so...you would not want to know if they were married, you wouldn't like the answer." Athenodora gasped at her insinuation. Had Heidi been breaking up marriages and been a secret lover? Sulpicia looked to her gawking sister. "I'm not surprised." She shrugged. Athenodora leaned back, processing the information. "What's my type?" Athenodora said mostly to herself. Sulpicia hummed in amusement. "Blonde's with anger issues, no doubt."

#twilight #volturi #the volturi #reader #heidi volturi #athenodora volturi #sulpicia volturi

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rickmandowneyjr · 3 years

Text

Fluff, angst

Pairing: Severus Snape x Student!Reader

Warning: mention of character's death

Word count: 1300

(feedback is appreciated ^_^)

No description. Just read to find out :p

Entering the headmaster's office, you saw Severus standing with his back to you. You took a moment to eye him, his frame, and the way he stood, before shutting the door behind you. As it clicked, he spoke, "[Y/N]. Back again, are we?" His voice sent butterflies through your stomach, as it always did. You smirked to yourself, before feigning annoyance and saying, "You didn't even turn around. Why did you just assume it was me?"

He chuckled lowly as he turned around. "Well, you're my most frequent visitor, love," he smiled warmly at you. "Besides, I could feel you ogling me," he teased.

Yep, now in your 7th year at Hogwarts, you had been dating Severus Snape for over two years. You'd had a crush on him since the second year when you were 14 (yes, you were older than your classmates), choosing to act on your feelings, only a couple of weeks after you had turned eighteen.

You still remembered kissing him in your 6th year, when he was the DADA professor. Bold move, considering he'd given you detention for being distracted in his class. You'd been trying to find an opportunity to confess to him when he presented you with the perfect one. As you were reminiscing the beginning of your little love story, he brought you back to reality when he asked, "So, what did you do this time?"

A smirk tugged at your lips as you recalled the incident. "I may or may not have turned the Quidditch field pink," you said, trying to hold back your laughter as you remembered the horrified looks on everyone's faces. You looked up at Severus, who had an amused smile on his face.

"You look like you're not surprised," you said raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well, after you turned the new DADA professor's office neon yellow, I don't think I am," he snickered. Seeing him smile so freely made your heart swell. He never did it as often, earlier. But I guess it was cause he had no troubles anymore. The Battle against Voldemort happened the previous year, which Voldemort lost, meaning everyone was finally free of the Dark Lord's torment. Though it sucked that you had to repeat the final year, you chose to see it as a good thing; it meant you could still see Severus.

"Why do you never smile around others? I swear they'd think of you as less scary if they saw you smiling this adorably."

"First of all, I'm glad they're still scared of me. I have a reputation to uphold. And second of all, I'd smile around others if they made me smile like you do."

Your heart fluttered at his words. Severus always said these things so nonchalantly - it added to the beauty of it, honestly. He gave you such sweet compliments without the intention of it being a compliment.

"So, what did you do today?" You asked, taking a seat on the headmaster's table.

"Same old, same old. Not much to do here, I'm afraid. Must you always sit on top of the table?" He asked.

"I recall you enjoying it when I would hop onto your table in the DADA classroom," you teased.

"It was different then. I could simply lock the door and do something about it," he played along. You smirked before hopping off the table and taking a seat on the chair, mumbling an annoyed, "Fine."

The rest of detention went by just talking to Severus and telling him about your day. You both recalled instances from when you had just started dating, laughing and playfully arguing about whose version of the events was correct. You were smiling to yourself when Severus spoke, interrupting your thoughts. His tone had changed, assuming a more serious one and you worried about the discussion that was to come.

"Everything aside, you can't keep doing this, sweetheart. You're just ruining your perfect record in school."

"I don't really care about a perfect record. I already have my grades securing my future," you mumbled.

"I agree. But getting detention over and over just to come see me, isn't a good look. Neither is healthy," he spoke with concern and care, trying to not hurt you with his words.

You inhaled sharply, letting out a shaky exhale at his words. Before you could recover from the earlier sentence, he dropped yet another harsh truth for you to comprehend.

"Besides, you graduate next week. What are you going to do then? You won't be able to see me."

You took yet another deep breath, knowing there was truth in his words. You were just conveniently ignoring the facts up until now, putting off having to deal with reality. You didn't want to discuss it until you had to leave, wanting to enjoy whatever time you had left with him. "I know," you sighed. "If I'm being honest, I'm considering whisking you away from here. A kidnapping, if you will," you joked. "I just need to find the perfect getaway vehicle now."

He let out a soft chuckle but remained serious. "We can't keep doing this. I understand that it's difficult. It's difficult for me too," he paused. "You have your whole life ahead of you and my future is here, at Hogwarts."

Severus was only stating what you knew, but that didn't make the words hurt any less. "I could always come back to be a professor. The DADA teacher, if Hogwarts would have me."

"You're a talented witch, love. And Hogwarts would be lucky to have you as a professor, but I would have to say no."

"Why not?" You argued.

"Because not only do I know that you planned to be an Auror, but also because you have your whole life ahead of you. I'm not letting you throw your future away because of me, little one. You need to move on."

"Plans change, Severus. We planned our life together but look where we are right now."

"No means no, little one!"

"But-"

"Please, love! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let you do what you want to. It's absolutely ridiculous! Please don't make spend the rest of my life with that guilt."

You finally snapped at that sentence. "What life?!"

Silence filled the room, the ringing in your ears growing louder until it stopped. The admittance had your heart pounding against your chest and you could hear it in your ears as you felt your pulse throbbing in your neck. Tears stung your eyes, knowing this was it. Your little fantasy had finally been shattered, forcing you to accept reality.

"What life, Severus? Rest of your life? Of all the thing you could've said?" Your voice cracked as a few tears escaped, streaming down your cheeks.

"You're gone! And this is all I have left of you. It's pathetic, really. I've been so unable to move on, I've attached myself to a portrait."

You sobbed silently as he watched. What else could he do? He couldn't comfort you... No matter how much he wanted to. So he just watched, hearing your heart-wrenching sobs as you finally let it all out.

"I could never move on. Knowing you loved me until your very last breath, knowing that we could've been something so much more, and remembering everything that we got to be. No one could ever take your place. So, no. I won't move on. But, I will stop coming to see you if that's what you want," you said, walking towards him.

You brought your hand to your lips, kissing it softly, transferring it onto the canvas, placing it where his hand was. You turned around and walked to the door, looking at him one last time as you left. "Goodbye, Severus."

#severus snape #severus x reader #severus snape x reader #x reader #snape x reader #snape #fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert #angst #fluff #im sorry #i promise I dont just write sad stuff #severus snape x student #severus snape x student reader #alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #rickmandowneyjr

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Text

Who's my Good Boy?

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Request: will you write the post you reblogged, the one that says billy likes to be called 'good boy' in bed? if not, can i request that? 👀 thanks!!!!

A/N: Oh man. This one… I had way too much fun with this one lmao It took on a life of its own and I don't know if it went in a direction you're okay with, but fuck me sideways, it went there 😂

Warnings: cursing, smut. Like serious fucking smut, I'm not even kidding. Knife play, lil bit of blood, dom/sub bullshit. Sub!Billy for once and the little shit secretly loves it.

If you're under 18 then please avert your eyes and scroll on by. If you're over 18 then enjoy and maybe cleanse yourself in some holy water when you're done lmao. I'd say I'm sorry but that would be a bare faced fucking lie 😂😂😂

------------

You glanced in the mirror and admired your appearance. The black lace lingerie looked good on you and you felt pretty sexy. It was a new set since Billy had already seen every piece of underwear you owned. It was time to cash in on your win and you knew just what you wanted.

You and Billy often bet with each other over numerous things and more often than not, Billy would win. This time you'd actually won and like hell you'd be squandering this opportunity. He'd bet that he could get more girls numbers at the bar you'd been at and you'd gladly accepted. Never one to turn down his challenges.

Maybe it was weird for a couple to go off and flirt with other people and get their numbers like that but both of you never intended on calling the girls. It was simply a fun challenge. And you wished you'd taken a picture of Billy's face when you both counted and you'd got 5 more numbers than him. He looked horrified, wildly offended, ridiculously proud and also pretty aroused. You hadn't cashed in then, two nights ago, and you hadn't told him what you had planned. But you most certainly had plans.

Billy loved being in control in every aspect of his life. It was just the way he was and that bled into the bedroom too. You were more than happy to play the sub to his dom and you loved it, but you often wondered just how Billy would fare if the roles were reversed. How would he handle you taking charge and teasing him to the brink of insanity like he did to you?

You were waiting for him to get home from work and once you heard the door, you grinned to yourself. You knew Billy's senses were sharp, perks of dating a former marine sniper, but you crept out of the bedroom and saw him sat on the sofa facing away from you. You knew you wouldn't be able to sneak up on him, not through lack of trying, so you weren't disappointed that he didn't jump when you leaned over the back of the sofa, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"Hey, baby," he murmured with a smile, tilting his head to look at you. His hands came up to stroke your arms and you could see curiosity burning in his eyes at your lack of clothes although he couldn't see from his angle just what you had on. You kissed his cheek sweetly and he smiled, leaning into the touch.

"I'm ready to cash in my win," you smirked. He raised a brow, lips quirking a little as his eyes glittered with curiosity.

"Really?" He asked, voice low and sultry and you had to remind yourself you had a plan.

You were nowhere near Billy's level of patience and control but you'd try hard to stick to the plan. You unwound your arms from him, stepping back a bit and you saw his eyes trail down your body, taking in the black lace against your skin and the stockings you had on. The wolfish grin that spread across his face made your knees weak.

He got up, slinking over to you like a panther, dark eyes drinking in the sight of you. You had to fight the urge to submit to him. To fall on your knees and worship his cock. Now wasn't the time. He reached out to grab your hips but your hands darted out, seizing his wrists tightly.

"I didn't say you could touch," you said firmly, quirking a brow at him. His lips parted slightly, a dark chuckle leaving them as his fingers flexed but he made no move to escape your hold despite how easy it would be for him. He looked curious and delighted by where this was going, to see this side to you.

You let him go, pleased when his hands settled by his sides, clenched into fists. You knew he would take it as a personal challenge but you also knew it would be hard for him not to touch you which is why you had plans for once you got into the bedroom. You grabbed his tie, yanking him close as your lips ghosted his. His clenched fists were still by his sides.

"No touching," you reminded him before you kissed him. He kissed back fervently, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth and it caused you to moan. Drawing out a groan in response from him.

When you broke away, a sly grin painted your lips and you could see his resolve for not touching you was wearing thin. You let his tie fall back against his chest before you turned on your heel, feeling his gaze on your ass as you sauntered into the bedroom. He followed obediently as you perched on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other as you looked up at him.

"Strip," your firm command was met by a smirk from him and he took his time to remove all of his clothes. The man was built like a god and you could feel how wet you were already as your eyes drank him in greedily. His smug smirk let you know he knew just what he did to you.

You stood up, loving the way his eyes didn't leave you as you beckoned him over. He walked over with no hesitation and his hands went to grab you again. Before you had to intervene, they snapped back to his sides, balled up into fists and you smirked at him as your hands smoothed up his bare toned chest.

"Good boy," you murmured, your lips ghosting his. His groaned, head snapping forward and his teeth caught your lower lip. The only act of rebellion you'd allow for the night.

You kissed him greedily, a hand fisting his hair as his mouth devoured yours before you moved away feeling breathless. You really needed to make sure you kept control over yourself. You pushed him to lay back, gesturing with your hand for him to scoot up and lay on the pillows. He did as instructed, his heavy lidded gaze never leaving you. You knew for a fact he was staring at your ass when you bent down to get his tie. You made a bit of a show of it and he groaned.

He raised a curious brow as you returned with his tie in hand and you smirked, moving to straddle him. You sat more on his torso though so he couldn't find any friction from you. You grabbed his hands without a word and pinned them above his head, making quick work of tying them together and to the headboard. His almost black eyes pinned you in place from where he lay and it sent a thrill right through you.

"Y/N…" his low voice was silky smooth but it was full of warning. It was the voice he usually used before he made your ass cheeks red and had you begging him to fuck you senseless. You loved it. You fluttered your lashes at him with a coy smile, gripping his jaw before you leaned down to kiss him deeply. He kissed you back hard and it amused you how he was still trying to have some level of control with this. You'd soon break him.

"I'm in charge, be a good boy for me," you purred against his lips. He groaned, shifting his hips as he tried to find something, anything, to rub against but he found nothing. You could see the frustration on his face. You moved to kneel next to him, really wanting to avoid his cock as much as possible to really drag this out and you started to kiss and nip at his neck. He tilted his head, giving you easy access as he hummed, hands flexing over his head as he gave the tie a tug to no avail.

You kissed down his toned chest, giving his nipple a teasing lick and nip and he moaned softly, arching his hips again pointlessly. You couldn't help but smirk against his skin as you continued to kiss down his body. You purposely steered clear of his dick, kissing his thighs as you settled between them and biting them, leaving marks as he groaned. He kept tugging at the tie and you knew it was killing him not to be able to touch you. You were revelling in it. You left another mark at the juncture of his thigh that had him gasping and squirming and you really started to see just why he loved to tease you so much.

"Shit," he moaned, head falling back as you started licking and sucking at his balls. You hummed around them as you lavished them with attention and he couldn't stay still as he kept arching up at nothing with frustrated groans. You grinned to yourself before licking a stripe up his lower belly, adjacent to his throbbing cock but making sure you didn't touch it.

"Untie me, Y/N," he strained voice was full of authority as he punctuated his words with a sharp tug at his binds.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm in charge," you tsked at him, raising a brow. His nostrils flared at your defiance, a growl leaving his lips. But his eyes were sparkling and you knew that despite how unsettling the lack of control was, how frustrating it was for him to have you not do as he says, he was enjoying it at the same time.

You moved to straddle him, once again higher up and leaving his cock with no purchase to rub against. You gripped his jaw tightly, leaning down with hard eyes as he blinked up at you.

"You're not being a very good boy, Billy. Only good boys get rewarded," you murmured, delighting in his answering moan. You reached over to the nightstand, grabbing one of his many knives that he always kept there. You twirled it with ease in a move that he'd taught you and you heard his breathing hitch.

His black eyes glanced at it before going back to your face and you smirked at his groan of 'fuuuuck' as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. You trailed the knife carefully down your neck and over your lace clad breasts and it wasn't lost on you how still he became. The knife was incredibly sharp but even through his lust filled haze he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, not wanting to jostle you and have you cut yourself.

"You gonna be a good boy now?" You asked, blinking down at him. He nodded stiffly and your answering smile was devilish. You slipped the knife between your breasts under the bra, angling it away from you and slicing the material with ease. His eyes were locked on the knife now and his hands kept flexing into fists over and over despite how still he'd become. Your breasts now exposed, you kept the knife in hand as you slipped the straps off one by one and tossed the now useless material carelessly on the floor.

His eyes drank you in with a hunger that made you wet and you smirked down at him. The knife then sliced through either side of your panties and you slipped the material off and it was discarded with the bra. Obsidian eyes drifted down to where your legs were spread on him and he bared his teeth a little before licking his lips. You took your time, surprisingly still calm and in control as you trailed the blade down from his neck to his chest. He shifted his hips up, once again finding nothing to help, but the tip of the blade nicked his skin ever so slightly and a drop of blood pooled on his chest. You knew he'd done it on purpose since he'd been so careful when the knife was on you.

Locking eyes with him, you leaned down and licked up the drop of blood and he hissed, tugging at his binds again.

"Fuck… Y/N…" the authoritative tone was gone and replaced with a pleading one and you knew you were finally wearing him down. You gave him a wolfish grin as you set the knife back on the nightstand before giving him a deep kiss that he responded to willingly, his hips moving once more to no avail.

"Do you know what I want?" You asked softly, lips a hair away from his.

"My dick?" He replied, not missing a beat. His voice was low and hoarse as he leaned up trying to chase your lips but you moved just out of his reach with a snort. You couldn't help it. His grin back at you made you smile despite the current situation. He always loved making you laugh and even this didn't change that. You placed a teasing kiss at the corner of his mouth and when he tried to tilt his head to meet your lips, you gripped his jaw firmly and held him in place.

"What I want…" you kissed along his jaw, "is for you…" you kissed your way to his ear as he squirmed under you, "to beg," you purred in his ear.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, tugging helplessly at the tie. It made you smirk as you sat back upright and looked down at him all innocent like. Your hands trailed down your body, palming your breasts as his eyes took you in. He squeezed them shut for a moment as if that would help but it wasn't for long before his obsidian gaze was back on you. He couldn't help himself.

He watched with rapt interest as your hand trailed lower until it reached between your legs. You moaned softly as your fingers circled your clit lazily, your eyes not leaving his face. His eyes looked wild now, desperate and you were just waiting for him to snap.

"Y/N," he pleaded, making you grin wickedly. It wasn't enough though. You ignored him and his restless hips as he tried his hardest to find friction.

You knelt up a little, allowing yourself to slip two fingers inside your soaked pussy with ease and you moaned, biting your lip as you started fingering yourself.

"Shit… fuck… Y/N, please," he begged, sending a thrill right through you at how desperate he sounded.

"Please what?" You asked breathlessly, another soft moan leaving your lips as you continued to pleasure yourself. His dark eyes were darting from what you were doing and to your face, his chest heaving as he squirmed.

"Fuck me. Fuckin' touch me, I don't care. Do something! Please," he was so helpless and looked on the brink of insanity and it's just where you wanted him. Where he'd gotten you so many times before.

Your fingers slipped out of you and you offered them to him, quirking a brow. He wasted no time in opening his mouth and sucking them clean, groaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted as his tongue swirled around your fingers. Fuck, if that didn't turn you on.

Gripping his jaw, you rewarded him with a filthy kiss, all tongues and teeth as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

"Good Boy," you breathed softly, earning a moan from him. You shifted down a little, kneeling up and he hissed when you finally grabbed his cock. You lined him up before sinking down onto him with a moan and the noise he made was downright dirty and you knew you'd file that away for a later date.

You stayed where you were, unmoving, and when he shifted his hips up to you, you raised a brow in warning at him. It amused you when he complied and stilled immediately, worried you'd climb right off him after he finally got what he wanted. You still weren't done driving him crazy yet and you knelt back up, his cock almost slipping out of you, only the tip inside. You teased him, not sinking down all the way, not even halfway before you lifted back to just the tip and he whined. Billy fucking Russo actually whined and you smirked in delight at the noise you'd drawn from him.

"Please. Please, please, just… fuck," he gasped, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow as he bared his teeth again. Having someone as composed and calculated as Billy like this was a huge turn on and you rewarded him by sinking back down fully until he bottomed out and he moaned loudly. The tug on his binds let you know he really wanted to touch you. If it wasn't for the fact you'd googled the best way to tie him up, you had no doubt he'd be pinning you to the bed right now and fucking you like an animal. He got like that sometimes. Practically feral. And you could see the glint in his eyes right now.

You started bouncing on his cock, the pair of you moaning and you felt the relief the same as he did. You'd worked yourself up quite a bit but you were proud of yourself that you'd held out and got what you wanted out of him. You'd fully expected to cave to him way before it got that far. He was chanting your name like a fervent prayer, head thrown back in pure ecstasy as you rode him hard and fast.

He was still tugging on the tie as his hips arched up to meet each hard thrust and you felt him hit all the right spots as you moaned.

"Untie me. Please fuckin' untie me, I need to touch you," he begged, voice raw as he pulled more on the tie. You snarled, your hand darting out and gripping his throat, squeezing it a little as you kept moving. His eyes went wide, lips parted as he moaned even louder.

"No," you bit out, eyes blazing. His back arched, a gasp leaving his lips as he fucked up at you harder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he moaned desperately, actually whimpering when you squeezed his throat tighter.

You leaned down, hand still firm around his throat and you nipped at his lower lip.

"Who's my Good Boy?" You asked breathlessly.

"Me… I am," he moaned without hesitation. He looked completely blissed out and you felt the pleasure building up at a rapid rate inside of you.

Seeing him in the throes of pleasure like this sent you over the edge and you cried out, clamping down around him as your hips faltered for a second, your release washing over you.

"Don't stop, don't… please, don't fuckin' stop," he begged helplessly, his voice a mere breathy whisper as he kept rutting up into you. You obliged through your orgasmic haze and his moans got louder, hands balled into fists above his head before a loud groan filled the room. After a few more stuttered thrusts up into you, he stilled, as did you, and you smiled feeling heavenly.

You leaned over, easily untying him before you collapsed on his chest and caught your breath. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you, his hands smoothing the skin on your back as if making up for the time he hadn't been able to touch you.

"Holy shit," he murmured breathlessly, nuzzling your hair. You smiled tiredly before sitting back up. You took his wrists in your hands delicately. They were a little red from all his tugging and you placed soft kisses to each of them. When your eyes landed on his face again he was giving you a soft smile that made your heart stop for a moment.

"Did you enjoy it?" You asked hesitantly. His smile widened, one hand on your hip as the other stroked your face.

"You're kiddin', right? I think it's obvious I did. Didn't know you had it in you," he smirked. You blushed and rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down and kissing him softly. You moved away to lay your head back on him feeling content to just fall asleep like this with his softening cock still inside of you.

"I gotta say… I'm pretty impressed. You did me proud," he smirked into your hair as his fingers trailed lazily up and down your back. You hummed softly, snuggling into him more.

"Well, I learned from the best," you replied with a sleepy grin. He chuckled and you felt him press a kiss to your head.

"Don't think we're makin' a habit of it though. Was fuckin' torture," he snorted, making you giggle a little.

"Now you know how you make me feel," you murmured tiredly. He chuckled, a hand winding into your hair as his fingers rubbed your scalp and you were helpless to succumb to sleep when he did that. The pair of you drifted off still tangled together and you still had a smile on your face as you remembered that you'd gotten Mr Marine to beg for you.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine

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pigeonp0st · 3 years

Note

you did NOT say “hey send more wanda requests!” but here i am... sending you one jejeje :) how about cute fluffy red eyed jealous wanda? she just wants to hang with reader but EVERY! AVENGER! ALSO! DOES!

Wanda Maximoff x Reader #2

Words: 1,970

Warnings: Jealousy, Cursing

Notes:

Thank you for requesting, and by the way: I appreciate all of the Wanda requests so...hey! Send more Wanda requests. Oh, and this was written during a writers block so it’s not the best but I hope it’s good enough ;( Sorry for spelling mistakes.

————

There are moments during Wanda’s life where she is jealous, believe it or not. No, it doesn’t happen very often anymore; because really she has nothing to long for that she doesn’t already have.

But it happens… So despite her unwillingness to admit it, she’s currently experiencing one of her not so often bouts of jealousy—and it feels like such an ugly word, but it’s how she feels because everyone really just loves you, and she just wants you for herself.

and yeah, okay, someone could make the argument that she ‘has’ you already, and she feels that way, but she knows she doesn’t. Logically.

You could completely decide that you don’t want to be with her anymore, Wanda knows, and if that were something you wanted she wouldn’t even think about stopping you.

She’s not that type of jealous though. She’s not concerned you’ll leave her for someone else, despite how close you and Steve get while you’re discussing something, and despite how many times you fall asleep with Thor on the couch, despite how many times Tony seems to be looking for you, she doesn’t necessarily care about any of it.

As a matter of fact, Wanda would say that she loves the way everyone loves you. She loves how close you are with them...she just wishes it didn’t have to mean so little time for her.

So she’ll train with Clint and watch from the corner of her eye as you train with Natasha, and she’s not jealous about the way that you laugh with her, or the way that she smiles at you, or the way that Natasha pulls you until your faces are inches— okay she really didn’t need to fucking pull you so close-

“Y/N,” Wanda calls, absentmindedly throwing Clint into the cushioned wall with her powers. You don’t pay attention to her, much to Wanda’s dismay, instead you smirk at Natasha and she smirks at you— and really Wanda’s about a second away from throwing Natasha into the wall too— but then Nat headbutts you with just enough force that you’re winded by it, and completely and utterly finishes the fight.

Wanda stops her advancements towards you and starts clapping her hands, feeling utterly ridiculous but hiding it well.

From the way Natasha tilts her head at her perhaps she isn’t hiding it well enough.

You still don’t turn around to notice her though because now you’re locked into conversation with Bruce. And Okay.

She’s able to admit to herself now, that yeah, sometimes her jealousy comes from fear rather than want, but it’s only because anyone would feel threatened by Natasha.

She is also able to admit to herself that this is...harder for her than she previously thought.

————

This continues for a while longer. Wanda looks at you hanging out with the others, tries to get your intention, and gets utterly ignored.

She knows you aren’t doing it on purpose, but it hurts enough that whenever you, or the person you’re hanging out with ignore her she sighs and completely leaves the room.

She waits for you to look for her like she looks for you, she waits for you to be alone, but you never do, and you never are.

It hurts in a way it probably shouldn’t.

———-

Wanda has been pouty lately.

When you ask about it she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest like a disobedient five year old. It’s both amusing and concerning.

Concerning because she’s obviously upset about something, and amusing because she has the cutest pout, and the most dramatic flair about her.

You won’t be dropping this though. “Wan Wan-”

“Okay,” Wanda grimances immediately, “please never call me that again.” She looks horrified when she says it, and your amusement only goes up. Until you see the red glow in her eyes and remember that her powers have been showing the whole day.

This can’t go on.

“Wanda, did I do something wrong?” You ask, clearing your throat in an attempt to start the conversation over.

Wanda momentarily stops glaring at the table so she can glance at you. When she does she seems to sag into her seat at the worried look on your face. This isn’t your fault, she reminds herself, angry that she let her own stupidity affect you. “No,” Wanda sighs, her jaw clenching and unclenching. “No, draga, you haven’t.”

Darling, you remember. That’s what ‘draga’ means. Despite circumstances the term of endearment fills you with butterflies. “Then what’s wrong?”

This time when you ask Wanda answers, looking sheepish and guilty. “I...Y/N I want to spend time with you. Is that…” she pauses, feeling frustrated beyond belief, “is that okay?”

You’re...confused, to say the least. You don’t understand why Wanda would think it isn’t, she’s your girlfriend, you love spending time with her. You had thought that you were already spending time with her before.

“Wanda,” you stutter, eyes wide at the sudden tears in her eyes. When she tries to look away you put a hand on her cheek and force her glowing red eyes to meet yours. “Hey, hey, Wanda—baby—of course it is.”

It’s more than okay.

Wanda nods, looking just as shocked by her tears as you are. “I have no idea why i’m crying,” she says shakily, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know why...I” Wanda pauses, letting out an angry defeated growl, “just- god, I...i’m just so frustrated.”

And she is, she really is. Wanda hadn’t realized how much this has been affecting her. She’s just angry at herself for needing you so much, and angry at the others for taking you away from her all the time, and then angry at herself again for being angry at the others just for wanting to be with you— she’s just angry. And it’s so exhausting.

But you aren’t. You’re the only thing in this life, to Wanda, that isn’t. It means everything, that’s why she needs you. Not all the time. Just sometimes at least.

You, little does Wanda know, need her around just as much, and more than that you need her to be okay, and she isn’t right now. Wanda looks so devastated and helpless, so helpless, that you’re hugging her before you can even register it, like your body moved on it’s own accord.

“Wanda,” you ask, concerned, “do you feel like i’m not already spending a lot of time with you? I mean...we sleep in the same bed.” Wanda hugs you so tightly though, that you wonder if you’ve been imagining the moments you two have spent together.

“No, no you have been,” she says sadly, and with a resignation in her voice that you don’t understand. “I guess...with all of the loss that’s surrounded me, and with the way I still try to distance myself from the others, I'm just really alone without you.”

You freeze completely, hit with an unbearable amount of sadness for the women you love.

Wanda pulls away from you when you tense, looking frantic because she worded that wrong, she hadn’t meant it to sound like she was guilt tripping you. “Obviously it’s not your responsibility to hang out with me all the time, I want you to hang out with your friends, it’s just...I mean...they do get to do stupid mundane things with you more...and I mean I want that too, but only if—”

You put a hand over her mouth, silencing her immediately. “Baby, slow down. Breathe. You’re gonna die if you don’t.”

“Okay…” you start when you realize Wanda has done what you asked and calmed down as much as she’s going to be able to right now, “no, you’re right, now that I think about it. Lately the others have been asking for me a lot and we only ever get a chance to watch a movie at night...we hardly see each other besides that.”

As you say it you’re shocked to find out how true it is. You’ve been so busy with your project with Tony, and training with Natasha, and Thor has been so sad lately that you’ve been trying to help him— and Clint with his sudden want to start cooking, and Peter with his girl problems, and—

And you hadn’t really taken a moment to realize that you miss Wanda too, you haven’t had the time to realize it while you were shuffling around the compound, but Wanda has had time. She’s had all the time in the world.

“Hey,” Wanda says when she notices the guilt on your face, “none of that.”

So you tackle her. Naturally. You tackle her because you love her, and she’s too sad. She looks too sad, she’s always too sad, and she never deserves to feel that way.

Wanda lets out a loud; ‘oof’ and falls back against the couch with you on top of her burying your face in her neck.

She doesn’t understand at all what’s going on, but she’s willing to give you what you want...until you start making weird noises.

“Rummmmm, tssssssss, weeeeeee.”

“Are you okay?” Wanda asks, legitimately concerned.

“Shhh, babe, i’m charging us up. Weeeee-”

“Okay,” Wanda laughs, pushing you off of her. When you yelp and nearly fall off the couch she catches you with her powers and gently lowers you on the ground.

You glare at her the whole way down, a humorous gleam in your eyes. “I’m trying to help babe, what the fuck.”

Wanda simply rolls her eyes at you, releasing another breathy laugh that has your features soften immediately.

“There it is,” you whisper quietly, reaching up to cup her cheek. Wanda smiles into your palm. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I’m realizing that I've missed you desperately too, so we’ll definitely have to make up for the time we weren’t together.”

“You don’t have to,” Wanda sighs, looking down.

“I want to,” you assure, because you do want to. You hadn’t noticed the ache in your heart until it was pointed out to you, but now that it has been...you just want to spend time with Wanda. But…

“But I want you to have other people as well,” you say quietly, “Do you think you could start opening up to the others? They really love you.”

Wanda studies your eyes, thinking. “I have been open with them.”

“You treat them like comrades more than family, even though they obviously love you more than that, and even though you do too.”

It’s something you’ve noticed. Wanda will protect everyone, and be there for them, and she’ll confide in them when necessary, but she’ll also avoid them, and avoid talking with them.

“Okay, I will try.”

The relief you feel at those four words is indescribable. This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with Wanda, and the fact that she’s finally ready to listen fills you with joy that has you jumping back into her arms and smothering her with kisses.

“Hey,” Wanda protests, but she’s laughing, “I'll have to take it slow. Maybe i’ll start by finally coming to their movie nights”

“Sounds perfect,” you grin. And it does. Wanda hides in her room during those nights, but now she can be your game night partner. “Oh!” You yelp, jumping off her lap, “we should start training now. No one’s been able to beat Natasha at scramble but if we start training now by Friday we’ll be able to take her down.”

“I really am going to regret this,” Wanda sighs.

“It’s only two all-nighters, don’t be dramatic.”

“WHAT? I am not staying up all night.”

“We’ll see about that.” You whisper under your breath. You don’t think Wanda hears until she throws a couch pillow at your face.

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