#GLORY-FIDDLE HAS ARRIVED

[soulofapatrick]

Rebuilding - Derek Hale x female reader

Summary: You show Derek the rebuilt Hale House you did for him

Words: 1.8k

warnings: none really; heavy making out

Notes: I can make a smutty part two

Y/N’s POV

The old Hale House had stood as a haunting reminder of the past, a testament to the tragedy and loss the family had endured. But now, it has been transformed into something new, something hopeful. With the combined effort of the pack and my Dad, it had become a symbol of rebirth and unity, a mansion that has welcomed every member with open arms and spare rooms for new pack members. 

As I stand in front of the restored mansion, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Derek, who had once lived here in its glory days, deserves to see what I’ve done to the place. He’s been through so much, and I wanted this surprise to be a new beginning for him… for us hopefully. 

The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I can’t help but fidget with the key in my hand as I wait for Derek. The old Hale House, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, seems to hold its breath in eager anticipation of his arrival. And then, I hear it - the familiar purr of Derek’s car engine. It’s a sound that I’ve come to associate with his arrival, and my heart quickens in response. The car pulls down the long, winding driveway, and I keep staring at the house, my hands shaking a little as I fiddle with the keys. 

Suddenly, there he is. Derek appears beside me, his tall, brooding frame casting a shadow on the gravel driveway. He looks rugged and handsome as ever, with that alluring air of mystery that has always drawn me to him. His dark brows are furrowed in curiosity and confusion, his eyes scanning the mansion before us as if he’s trying to work out where we are. It makes my heart drop as he doesn’t recognise it despite me trying to keep it as near as I can to the original Hale house. 

But then, something remarkable happens. As his eyes roam over the mansion’s exterior, his brows furrow even deeper, and then there’s a hint of disbelief in his expression. It’s as if the familiarity of the place has begun to dawn on him, piece by piece. The realisation hits him like a tidal wave. His kaleidoscope eyes widen, and a gasps escapes his pretty and plump lips, “Is… is this….?” His voice trembles with emotion, and for a moment, he can’t seem to find the words. 

I hold out the keys for him and he looks between the house and the keys and then back at the house, “I can’t… I… can you…” His voice falters, and it’s clear that he’s fighting back tears, the enormity of the moment almost too much to bear. Without a word, I’m nodding and reaching for his trembling hands. Our fingers interlace, and with a gentle squeeze, I lead him towards the grand entrance. 

Derek’s eyes remain locked onto the mansion, his disbelief and wonder still etched across his features. But he doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand the whirlwind of emotions storming within him. 

I turn the key in the lock, my own fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The door swings open, revealing the lovingly restored interior. The warm, golden light spills into the entryway, painting a new chapter on the old canvas of the Hale House. The grand entrance is now invitingly open, Derek taking a step forwards. His presence is so close to me that his chest is practically pressed against my back. The feel of him so near is electrifying, and it sends a shiver down my spine. 

“Welcome home Derek.” I say, my voice a soft, heartfelt whisper, as we cross the threshold together. 

The atmosphere inside is a mixture of nostalgia and fresh beginnings. The original features of the Hale House have been preserved, the hardwood floors polished, the walls adorned with artworks from the pack. The spaciousness of the rooms has been maintained, yet there’s a sense of cozy warmth that wasn’t there before. 

Derek’s gaze dances the space, a mixture of awe and sentimentality reflected in his expressive eyes. He appreciates the care and attention that went into preserving the essence of the house he called home. 

Then, he grabs my hands again with a gentle yet firm grip, leading me through the echoing halls as the pack gave us the house for Derek to see alone.  It’s a touch that sends a rush of warmth through me, the electricity of his touch palatable. We move through the house, our footsteps echoing, and Derek’s strides confident, as if he’s revisiting his own memories. 

As we ender the kitchen, Derek stops in his tracks. A soft, almost reverent sound escapes him, and his eyes widen again as he takes in the layout. It’s practically identical to the original Hale House kitchen, meticulously restored to match his recollections with the help of creepy uncle Peter. 

His grip on my hand tightens, and he turns to me, his expression filled with amazement, “This… it’s just like I remember it.” He says, his vice soft and filed with wonder, “You’ve brought it all back to life.” 

I can’t help but smile at his reaction. The kitchen holds countless memories for him, both happy and bittersweet, and seeing it so faithfully restored means the world to him. "We wanted it to feel like home," I reply, my voice equally hushed, knowing how much this place means to him. Derek’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, his touch conveying the depth of his gratitude. It’s a silent exchange of emotions, the unspoken understanding between us.

And then, something changes in the air. Derek turns to me, his kaleidoscope eyes now shining with warmth and something else, something that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His gaze flits down my lips, and in response, I can’t help but wet them with my tongue, suddenly feeling acutely aware of their dryness. It draws a small sound from Derek’s throat, low and almost involuntary, a testament to the magnetic pull between us. He leans in, closing the distance between our lips with a purposeful intent. Our mouths meet in a soft, longing kiss, a silent declaration of the emotions that have simmered between us for so long. 

His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a deliberate tenderness. I can feel the gentle, rhythmic movement of his mouth, each touch setting my heart racing. There’s a hint of urgency in his kiss, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface. Derek’s hands finding their way to my waist, holding e close as if he never wants to let me go. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I press my body closer to his, wanting to feel every inch of him. 

My own hands move to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. They gradually work their way up, entwining in his shirt, wanting to pull him closer still. The connection between us deepens with every passing second, a silent confirmation of the emotions we’ve held back fr so long. 

Derek’s hands, which had been gently holding my waist, suddenly tighten their grip and before I can react, he’s lifting me up with a powerful yet careful motion. My legs instinctively wrap around this waist as he sets me on the edge of the kitchen island, never once breaking the kiss. 

Our lips remain locked in a heated embrace, a heated embrace, a testament to the fiery passion that's been ignited between us. Derek's tongue brushes over my lips, seeking entrance, and without hesitation, I part them, with a small, embracing sound escaping my lips which he swallows, tongue slipping past my lips. It's a dance of desire, a clash of longing, and a melding of two souls that have been drawn together by an irresistible force. Our mouths move with a shared urgency, each kiss deeper and more consuming than the last.

As our tongues explore and intertwine, Derek’s grip on my hips tightens, pulling me closer until I’m arched on the edge of the kitchen island. The sensation of his body pressed against mine is electrifying, sending heat down south where I’m pressed against his growing problem. It has my thighs tightening around him, hips jerking a little and drawing sounds from both of us. 

Finally our lips part, but only slightly, our foreheads resting against each other as we catch our breath. Derek’s voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw desire, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He confesses, his words heavy with yearning, “ I couldn’t keep it in any longer.” 

My heart flutters at his admission, and I look into his kaleidoscope eyes, my own filled with the same longing, “Der…” I breathe, “I’ve felt the same way. I’ve wanted this as much as you have.” 

His lips find mine again, and the kiss that follows is fierce and fervent, a passionate culmination of our unspoken desires. It's a promise, a declaration, and a celebration of the love that has finally been acknowledged. 

But then, Derek's lips trail down from mine to my neck, and his kisses ignite a trail of fire across my skin. I gasp as his mouth leaves a mark, a fervent, possessive hickey, and another one right beside it. Each one is a silent proclamation of his desire, a mark of his longing for me. As Derek's kisses continue to trail down my neck, I gasp and my fingers clutch at his shoulders. The sensation is almost too much to bear, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin, marked by possessive hickeys.

“Y/N,” He murmurs breathlessly voice heavy with desire, “If we don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pulls away slightly, his eyes dark and smouldering now and he lets out a low and sensual chuckle when an embarrassing moan escapes me. 

“Maybe…” I have to clear my throat, “Maybe we should check out your room.” My heart is racing as I say it, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and desire, eager to hear his response but also somewhat ready for the rejection. 

Instead, he groans, head falling to my shoulder before he growls out, “Don’t… don’t say things like that baby girl.” I stay silent, knowing there’s more and he kissing my collarbone sweetly before murmuring, “But, I think it’s a very, very good idea.”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

Teen Wolf Masterlist

TAGS

@bellabadacadabra

#derek hale #derek hale oneshot #Derek hale x reader #Derek hale x you #Derek hale x y/n #Derek hale fluff #Derek hale smut #Derek hale angst #Derek hale Drabble #Derek hale imagine #teen wolf #tw #teen wolf x female reader #Derek hale x female reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x you #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf smut #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf angest #tyler hoechlin #Tyler hoechlin x reader

[kabie-whump]

CYOA Whump Part 20

First | Previous

You chose: Do nothing. Let it play out and wait for a chance to turn things in your favor.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You and Onthyes end up alone on an upper deck later that night. You sit close together, staring up at flickering starlight and listening to muffled revelry from the other pirates somewhere behind and below.

"We should really tell the Captain what Rye's doing," Onthyes says, glancing over at you. "You should tell him. Maybe he'll cut you some slack."

You shrug. "I cannot help but feel like I have some sort of opportunity here. I do not know what exactly, but this mutiny could be good for me."

"But if Rye takes charge..."

"I know." You shudder, imagining what kind of torture Rye could put you through as Captain. "It is worth the risk. It has to be."

Onthyes fiddles with the chain that connects the two of you. "I just... don't like seeing you get hurt."

You can't help but laugh, wind picking up and swirling playfully through your hair. "Are you not intended to be my jailer, Onthyes? You keep me tied up. You muzzle me every night. And yet here you are saying that you... What? You care for me?"

"I can't help it." You look over, and Onthyes's face is flushed a peachy red. "I see someone in pain who doesn't deserve to be and I just... I think I'm not not meant for this stuff. I was too soft for the navy. I'm definitely too soft to be a pirate. It just so happens to be that being strong and swinging a sword are the only things I'm good for, and believe it or not there aren't too many other places where someone can make a living with only a blade."

You lean towards him until your shoulders press together. "There is a place for you somewhere. You are not useless and you are not trapped."

He looks down at you. His eyes are so much greener with his face all flushed. "What other options do I have? I was kicked out of the navy. I'd rather never go home at all than go home in shame."

"There are other options. You could travel, perhaps. Become a bodyguard for a merchant caravan. Or an adventurer, maybe."

Onthyes chuckles. "Could you imagine that? Me chasing dragons up and down mountains until I die an untimely death?"

You look away, huffing. "I do not see what is so silly about it."

"It's a thing of storybooks. Most adventurers don't make it very far."

"Well, you do not come across as the average glory-seeking drunkard. Besides, I never said you would be doing it on your own. I mean, there is no need to chase dragons on foot when you have a friend who can fly."

"A friend? Do you... see me as your friend?"

"I do spend every moment by your side. And you seem to care for me well enough, so..."

You look up at Onthyes again, and he has some gooey look on his face that makes you giggle. He really is such a softy.

"What do you say, then?" you ask softly. "Chase dragons with me?"

You can tell that he knows what you're really asking: for him to abandon his crew and help you escape. He seems to imagine it for a moment, a silly, hopeful look in his eyes.

Then, "It's a nice thought, but I'm afraid things are more complicated than that. Dreams don't make us any less stuck here."

***If y'all choose to seduce Onthyes I will be writing an explicit nsfw scene about that (with no choices, just a bonus scene), BUT I won't be using the normal taglist since y'all didn't sign up for nsfw at the start. If you want to be tagged in nsfw content as well please tell me and I'll make a seperate list! <3 *** *** Also, the next part is going to come much sooner than usual. Probably tonight or tomorrow, so it's possible I'll stop looking at the poll results before it's finished. ***

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Next

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@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump

@whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday

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#whump #whump community #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas #nonhuman whumpee #magical whump #pirate whump #cyoa game #cyoa whump #oc whump #magic whump #fantasy whump

[fadingdaggerr]

all bark, some bite - l.w.

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader (no pronoun or name use for reader)

summary: parents’ weekend is a time of stress, especially when an addams is now a student, and her mother and the principal have a fun little history behind them

warnings: fully using morticia as a plot device (sorry tish baby i luv u), suggestive ending

note: i have no idea what happened to this fic

the closer parents’ weekend grew, the more antsy larissa became. she typically has gone over every little detail three, four, five times by now. every year she takes great consideration into everything, wanting the parents to see the nevermore in all her glory, down to having every knickknack in every common space dusted and polished to perfection. but this year felt different. the tension in her shoulders was tighter this year, her pacing more pointed, her sleep dwindling by the day, and if none of this was enough, the now eight rechecks of plans was starting to look a little crazy.

when the day arrived, she was somehow more tense than she had been for the last two weeks. usually once the day began, she had been confident and excited, but today, she fiddled with her wedding band nonstop, watching as parents arrived and greeted their children.

walking up beside her, i lean in so my voice only reached her, “everything looks great, baby, relax a little bit. the students look happy, the schedule’s fun, you look stunning as always, everything’s in order.”

“you have got to stay close by me at all times,” is all she says.

“as much as i would love that, i have to be in my classroom to answer parent questions for the first couple hours. but, i would love to sneak in a visit my favorite girl,” i smile to her, pressing my lips to her clothed shoulder, and i can see some tension reduce a little.

“i will be holding you to your word on that,” she grabs my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. i pull her hand to my own lips, returning the favor, not missing the way her eyes light up.

in their mini tours, many of my students brought their parents to my classroom. most got a full report of the class from their children, meaning i was just there to deliver pleasantries, admittedly spruce up the behavior of some students when parents asked, and accept compliments on my book collection.

tall floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the west-facing wall of my room, a rolling ladder allowing me to reach the very top shelves. the top shelves were reserved for only the greatest of my collection, the rare and beautiful ones. books the students enjoy were closer to their reach, the ladder being a no-go for any of them. i always kept books larissa loved at her own eye-level, she had yet to notice it was on purpose, so her little excitement was a special treat whenever she gazed at the shelf.

after two hours of meetings that ended with a lively conversation with eugene’s moms, i thought i would finally be able to retreat back to wherever larissa may be. as i started to head out the door when a familiar, dark presence blocked my path to the hall.

“hello, wednesd-”

“principal’s office, now.”

“i’m doing great, thank you so much for asking wednesday,” i say monotonously, “and why am i so kindly being summoned to the principal’s office?”

“i’m saving her, and by proxy, you, a headache,” and she leaves. a hefty dose of ‘no context’ from wednesday addams, no day is complete without it anymore.

i make my way to larissa’s office, knocking gently before peeking my head in, “riss?”

“darling, what are you doing here?” she asks as she moves from her desk and makes her way over to me, both hands grabbing mine, pulling me closer.

“wednesday addams. she sent me here to ‘save you and myself a headache,’ whatever that means,” i say with a shrug, placing a sweet kiss to her cheek.

“i hope we don’t find out,” her hands moving, arms wrap around my waist, my own going around her neck.

“me neither. a nice, headache free day sounds phenomenal,” i say while adjusting the chain of her necklace, “how has your day been, my angel?”

she lets out a deep breath, “probably about as interesting as yours so far, but i would say it’s much better now,” she finishes her sentence with a short kiss to my lips.

i hum in agreement, and just as i go to pull her back in, there’s a knock as the door. we jump apart before larissa calls for whoever knocked to enter. the door opens, and i see a woman, dressed in a long, black gown enter the room. she’s smiling with adoration at the shorter man next to her, love for the woman evident in his gaze.

larissa’s eyes widen as she freezes in place. this is what she had been dreading, morticia addams.

the woman looks back towards the room, “larissa!”

“morticia! lovely to see you.”

ah, the headache, i think to myself, just as she begins to approach me. wednesday looks more homicidal than usual, and i can’t help but share the feeling.

“why hello there, morticia addams,” she sticks her hand out for me to shake. before i can introduce myself, she speaks again shutting me down, “and this is gomez, my husband,” gomez grabs her hand, kissing up her arm, muttering terms of endearment in spanish, “and my son, pugsley.”

“well, it sure is certainly nice to meet all of you,” my smile is fake, but morticia doesn’t seem to notice the insincerity, so i continue, “wednesday is fantastic in my literature of the macabre class. she has been at top of my class since she started, which has not been unexpected.”

i almost feel as if i’m bragging about how well my own child is doing in class, and i can see as larissa smiles softly at my words.

“that is fantastic to hear, our little viper is a master of the macabre,” gomez praises his daughter, the action making wednesday scowl harder, but making me smile slightly.

the addams’ sat across from larissa, i stood to larissa’s right, offering her support with my presence. discussions of wednesday’s academics and extracurriculars continued for a little bit. i stayed quiet for most of it, happy to be with my wife, also hoping i could be a buffer between her and morticia. i had been filled in, well before we got married, about how cruel morticia was to larissa later in their academy years. i also stayed for wednesday, who wouldn’t admit that she needed someone else in her corner when her parents were around. all conversation came to sudden halt when morticia let out a gasp.

“how could i have not seen that? larissa, you never mentioned you had gotten married,” she grabs larissa’s left hand, pulling it close to look at her ring. a shudder moves down my back at the contact.

“it wasn’t relevant the last we spoke, and before that we hadn’t seen each other since we graduated, so why when would i have said anything?” larissa is calculated in her response, letting me know this interaction had been something of worry to her.

“goodness, when did this happen? must not have been long ago, or else i would’ve heard, i’m sure,” morticia responds, and i almost laugh at her certainty.

“it’s been seven years as of september, as a matter of fact. and we were together for five years before that. it was a very private ceremony, we only had our closest loved ones in attendance,” larissa answers as she pulls her hand back, looking at her ring with a soft smile, a light blush painting her cheeks at the memory. i bite my tongue to hide my own smile.

“private ceremony, private answers, not even a photo in here larissa,” morticia gestures around the office, and the anger in me grows slowly.

“with students, staff, faculty, parents, and even law enforcement regularly in my office, i would rather not have my personal life on display. what’s mine is private,” she says the last part lowly, a warning to morticia that she must tread lightly, but her tone ignites a fire in the pit of my stomach.

this warning is noted by a raised brow, but is violently ignored when she looks larissa in the eye with a pathetic frown and says, “please don’t tell me you settled?”

larissa’s face immediately grows dark, her hands flattening against her desk, she starts to rise out of her seat. to avoid a small war in the middle of the office, i take a step forward and speak in her place, “i believe ‘settling’ is more of a subjective concept,” my eye contact is sharp and unwavering, “in my opinion, she most definitely did settle, outrageously settled. but from her words, at the very least, i would say she does not share the same sentiment as i do,” the emphasis on ‘very’ has larissa’s head whipping my way at the innuendo, “some would say marrying your high school sweetheart is settling, but i’m not one to judge,” pugsley snorts, wednesday’s eyes shoot to him in a playful manor, clearly enjoying this just as much,“well, not one to judge often, as my mother used to say, ‘everyone has a taste, whether or not they should have be pickier is up to the heavens.’ quite the phrase, don’t ya think?”

morticia’s mouth shuts immediately, her eyes shooting to larissa’s to ask for help. she has nothing to offer her former roommate, other than holding back her own laughter.

“anyways, i should be on my way, poetry club meeting starts in 30 minutes, and i have to get the room set up for the parents,” i say with a smile towards the addams. “it was lovely letting you mister and missus addams, you too pugsley. i will see you in class next week, pretty please remind enid to read the chapter, do not give her the gist of it,” i point to wednesday as i speak, “and you,” i turn to larissa, “i will see you at home,” i kiss the top of her forehead to end my goodbye, my left hand on her shoulder, matching wedding band on display.

i pat her shoulder once more before walking towards the door, i turn to look at her, right as i’m about to close the door and blow her a kiss. she smiles softly and rolls her eyes at my antics.

“anything else you would like to discuss?”

— — — — —

my day, thankfully, ended after the poetry club meeting. a side road only a couple miles past the campus gates brought me to a dark green, two story house with brown trim. a wrap porch with vines growing up after years of free roaming, but neat from snipping and reshaping them when they got unruly. this wasn’t just some house, it was the home larissa and i now shared.

getting home, my shoes slid off before i even unlocked the door. keys were on the hook, bag on the seat by the door, jacket on the peg, shoes thrown on the floor. i make my way go our bedroom, purposefully going to her closet for a sweatshirt, grabbing a light grey one, and a pair of my own sleep shorts from my top drawer.

larissa comes home silently while i was a focusing on not burning the vegetables in the pan. she follows a similar pattern to me, only neater and quieter. i don’t notice her presence until i’m adding the vegetables to the sauce, and two long, pale arms wrap around my middle. i continue my task with her draped around me, stirring the vegetables in, spinning the spice rack in search of oregano and red pepper flakes.

“you are trouble” i laugh at her opening line, “at the very least, huh?”

“children were present, and in my defense, those particular ones have definitely heard much worse from those horn-dogs,” i say like it’s nothing, making her laugh this time. “and you’re one to talk. ‘what’s mine is private’? good lord, riss,” i jokingly fan my face, and she laughs harder.

“i stand by my statements,” she pinches my side, “especially the one where i disagree with you on me settling. i don’t settle, if i wanted to i could’ve long ago, but i waited for the right person and found you,” she whispers the end into my ear.

“and look at you now, with a much better last name,” i add the noodles to the sauce, “could’ve been missus larissa antoinette weems-fru- LARISSA!” i squeak as a hand smacks against my ass, laughing immediately.

“don’t even start, gods you even brought the middle name into it,” she laughs with me, her head resting against my shoulder.

i pick up a sauce-drenched noodle on a spoon, raising it to her lips, she gladly takes the bite, groaning happily at the taste. biting back a comment about the noise, i start to prepare dishes to serve on. larissa stays glued to my back, following each of my steps around our kitchen.

“i may need you around for more parent-principal meetings, especially ones involving… particularly difficult cases,” larissa says into my neck, avoiding the use of morticia’s name, as if it would summon her if spoken.

“you name the time and place, i’ll happily be wherever you need me. i can be like your guard dog,” i laugh a little at the notion.

“perhaps a ‘beware of dog’ sign outside my office may be needed,” she jests as she pulls away to set the table.

with dinner finished, and a bottle of wine later, larissa and i lay on the couch together, my fingers weaving through her hair as her head rested on my chest, her hands wandering every now and then from my abdomen, down my legs, and back up. i scratched my fingertips against her scalp, a noise just short of a purr comes from the back of her throat. we stay in this silence for a while, relaxing from the day, knowing tomorrow still had a slim chance to be incident free. loving her and being loved by her was all there was at this moment.

her head raises from my chest, i also pout at the loss of the comforting weight against my chest. tired, larimar eyes find mine, and i feel my heart skip a beat, her beauty has never failed to surprise me. someone like her, someone this beautiful, chose me.

she stares a little longer before sweetly saying, “you’d make a horrible guard dog,” and my jaw drops slightly, i’m utterly gobsmacked. i had been expecting a loving comment, or even a lustful one, not whatever this was.

i look at her for another moment before gathering my thoughts. i piece together the only thing that feels right to say at a time like this, “what the fuck?”

“you’re awfully cute, darling. i don’t think they’d find you scary,” she leans down to kiss the middle of my chest through my (her) sweatshirt, then looking back up at me. she made a point, i was not nearly as intimidating up front as she was.

larissa was intimidating just to look at. she’s gorgeous, tall, and clearly professional. she could talk her way out of anything, and just as easily talk her way in, just with her wit. all of this, this perfectly sculpted image, could be brought down by a little beetle crawling on the wall. a beetle i would be called in to crush, but instead would end up being guided onto a paper towel and released back into nature.

“well, they’d be mistaken then. and apparently so are you. you’d think my own wife would know me better,” i scoff, but the smile on my face betrays the feigned attitude. she laughs, and smile grows wider and wider. “i’ll let this insult on my character slide, only because of the wine, and definitely not because i love you so much,” i continue, and she groans playfully.

she puts her head back down on my chest, arms giving me a squeeze, “i love you more, and seriously though, thank you for being there today. and just so you know, for the rest of this weekend, you are not leaving my side.”

i chuckle, “as if i could even dream of it,” wrapping my arms around her snugly, “you know stuck with me forever, you’re the one who put a ring on it,” i pepper the top of her head in kisses as she tries not to laugh.

her head nudges up, she buries herself in my neck. i hide my own face in her soft hair, inhaling her scent. i feel her lips pressing along the column of my throat, moving upwards. little nips marked the trail to my jaw, kisses as she moves to the side more. one final tug of my earlobe by her teeth brings me back to full attention. her voice lowers, “how about i show you at the very most how much i love you?”

bit of a longer fic to make up for the lack of them in the last week. feedback is, as usual, appreciated greatly :)

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie #larissa weems fanfic #brienne of tarth #larissa weems is a lesbian #wednesday netflix

[yourtongzhihazel]

You walk into the local party headquarters for Jiangsu province. The first thing you see is the portrait of Mao Zedong followed by Xi Jinping. The secretary greets you warmly.

"Hello comrade! Are you here for the provincial planning committee position exam?"

"Yes I am!"

"please follow me!"

She leads you into an adjacent hallway. It is lined with portraits of the local party officials and posters adorned with the hammer and sickle. In front of you stands a tan wooden door. The secretary steps ahead and opens it. She waves you inside. You instinctively follow.

Inside the room is a long table. Evidently, the attendants had cleared out a meeting room for the exam. At the table sat a white haired senior party official. She turns around and smiles.

"Ah! Welcome! Please, take a seat in front of the computer!"

It is then that you notice an antique-looking off-white computer. It is as if they had brought it out of a museum. You quickly take a seat in front of it. You look back at the senior official. Shes looking through some papers and quietly asking the secretary questions to which she, equally quietly, responds. Its evident they're discussing your details. You try not to let it get to you. Looking at the clock hanging on the wall, it had only been a mere five minutes since you arrived at the office, but it has felt like an hour. A bead of sweat forms on your forehead. You quickly wipe it away. At that moment, the senior official looks back up and smiles at you again. The secretary takes a few steps back as well.

"Oh how rude of me! My name is Zhu Baowei. Im the head of the local planning committee headquartered here in Jiangsu."

"Comrade, it looks like you have an outstanding record! I hope you perform well on the exam!"

"thank you, comrade Zhu!", you proudly reply

"you're welcome... But Baowei is fine."

"Thank you, comrade!" you echo with a slight hesistance. Baowei chuckles a bit before continuing.

"please, comrade, turn on the monitor"

You look at the computer in all its 1990's glory. The 4:6 aspect ratio stares back at you. You fiddle around with the buttons before one brings the monitor to life. The ambient silence of the room is quickly broken by the sound of several fans turning on to maximum power. As the startup screen fades away, a bright red desktop with a giant hammer and sickle appears on the monitor. In the very center, a small desktop icon of a red star. It is labeled "Planning Committee Exam".

"please open the exam program, comrade" Baowei calmly commands.

You maneuver the mouse over the icon and click it twice. Two command windows pop up then quickly disappear. Another bead of sweat forms on your forehead and drips down your face. You barely notice it. Suddenly, the monitor goes dark and for a brief moment your heartbeats skyrocket before a familiar tune starts playing. Its militaristic march and Soviet style melody jerks you to attention. Seconds later, a title screen appears. "Workers and Resources: Soviet Republic".

"your exam is quite simple", Baowei reassuringly says, "please construct for us a fully self-sufficient soviet republic under 'realistic' gamemode restrictions."

More sweat begins beading on your forehead. You stare at the "new game" button.

"you have 8 hours. Good luck, comrade"

#mmp

[voidsentprinces]

I like that Endwalker doesn’t bother telling us about Emmanellain’s growth when it can simply SHOW us. He is there to help the rescue into Garlemald, playing second fiddle to Maxima and Lucia and plays the fool to relieve the tension before the inevitable battle. When the hostile tempered forces arrive, he doesn’t charge head first into danger without thought AND he no longer panics. Instead, he fights valiantly and in unison with the rest of the forces present against the oncoming forces. Even bantering with Sicard. He keeps his eye on the objective and he aids in helping the caravan through to the end. He also helps scout the camp somewhat but knows when people would be better off without his aid, so he pretends to slink away and slack off and instead takes note of the surrounding area rather than staying under foot. He is also not here for merely glory and valor, thats a secondary objective. He knows how dire the situation is but he is perfect for breaking the tension and also knows when to hand off objectives to others more suitable for such things. He would probably of gotten lost trying to shadow the Garlean survivors through unfamiliar territory but the Warrior arrives with the twins and meets him. He shows them what he spies and then hands off the mission to their capable hands and they succeed. He observes the arrival of Jullus and the events that follow and when there is a quiet before the storm, he provides entertainment and jovial jests for the remnants of the First Legion to enjoy despite the circumstances they find themselves under.

Emmanellain is the living embodiment of the cup of cocoa, Haurchefant served us long ago. He keeps everyone’s spirits high, even when they’re at their lowest. He keeps up the facade of being the same lazy old fool but has kept his growth from Post-Heavensward. He is still not big enough to fill Haurchefant’s boots but he carries him with him in spirit and does his damnedest to make his brother proud. He may not achieve anything of note but he is the back bone of this expedition and the message of once again staring into the deep black despair and finding warmth and joy in the memories of those we’ve carried with us.

He is no longer just making heart eyes at the nearest female officer and seeking tasks that he can tell tales about, he is keeping the flame of hope alive in his own way. So while his appearance and over all effect on the entire story of Endwalker might seem minor and in someways inconsequential at first glance, I believe Haurchefant would be proud to seen his brother’s growth.

[ritual-unions]

A Curse I Cannot Lift

Part One of Wolf Like Me: Read the rest here

Pairing: Ubbe x OFC

Summary: Eir, daughter to the King of Sweden, worries that her father has promised her hand in marriage, though he denies the claim. Arriving at the shores of Kattegat, Eir sneaks away from her family, running into a stranger she hopes to never see again.

Setting: slightly pre-season 4b, maybe by a few months.

Word Count: >2000

Warnings: none, unless a “meet-cute” is a warning.

Her mother had complained every day since stepping on the boat that the salt soaked into her dress would never come out. Eir had to admit, she too was ready to be on land again, though she does not voice her complaints as loudly as her mother.

The warriors rowing look as though they will gladly trade positions with the Queen of Sweden, whose hands are void of any calluses, and the jewels dripping off her head and neck would fetch enough coin to feed them and their families for three years. The men grimace, and grunt as Eir’s mother whines, thinking instead of the glory and the gold they will obtain when they finally sail to the Mediterranean. 

The first stop will be Kattegat, where Eir’s father, King Anund of Sweden, will begrudgingly pay tribute to the man responsible for the voyage. Eir asks her father if she too can sail to the Mediterranean, only to receive a wide-eyed look of wonder in return. King Anund will take her younger brothers, yes, but no, Eir will stay with her mother, Sif, waiting patiently in Kattegat, until they return. 

Her parents are hiding something from her. Eir knows by the way her mother stares at her longingly as if she will never see her again. As if she will blink her eyes and Eir will disappear. Sif offers each night to brush Eir’s hair, even though she had not done such a thing since Eir was ten years old. 

Anund has lovingly squeezed Eir’s shoulder so frequently that Eir is sure there will be an indentation where his fingers have pressed against her skin. Each evening Anund finds Eir at the bow of the ship, opens his mouth as if to say something wise, stands like a gaping fish and promptly walks away. 

When Eir asks if something is wrong her parents shrug their shoulders, frown, and look off into the distance, the orange glow of the sun blinding their eyes, as if Eir should look for answers there. 

It would be of no surprise to any of her handmaids that Eir slips away the moment the boat docks on the shores of Kattegat. It is possible that they even look the other way when she silently holds herself back before timidly heading down the shoreline. 

The cliffs that stand like silent sentries over the fjord have been calling to Eir since they sailed in, two days earlier. Leaning against the prowl of the ship she had stared up at their glory wondering what it must be like to stand on top of them. 

The hollow in the hillside seems the most obvious route, but as she struggles over the rubble, her fine leather boots slipping against the rugged rocks, the journey becomes almost impossible. 

She turns around in search of a better route, not yet willing to be deterred. There is a game-trail down the way that she eyes but it is a steep climb and in her dress she does not think she has the mobility to make it. She will try anyway, she has to make it to the top. There is something waiting for her there, only waiting to be discovered. 

A man she had not noticed before is at the base of the path she wants to take. He is off his horse, fiddling with the straps of his saddle, a large black dog circling his heels impatiently. Cautiously, she freezes in place. The way he had slid into view without a sound, is unsettling. With no one around to see he can easily attack her. Eir does not have the skill or strength of a shieldmaiden or even a country girl raised to carry bags of wheat twice their size. She is a princess untrained in the art of war, instead she gapes, shifting on her feet unsteadily, unsure what to do next.  

With as much courage as she can muster, she acknowledges him. “Who are you?”  

Silently, the man gazes at her in acute interest, a whisper of a smile on his lips as he takes her in. His dirty blonde hair is wind swept and wild atop his head. His face is clean of dirt but she cannot place his station, much to her annoyance. He could be a local or a warrior traveling to Kattegat to sail with Bjorn Ironside. She does not know, making her even more cautious. 

The black dog, more a wolf, steps in closer, long nose sniffing at the air. Not able to steady her nerves she takes half a step back. The man snaps his fingers twice, causing Eir to jump in surprise and the wolf to sit back on his haunches. The wolf-dog looks at her with the same watchful eyes as the man.  

“Are you the kennel master?” Eir demands. Her gaze travels to the two rabbits hanging off of his shoulder. “The gamekeep?” She asks again, her nerves causing her to ramble.

This makes him laugh, a throaty chuckle that creases the corners of his eyes. A kind smile greets her and she can not help but warm to it. She has never thought of herself as a funny person but she wishes she knew a few jokes just to make him laugh that way again. 

“Do you always demand someone’s profession before their name?” He inquires with a tilt of his head. 

A blush creeps along Eir’s throat. Embarrassed, she looks anywhere but his face, to the horse that stands patiently beside him or the hillside she still desires to climb, even as he tries vainly to find her gaze once more.

“I am Ubbe,” he finally announces, and Eir can no longer ignore him. His voice is soft, there is no hint of haughtiness as if she should know who he is. Most men she meets in her father’s great halls wear their pride heavy on their shoulders and chest, demanding an abundance of attention just for being. This man does not and Eir frowns, not used to such modest demure.  

“I am not the kennel master or the gamekeep.” His mouth holds a humor hidden in the corners as he speaks. “Though my brothers probably think otherwise.” He shrugs his shoulders, as if this is the way of the world. Ubbe laughs under his breath, shaking his head when Eir frowns in discontent. 

“I want to go up there,” Eir says when Ubbe does not offer to explain himself. To deflect his attention she flicks her chin in the direction of the cliffs.  

Ubbe’s face is somber as he follows her gaze, allowing Eir’s disposition to settle away from his searching eyes. “Yes. I can take you,” he says, reaching out for her, fingers slipping around her waist. 

With a gasp of surprise she twists out of his grip. Never in her life has she been grabbed at so rudely. This man is clearly some boy from the country, not trained in the ways to treat a lady of her stature. 

“What are you doing?” She shrieks. 

Again Ubbe laughs at her. “Helping you on my horse. You cannot think to walk.” 

“I don’t ride horses.” Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth. She does not have to explain herself like this back home. Her hands find her hips, eyes narrowing in an attempt to show that her mind will not easily be swayed.

“It is fine if you have never ridden before. Skadi is a good girl.” Ubbe pats the snowy rump of the draft horse and the mare flicks her head in silent agreement, white mane flashing in the sun. 

Eir shakes her head, taking half a step back. 

“Come,” Ubbe goads with a wave of his hand. Eir chews her lip in apprehension. She should not trust this man but a wild sense of curiosity bubbles in her belly, pushing her forward. She is desperate to go to the top, something is calling her there. 

“Here, I will show you.” Ubbe is on the horse in one fluid twist, holding out his hand in offering when he has settled. His eyes spark with mischief. Curious, Eir takes another step towards Ubbe and his horse. She has never been one to dabble in the unknown but here she is scrambling on top of a horse she does not know with a man she has just met. Her mother would faint at the sight of her. 

Gripping onto the leather of the saddle, Eir mumbles, “this is wrong.” 

Cool breath tickles her ear. “That is what makes it fun.” He is laughing at her again but she does not get the chance to glare at him over her shoulder. He spurs the horse forward, startling Eir, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from letting out a shriek of terror. 

Ubbe is right about not wanting to walk this hillside on foot. Eir can hear the horse’s labored breathing, its first strides quick then she slows as muscles strained to push on. This is why Eir refuses to ride horses. It is not right. To abuse an animal, to force them to carry their weight just to make their lives easier, she wants nothing to do with it. 

She opens her mouth to protest. She would walk the rest of the way. 

“Here,” Ubbe says, halting the horse, his fingers on her waist nudging her down. With shaking arms she slides to the ground. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, she remembers to pat the horse’s neck in thanks, whispering promises of a treat. It will not be enough for her conscience but the sight before her pulls her away from her guilt. 

From here she can see the entire world. The fjord long and endless, Kattegat small and bustling, plumes of smoke rising from tiny houses, and up the valley, to the mountains and beyond. At the mouth of the fjord boats sailed in, tiny dots on the vast landscape. They come from all over, places Eir had never been and would probably never go. 

“I think my father means to marry me off,” Eir blurts, words tumbling out of her mouth without consent. 

Ubbe is relaxed on a large lichen covered boulder, his wolf perched on a patch of snow next to him. They share a mirrored thoughtful look but neither offer an opinion on the matter. She rolls her eyes. She should not expect so much from a kennel master. It is better this way. She does not need his opinion. She knows what she really wants. 

“I want to scream.” 

“Scream.” Ubbe’s subtle nod of permission allows Eir to open her lungs. She screams, loud and hard, until her throat hurts and her ears ring, until she feels right again. 

“Better,” she says with a heavy sigh, brushing over her skirts, straightening out the wrinkles and her temporary embarrassment. She would never see this man again. It does not matter how he views her. “You can take me back now.” 

This time Ubbe does not laugh at her, instead he helps her on his horse and silently they make their way back to the shore. 

Her mother, Sif, is there, frantically calling her name, as she paces the sandy shoreline. Ubbe's steady hands help Eir off the horse, making sure she has her feet under her before he steps away. Mirth is once again lit in his eyes as he watches Sif, rushing toward her. 

Eir wants to say something, thank him for his help or scold him for laughing at her mother’s nature but she does not get the opportunity, instead Sif’s crushing hug leaves Eir swaying on her feet. 

“I was only gone a moment,” Eir mumbles against her mother’s shoulder. 

“Don’t do that!” Sif replies, already turning back down the shore, towards town where her maids and a few king’s guards wait patiently for their queen’s return. Eir’s elbow is clenched tightly in Sif’s hand as her mother directs Eir back to the bustle of town. With one last fleeting glance over her shoulder, Eir plans to call out her thanks to Ubbe but she finds that his eyes are still full of mirth. He is laughing at her, at her mother. His mouth is alive with humor though he tries vainly to damper it with a slip of his tongue against his lips. Eir scowls, happy that she will never have to see Ubbe again. 

+++

Entire Vikings Masterlist or Wolf Like Me series masterlist

#vikings fic #ubbe #ubbe x oc #Ubbe x Eir #ubbe fic #vikings ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #vikings history #ubbe lothbrok #ubbe imagine #vikings fanfiction

[willowser]

you feel like home (you're like a dream come true)—

bakugou x reader

wc: 3k+

tags: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 359+, explicit language, angst, this is trash garbage but it's how i'm coping

Dynamight wins the For-All Selfless Service Award.

A wet, cement-like dread fills your belly at the sound of his name echoing across the atrium, thunderous and so powerful that, for a split-second, you fear it will shatter the glass ceiling.

It's like the awakening of an old God, one that wanted to be left well enough alone; summoning him is a swarm of night-black clouds, filled with ample rain to drown all those that dared disturb his slumber. Not a breath is spared as you all wait for the downfall.

Beside you, Masaru shifts, turning in his chair to peer out over the sea of well-dressed tables and shining Heroes, as if he's lost his own. It's not until Red Riot shuffles sheepishly across the lit stage, waving shyly as he accepts the golden FA Best Jeanist is cradling gently in his hands.

There's a hint of hesitation before the retired Pro relinquishes it, a small exchange that's lost to the low blooming chatter across the ballroom. Kirishima beams a signature smile as he takes it and has to lean down into the mic, like the gentle giant he is.

Almost in unison, the room heaves a collective sigh; disaster avoided.

"I know Dynamight is so honored to receive this…honor,"

It's been a long time since you've seen him.

"So on his behalf, I want to thank everyone that has supported him all these years—"

Been a long time since anyone has.

Bakugou's been out-stationed for a half-decade, maybe more, but you can still remember the tension lining his face in the flat light of the train station. In public, with his parents and friends and their ready goodbyes.

All he'd given you was an insincere glare, half a hug, and a gritted demand to call him later, once he'd arrived at his new agency. It seemed a silly request; he's always been terrible about voicing how he feels, maybe a little smoother on the phone and out of sight, but just as stilted and unsure as ever.

On the high definition screens above the stage, photos of him shuffle, too reminiscent of a memorial to settle your upset. Stills from recorded footage of his takedowns and captures, of his rescues. The same ID picture on his Hero profile, from when he was 22, and his graduation photo. A smile haunts your face; he's never been one for cameras.

Masaru settles back into his seat, straightens his tie and shrugs at the team, who are all watching him with crest-fallen faces. You try to stay neutral, avoiding all their gazes as you fiddle with an eloquently folded napkin on the table.

Like a child, some giddy part of you hoped to see him take the stage, accept the award in all his glory. Unashamed and confident as ever, not so disheartened by his loss, because that's always been Bakugou.

But a small part of you is relieved; he's not a stage monkey and it wouldn't be Bakugou either, to give a rehearsed speech of false thanks. Blowing it off, a fuck you to what remains of the Comission—that's more like it. You want to believe it means some things haven't changed.

The show plays on without another hitch, something that bothers you, and when your coworker leans in to whisper a harmless "I wonder where he's at", you are up and abandoning the table, set on a mission of unknown expectation. The wants in your body are all coalescing into one another—to find him, to never see him again, to come clean about how you feel, whatever that may be—becoming a resounding overlap of voices that set you to autopilot.

You heard his voice last nearly six months ago, when Masaru called his number on speakerphone so the team could sing him a happy birthday. It was met with ill-tempered complaint, irritated at his father blowin' up my phone for nothin', but Masaru was smiley as ever, unaffected.

How jealous you were; if only the tone of his voice could mean so little to you.

It's something you remembered often in the middle of the night, when you would turn to the empty space of your bed and recall how pliable he was, whenever he worked up the courage to stay with you. Bakugou would let you kiss his cheeks or poke at his stomach or hold his hand—little affections he was too resistant to in the daytime. He would always claim to be half-asleep and unaware, but you'll never forget the red gleam of his eyes as he watched you through his long, dark lashes.

When you come into the open lobby of the hotel, you find it astonishing to see his solid figure at the bar-top, suit jacket haphazardly draped over the chair he's in; it's rare that he drinks, only on few occasions with Masaru and the requisite glass of champagne at events such as these—though he doesn't attend many. After everything that's happened, all that's been said in his wake, to see him now is—

Not Godly. Just a man.

You sit to his left, without a word. Maybe if you were a better person, you could say that it was for his benefit, that you're offering the space for him to reveal himself at his own choice—and while those things aren't untrue, the matter of the fact is that you don't think you're ready to see it just yet.

There's only a half-empty glass of water in front of him, and he's drawing lazy, mindless doodles into the frost with his left hand. His right arm is still entirely bandaged, wrapped up in a sling he's keeping close to his chest.

If he recognizes you at all when you sit down, he acknowledges nothing, minutely raising a shoulder as if to curl further into himself. The bartender takes your request for a glass of water, too, and at the sound of your timid voice, Bakugou stills completely.

For a long time, you've thought about this moment. What you would say upon seeing him again. There's a script somewhere in the ridges of your mind that's been perfected, one you've poured over and over again on sleepless nights, when you felt alone and angry and hated him.

The last full conversation the two of you had was set up similarly; chock-full of tension, trying to hide from the obvious as it made space between you. How unfair it felt, to be mad over something that hadn't gotten the chance to blossom just yet.

No point in tryin'. Gonna be gone for, shit, I don't know. Should just find someone else.

You felt ashamed for loving him so badly. For wanting him more than anything and being unwilling to voice it.

All you care to say now is, "It's so good to see you again."

It directs him to you immediately, though when you dare to look up, he turns, ducking his chin on his right side. The very notion of it makes you sick; not the wreckage itself, but what it's done to him, how it must make him feel if he can't even look at you.

To be so afraid of it initially wells a guilt the size of his tight fist in your chest. How selfish. How vain.

Bakugou tries to speak, but has to clear his throat once. "You—got some weird thing with my dad, or what?"

You let out a sudden spark of laughter, bewildered at the question. You make a face, considering, and take a sip of water. "I mean, he is pretty handsome."

"You're disgusting."

A balloon of relief airs in your lungs as you laugh again; some things never change. From the corner of his eye, the sound draws his attention again, gaze jumping from your face to your dress and back to the safety of his glass.

"No," you tell him, "I'm on his team designing costumes, and stuff."

A wave of embarrassment washes over you that he didn't even know about your career. With as much time as your work squad spends with the Bakugou family, you would think that you would have been mentioned, at least once.

In fact, you're certain it must have been brought up; Masaru cares too much. Buys you special edition mugs on your birthday and brings coffee for everyone on those early mornings, is the last to leave some days. On the news that morning, when they'd broadcasted the battle—Dynamight's Downfall?—you were the first person he'd looked at before rushing off to find his wife.

Either Bakugou never wanted to hear about it, you, or he's just scrounging for conversation.

Silence settles as you ponder. When you come back to the here and now, you take in what you can of him; the smooth plane that he allows you of his face, the few faint scars that have appeared in the time since you last were together; his hair is a little shorter now, albeit just as ashen and wild, not tamed in the slightest; the top two open buttons of his shirt, and the tie that barely hangs around his neck. You're surprised he even put it on.

It dawns on you how much he must have changed over the years, even before all this. How much you've missed. Traitorous tears sting the backs of your eyes and you have to sniff to keep a handle on your composure, and not a second of it goes unnoticed by Bakugou; you become aware of the anxious jerk of his leg as he bounces it, how he shifts and curls and clears his throat.

Begrudgingly, he murmurs, "'m not takin' that damn award."

You hum with assent, leaning forward to cross your arms on the bar, prop your chin in your palm. "I don't blame you, it's like," you shake your head, thinking, "'Thank you for your service. Sorry you almost died.'"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he takes a drink of water. "For fucking real."

You'd said it carelessly as a joke to ease the tension, settle the nerves bubbling in your stomach, but now that the words are out, the mention has you feeling ill again.

It's all anyone has been talking about for days: Bakugou’s damage, how much he must have suffered, how he'll never be the same again. To hear it, and then to speak of the calamity to the man himself—it adds weight, that slow-drying cement.

Selfishly, you think of him before, when you were both young and standing at the precipice of something neither of you knew how to handle. If you'd known what you know now, you wouldn't have let him walk away. You wouldn't have agreed quietly, broke your own heart because you were afraid.

Another wave of emotions swallows you, and no matter how fast you blink or how far back you tilt your head, the tears rise and fall.

If you speak any louder than a whisper, you'll crack. "I was with your dad that day, we all were, because he always leaves the news on, you know? Keeps it—keeps it muted in the workshop, and when he—when the volume went up and we all looked and—" you frown, hard and dissolving, and hate how it must make you look. "And all I could think about was all the things I never said to you that I—"

In a flash, Bakugou shoves away from the bar, grabbing his jacket as he rounds the chair and mutters, "I can't listen to this right now."

You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hold back the sob that threatens to ruin you, but the fissures run deep, echo down to your bones.

Some things never change; he's always had one foot out the door with you, ready to run at the first sign of that all-encompassing feeling he didn't know how to escape. On the rare nights he allowed himself to spend with you—even then he wore a deep frown, tucked his face into the crook of your neck as if he wanted to stay buried there. Held you tightly, enough to leave little reminders long after he was gone.

The first time he'd kissed you, he shouldn't have and you both knew that. After graduation, waning in the shadow of his looming departure. The shitty studio apartment you rented, that cost more than it was worth; Kirishima and Bakugou agreed to help move what few things you had at the dorms, what was left over at your parent's house. It wasn't much, but the process went much smoother with the two of them.

You'd spent most of the summer together, by chance, and all of your efforts went into diverting the feelings that threatened to grow under your surface. Most everyone that you knew was quick to issue a warning: Bakugou wasn't interested. In all the time they'd known him in school, very little of his attention went to girls and dating, and setting your sights on him was a doomed task.

At that point, you'd refused to acknowledge that's what you'd done; Bakugou made sure everyone got home safely and not just you; he got lunch with Kiri and Mina just as often as you two did; he didn't look at you in the dark any special way, so close on the couch as a movie danced on the TV screen.

It must have been an accident—that's what you tried to tell yourself for a long time.

After the boxes were moved in and Kirishima was gone, he stood in your tiny kitchen and claimed to hate it. Opened the cabinets and poked at your oven and tested the temperature of your freezer, looked through the narrow window that offered a view of—nothing: the back of a small pharmacy.

You asked him what was wrong and his face twisted up, like he was going to be sick or cry and then he grabbed you. Hands trembling against your face and tangling in your hair, lips clumsy and harsh, furious like always. Like it was his last chance.

Half a decade later, more than, and you still swell at the thought of him.

You wipe a hand under your eyes gingerly, wary of your airbrushed makeup, before sliding off the chair. The rest of the team has probably conjured up all manner of conspiracies as to where you are, and perhaps you should tell Masaru of his son's state.

When you turn to retreat, however, Bakugou is standing there. Not ten feet from you, like he meant to run before thinking better of it. Fully open. Bare.

Human.

The right half of his face is still tender, shiny and raw, and his eye is ringed in red. It's jarring; Bakugou has always been a pretty boy, despite his animosity towards the label, and the tabloids stay littered with mentions of him and his dangerously good looks.

There's been nothing but speculation about how he's come out and you'd been admittedly nervous, because you were afraid to find that you were more vain than you'd ever known, unable to look upon what remains of the boy you knew.

But to see it so blatant; the untouched side of his face in comparison to what's been war-torn.

All you can think is—

"I'm so glad you're still here."

You don't miss the shine that waters his left eye or how hard he swallows, averting his gaze even further. When you step up to him, he doesn't resist you, only lets out a breath you feel as you run your hands across the marble of his chest.

Despite everything, you waver with a watery laugh that captures him again, because you mean it. All the years and anger and hope and terror and silence and waiting—it holds no candle to him, here and alive and looking at you as he did in your kitchen that day.

Carefully as you can, you wind yourself up in him, around his sling and neck and pressed as close as you can be, and it's not until you nose against his throat that he wraps his arm around you. Tight, like it might be his last chance.

"You," he murmurs, and you can feel how hard he's clenching his jaw from the way it digs into your cheek. "And the shit you didn't say?" Bakugou breathes in sharply, unaware of how deep his fingers dig into the skin your dress exposes. "All I could think about is what I did say, how fuckin' stupid—"

I'm leavin', so don't—I can't—just, don't expect anything from me.

All the long nights and dropped calls and heartbreak and distance—it holds no candle to him, here and alive and looking down at you through his dark, wet lashes.

You slip up onto your toes and kiss him as you've wanted to for years, as you were too afraid to; fingers gentle against his cheek, thumbing the edge of his jaw, passing all that you've kept from him through slow and purposeful lips.

It takes him off guard, which you expected, but only a moment passes before he's gripping you with intent, melding into you as his trembling hand goes to your neck. You can't help the smile you curl into, one he feels, and Bakugou huffs, annoyed, before slanting his head, parting your lips with his own as he dissolves.

It's foreign now, to what it was years ago. Unhurried, no longer afraid, giving instead of taking all that he could hold in both hands. Half a decade later, maybe more, and you swell at the promise of him, the thud of his still-beating heart as it echoes in your chest.

And then there's a loud roar of applause from down in the award show room and you freeze, suddenly put back into place as the sound of glasses clinking and heels on the tile and murmured conversation surrounds you.

"Sorry," you gasp, trying—and failing—to pull away as his hold tightens. Insistent, like it will never slacken again. "We're in public."

"Don't care," Bakugou rasps, gently butting his forehead against your own as he sighs, great and lax and slow. Just before he goes to kiss you again, he says, "'m just glad I'm still here."

#JUST TO BE SAFE i'm adding #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou angst #bnha x reader #it's been so long since i've posted an actual Thing (TM) that i don't remember how to tag anything LOL #anyway do not perceive me #i just miss him LOL #i wrote half of this in the middle of the night and the other half in the morning and i feel like there is a disconnect and you can tell bu #but oh well #uh i think that's it #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

[abyssmarked]

[ INVITE ] : sender asks receiver into a private room with nobody else present.

a lot has happened since nepharia's first meeting with lord gortash himself -- she would have rathered to take her time, maybe play a longer game of getting closer to him and gaining his trust. but unfortunately, orin the red forced nepharia's need to rush along the process. she kidnapped lae'zel, and as much as the two of them bickered, neph knows for a fact that lae'zel would do everything in her power to rescue her if the roles were reversed. and nepharia wants to say it's because she's growing a stronger backbone after facing everything she's faced thus far, but alas, the bigger motivation to facing orin is acquiring her stone. in the fiend's mind, orin would be much more difficult to find, let alone face, than gortash. gortash is another powerful man, after all. and most powerful men are all weak to their most basic desires. and perhaps, after she absorbs every ounce of his life - force for herself, she'll be more than strong enough for the blood bath to surely come.

nepharia doesn't come to him in armor this time, but a nice, black gown that hugs her petite figure with the neckline that almost dips down to her navel. she even added golden jewelry to hang from the horns curled at either side of her head, and strappy, golden shoes that tie ribbons up her pale calves. being a succubus, she already exudes a natural pheromone, but the magic offered by her patron lets her enhance her charms.

she's confident, but she doesn't want to let her guard down. she needs everything to seem natural, and since she arrived, she's been holding meaningful conversation. she's been feeding into his ego, but not so much that it seems forced or fake. she's really good at feigning interest : a lot of maintaining intense eye contact, little touches here and there, the wrist, the shoulder.

once he's finished giving her a tour of some of the grounds, they find themselves alone in his office. the air is a bit thicker here, as her anxiety briefly heightens. being alone with him feels dangerous, not having the people who have been near her throughout this entire journey around her feels... wrong. gods, this entire situation has made her too dependent on others, and that feels like weakness. she turns her back to him, sauntering slowly around his office as she glances around at all of the surroundings. she's finding things that might be useful in case everything goes sideways, ' i would kill for a place like this, ' she tells him, flashing a fanged smirk at him from over a freckled shoulder, knowing all too well herself how true of a statement that is.

' there's something about you, lord gortash, ' there's a pause as she turns to face him, letting her clawed fingertips strategically fiddle with the fabric of her dress, opening the neckline a bit further to expose more of the soft flesh around her breasts, only slightly as she slowly approaches, ' it's more than the riches, and the glory, ' another pause, her voice is smooth and sultry as icy orbs lock onto his, charm spell in full effect, ' it's the respect. ' she emphasizes the word, as if it alone is what has her so worked up, and she steps directly before him. she has to look up at him, though she tries her best to feel larger mentally. ' people revere you. some even fear you. it's quite... ' as she finds her words, she lets her eyes darken with desire as pale hues slowly look him up and down, as if drinking him in. some of her reactions are genuine. she can feel her body reacting to the excitement of potential sustenance, and his faint arousal smells delicious already. she can feel her mouth begin to moisten, ' ... intoxicating. ' @lordgortrash

#lordgortrash #answered. #i’m excited about this :D

[annarellix]

The Blades of Bronze blog tour: Argo & Jason by Mark Knowles

The Blades of Bronze series is a retelling of Jason and The Argonauts myth, one of the most complex and rich of paranormal/mystical aspects of the ancient mythology. As most of the well-known mythological saga we have to consider that a lot of aspects cannot be easy on our modern sensitivity: there’s a lot of violence, no problems in killing tons of people to become king, the role of the women who were relegated to play second fiddle unless they’re one of the great and tragic heroines. I was always fascinated by this saga even if, to be honest, my favourite character was always Medea, a strong and complex heroine. As Greek and Roman mythology features strongly in my school curriculum it’s always a bit hard to avoid comparison between the retelling and the force of the original myth. Mr Knowles did a good job as he stripped the novels of most of the mythological aspects and turned them in fascinating and entertaining books. He describes the environment and the setting as it should have been more than 3 thousand years ago as we are talking about 1300 BC Argo is the beginning, the origin of the Argonauts, the explanations of why Jason had to go on a quest to find the Golden Fleece and they succeeded. It’s a compelling story and we discover the background and the characters. They are fleshed out and realistic, mythical characters tha become people. Jason is what happens after you are successful in a quest and it was a great read as I loved the follow the Argonauts in the return travel, their adventures, and the very interesting characters they met. Mark Knowles approach to this second novel makes again mythological characters real, people in flesh. He knows what he’s writing about, and he knows how to tell a captivating story. His background enables him to turn a mythological myth into a fascinating and exciting adventure. I recommend this series as it bring to out attention a new chapter in the fascinating world of Ancient Greek myths.

Many thanks to Aries for a digital copy of these books, all opinions are mine

Order/Pre-Order Links: Argo: https://amzn.to/3Ltsqx8 Jason: https://amzn.to/3PvpuTV

Argo: He has come to take what is yours...

Iolkos, Thessaly. 1230 BC. King Pelias has grown paranoid, tormented by his murderous past and a prophecy of the man who will one day destroy him. When a stranger arrives to compete in the Games of Poseidon, Pelias is horrified, for this young man should never have grown to manhood. He is Jason, Pelias' nephew, who survived his uncle's assassins as a child. Now Jason wants his revenge – and the kingdom. But Pelias is cunning as well as powerful. He gives his foe an impossible challenge: to claim the throne, Jason must first steal the fabled Golden Fleece of Colchis. Jason assembles a band of Greece's finest warriors. They are the Argonauts, named for their trusty ship. But even with these mighty allies, Jason will have to overcome the brutal challenges hurled his way. His mission and many lives depend on his wits – and his sword.

Jason They may have won the prize, but will any of them make it home alive?

Jason has fulfilled the mission set him by his uncle, the scheming King Pelias of Iolkos: he and the Argonauts have won the fabled Golden Fleece of Colchis. Jason dreams of glory – of taking his uncle's throne, rightfully his – and, like his warrior shipmates, of home. But it is not only Pelias who wishes Jason ill. Before the Argonauts can make it back to Iolkos, they must contend with a legion of foes who would see them dead – and a web of allies who are not quite what they seem. Jason and his warriors must outwit the recondite Circe and the spies of mighty Troy, overcome hostile tribes beyond the Danube, and sail the troubled waters of the Archipelagos, where the Sirens wait to snare unwary seafarers. Yet Jason's perils are only beginning, for he will soon discover that a truer evil lies closer to home...

The Author: Mark Knowles took degrees in Classics and Management Studies at Downing College, Cambridge. After a decade working as a frontline of cer and supervisor within the Metropolitan Police Service, he became Head of Classics at a school in Harrogate. 

He is a particular fan of experimental archaeology and rowed on the reconstructed ancient Athenian trireme Olympias during its last sea trials in Greece in 1994.

Follow Mark on Twitter: @mark77knowles Website: https://www.markknowles.info/

#historical fiction #The Blades of Bronze #mythology #the argonauts #aries fiction #head of zeus #netgalley #review

[magnusrosen-blog]

Blog 7

"The Tree Of Life Tour" together with Green Cross blogs for Sweden Rock Magazine.

Breakfast at the hotel started a very eventful day. Teacher Ivo came and picked us up this morning / forenoon at 10.00. A very hot day like any other day, but it felt a little extra hot this day. But it worked fine despite a few beads of sweat on my forehead😅. The temperature is between 35-42 degrees C so far. This day we went out to their state university “ Institute Federal pernambuco/ Campus Afogados da Ingazeira ” which was surprisingly impressive. A very fresh school with many fine laboratories from 3d printers, chemistry, electronics, high-level computer courses, food handling, psychology support, etc. The school has 40% solar energy, which is very good. The students make new discoveries that can be used in the world outside the school. The whole feeling was very lovely and inspiring.

Me and Bengt did both information plus some bass playing for the students in the afternoon and a little more lyre in the evening. The appreciation and curiosity was very great, I must say. Between these performances, we also planted some trees symbolically both at the university but also out in the countryside. Yes, they had most certainly never had this combination of Rocker and Social Entrepreneur.

After the last performance, as the crowning glory, we received an invitation to next year's city festival next year, which we accepted on our feet.

Along the way, opportunities arise and problem solutions, changes and new parts of our program are added. Ivo has been added on part of the trip and other collaboration partners have dropped out due to various reasons. This is precisely what makes it an adventure. You live life to the fullest where security is your own inner compass and good travel companions with a focus on what will be best for our mission.

I'm certainly not better than anyone else for doing stuff like this, but it fits my person like a glove. With passion, the days are filled so meaningfully at the same time with the music that is my greatest interest, which comes with hanging on my back in a gig bag. The instrument also functions as a megaphone, as I mentioned before, where the spell-binding forces of culture create attention and illumination of our mission.

Bengt, who has been on this adventure for more than 30 years, has all the experience needed to make a difference. Hats off to him and his associates in Brazil 🇧🇷 🎩

The next day!

Now we are at the bus station (lunchtime) the next day waiting for a bus that will take us to Recife, about a 6-hour journey, then it will be a change to a flight of almost 4 hours that will take us to Manaus. This city is located in the middle of the Rainforests northwest from Recife inland and up the country. We will arrive in the middle of the night around 01:30. So it will be an evening flight.

Brazil is so big and the trips take a long time. But it is also a relaxation as I see it. There is good air-conditioning in the bus and although it is now no more than 1:47 p.m., I feel a little sleepy. Bengt and Ivo fiddle a bit with the phone while the other has his eyelids closed, which I will also do now 🥱

I believe human rights is Peace. if you cant find a peace solution then its wrong people round the table!!! Thats what i believe!!!

Make the world a better place 🌍 Love Peace Understanding Questions give knowledge Free Speech is given a Free World

Magnus

For those interested in the following, Sweden Rock Magazine's page is: https://www.facebook.comswedenrockmagazine Green-Cross www.green-cross.se

Magnus Rosen - Ambassador for Green Cross www.magnusrosen.com

[reilliane]

✤ — Universe: Tyranny ✤ — Concept: To be the darling Yaksha of the Queen. Oh, how repulsive. ✤ — Characters: Alatus, Bennett

A/N: We pretend it's still April-

Training Grounds, One Night After the Queen's Coronation

“Isn't it your birthday? I've brought you a gift...”

Chartreuse eyes narrow in wariness at the arrival of the newly crowned Queen, who, as always, did not attend the masses despite the night being one of the many traditional festivities in the Kingdom.

No one is present but the two of them, the lot having gone to the cathedral to revere their deity. And maybe pray for mercy now that their sovereign is... that woman...

Discerning the skepticism, she simpers, “Aha, no, you needn't compensate at all. Can't I give a present?”

Certainly not after taking the Crown by force yesterday and massacring the royal family, thinks the Yaksha in contempt. Still, he's in no actual position to spurn the so-called present, so he follows after her.

They needn't go far, actually, their destination ended up being the armory.

The Queen leads him to the very back where they come upon a gilded cabinet in crimson. A fleeting glance is all that she gives before beginning to fiddle with the locks.

Alatus averts his eyes elsewhere, headspace wandering off to yesterday's events. The bloodstained marble... the unmoving bodies... the bloodstained crown...

All of a sudden, the sword on his hip grows heavy and he swallows. I can end her life right here and no one would be indignant.

He reaches for the hilt.

Creak

“Well?”

What's shown within the cabinet pauses his actions, fingers flinching in genuine surprise.

This is... he's a loss for words.

Despite it being dark, he can see it In all its jade glory, scintillating in rich emerald as if it has a light of its own.

“The Winged Spear of Primordial Jade, how do you like it?”

A legendary weapon that's said to have been only used once in a war that's lost to known records and history. It has been enchanted by the clergy for the purpose of reversing evil through bloodshed.

“Of course, this weapon can't just be bequeathed unto someone, for its enchantment only works when held by its chosen wielder,” she proceeds to take it off the cup hooks and hand it to the speechless man's hands.

He's brimmed with suspicion at the information—information he already knows, actually. How was she able to get her hands on this?

“What's with that expression? I thought you'd like it...” the Queen lets out a long sigh, “After all, it rightfully belongs to you. Being the last known descendant of the person who wielded it.”

Alatus tenses. How—

“Did you not enter an allegiance with the noble house Lapis to reclaim the sacred weapon of your forebear?”

He did. Perhaps he just expected the Justiciar to be the one to give him the polearm-... and not the Queen.

“It's truly touching to see someone honor their beloved family, no?”

Still, it is befuddling- just how much does this woman know about him? It is eerie and unsettling.

The polearm glints with a timid glow that's unnoticed by the two.

Alatus once more reaches for his sword with his other hand, eyes fixated on the Queen's profile as he scoffs, “Yes, family. It's something her Majesty wouldn't understand.”

The noble in question flinches—an unexpected reaction, honestly, but what catches the Yaksha off-guard is the sudden sight of grey haze blanketing the atmosphere and the faint... echo of a desperate cry?

Where is it coming from?

The haze appears suffocating. Like a cage.

He has little time to do anything, for in that window of surprise, the Queen is seizing him by the neck with a growl. So sudden, so out of character, so frenzied-

“You—” he sees a pair of gold circles pore against him in the darkness.

“Your Majesty! Sir! Are you here- oh!”

The sudden call proceeds in unison with the clatter of the polearm to the floor and the quick backsteps of the two individuals.

Bennett remains oblivious to all that's come down in the armory before his arrival as he smiles, “I've completed my prayers, so, I can take the post for now!”

Alatus takes a moment to nod at what he's heard, his fingers reaching to touch his neck. When he observes his surroundings again, the haze he's seen a minute before is gone.

The Queen clears her throat with an indifferent tone, far different from the one prior to the squire's arrival.

“Then, have a nice night fulfilling these... traditions.”

Of course, someone like her doesn't have any interest in taking part in the tradition.

Alatus sees the retreating footsteps in his peripheral as he picks up the Primordial Jade with a frown, eyes focused on the odd monster human in front of him. Unsettling, how unsettling.

He feels put off around her.

When he's yet to move out to head to the cathedral, he hears another simper. Far sinister and... amused.

The armory bears no windows, with the only light available coming from the open door. One that streams in an inadequate ray of moonlight.

So when he hears the faintest sound of approaching steps, he can only squint his eyes to try and figure out his distance from the noble lady.

“Dear Alatus, you still seem malcontent even with such a gift from me, oh how crestfallen I am.”

A finger taps his lips and he recoils. When his sight adjusts to the darkness, he goes still.

“Well, if you so wish to have another gift then...” another giggle, suggestive yet oddly foreboding, “You can come to my chambers on the eve of midnight.”

What-

It takes him a hot minute to register the implication behind those words, far too focused on seeing what he previously thought was gold.

“Absolutely not!” he bursts, backpedaling to the laughter.

The Queen strides past him, exiting the atmosphere and bathing under the moonlight where her diverted expression is finally visible.

“My, your face is rather pink,” she all but sighs in satisfaction, “I do wonder what you were thinking of, dear Yaksha.”

The last thing Alatus sees before he's left alone in the training grounds is the faint glow of the Queen's [c] irises.

a/n: how awful it was for xiao bb to celebrate his birthday just after the family he's meant to protect was erased. oh but he's mc's 'darling' for a reason, she came to gift him the spear! this was also another perfect opportunity to slide in some personal lore of him in tyranny~

and hm, what's this, mc is a little strange aha- was she just triggered?

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @koi-chairowo @one-offmind @01-407 @midnightraindropme @yvechu @alana5021 @coco-goat-milk @lunavixia @emperatris-rinaka @artificial-heartache @mininji @living-my-best-life5 @yasunamilk

#m-tyranny #xiao x reader #alatus x reader #xiao fluff #alatus fluff #reader insert #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #female reader

[popquizhot-shot]

WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE-3

Here’s Part 3!

I love each and every comment I’ve been getting and those comments are a big reason I was motivated to write this.

Not fully proof-read. Might have mistakes.

Tagging: @kurogue-nine  @kales-g​ 

Hope you like it! Please comment if you do!❤

“ Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?” Jesper asked his friend, who was currently in a flowy dress with light makeup on her face, courtesy of Nina.

“ I don’t think I have a choice Jes. and yes, I do want to come.” she nodded,  “Jes can you help me with this, this corset is making it hard to bend down.” she gestured to the heels she would have to wear.

Chuckling, Jesper nodded and she sat down, pulling her dress up a little  to expose her feet.

“ You need a pedicure darling.” Jesper noted.

“ Yes I know Jesper, please help me.” Y/n groaned.

Jesper bent down and held the heel in one hand, sliding her foot in with the other, caressing it gently.

Suddenly the door opened and there was Kaz in all his glory.

“ Jesper, What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes glinting.Yes Jesper, what the hell are you doing?

“ He’s helping me put my heels on.” Y/n explained.

Oh thank Ghezen, “Okay, make it quick and stop giving each other heart eyes.” he turned around and slammed the door shut, making the pair inside flinch.

“ Heart-eyes? What is he talking about?” Y/n asked Jesper.

“ I have no idea love, I think Dirtyhands might be jealous.” Jesper grinned.

“ Him? Jealous? Of course not. Why would he be jealous? He has Inej.” she scoffed.

“ He does? No, Inej is his best friend. I thought he liked you.” Jesper said, confused.

“ What? He likes me? No way.” she shook her head and got up, adjusting her dress and grabbing the pair of white elbow gloves.

“ Time to go Jes.” she linked arms with him and left the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kaz was waiting impatiently for Y/n and Jesper to arrive. Each passing minute was like torture to him, he kept tapping his foot and fiddling with his gloves. He’d have to leave his cane behind, it was just too recognizable.

“ Kaz, calm down, Jesper loves Wylan, I don’t know why you’re so paranoid.” Inej tried to calm him down, knowing why he was antsy.

He liked Y/n.

He knew he acted like a jerk to her almost every time she was in the same room as him, but he wanted to push her away, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable heartbreak he would experience when she rejected him.

He heard her heels clicking down the stairs and her voice, laughing about something with Jesper.

He stood up and went to the end of the staircase, and when he looked at her, he thanked the saint’s Nina wasn’t in the room.

Otherwise, she would have sensed the way his heart skipped a beat and how his breath hitched.

Because Y/n looked angelic.

Her dress, her hair, the gloves, Y/n herself.

He barely had any time to shield his surprise, but Jesper saw it, and he grinned.

“ Took you long enough, Nina and Matthias are waiting for us at the café across the street, let’s go.” I really need to work on my communication skills  .

“ You look amazing Y/n.” Inej smiled.

“ Thanks Inej.” Y/n replied.

“ Today people!” Kaz called them over.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Y/n bunched up her skirt and walked out into the damp Ketterdam weather, Jesper and Inej on both sides of her and Kaz limping in front of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ What’s my name?” Kaz asked Y/n.

“ Uhh Kaz Brekker?”

“ No, my alias.” Kaz said.

“ Oh! Uh, Achaius Moore, owner of most of the sugar silo’s on the other side od town.” Y/n replied

“ Yours alias?”  Kaz asked her again.

“ Sylvia Moore, wife of Achaius Moore, recently married with no children.”

“ Good.”

“ Kaz, what if they ask us how we met?” Y/n asked him.

“ Improv. You’re creative aren’t you?”

 “ Kaz, we can’t just impro-”

“ We’re here, stop talking and do as I say.” He interrupts and stops walking.

The group circle around him as he speaks, recapping the plan, “Jesper, Nina, using the back entrance and posing as servants of the merch’s wife will enter the mansion and use the shortcut to the second floor, where the painting will be. Wylan, will be taking the merch’s society key, which the council has gifted him. Inej is on lookout, and Matthias is currently waiting to see my invitation at the entrance of the mansion. Let’s go.”

“ No Mourners” Jesper wished.

“ No Funerals.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ready?” Kaz asked.

“ Yes, Kaz are you sure? We don’t have to hold hands, I know you don’t appreciate human contact.” 

I love you “ Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go now” he raised his arm a little and Y/n hooked her hand through it, her heart beating rapidly.

She heard Kaz compose himself and they walked to the entrance.

“ Invitation?” Matthias posing as a guard, asked Kaz.

Kaz handed him a fake invitation and stared at him. Matthias pretended to examine it before nodding and letting them go in.

Y/n’s heels clicked on the marble floor as they walked to the ballroom, trying not to stare at Kaz.

As they entered the ballroom, Kaz and Y/n looked at each other before quickly looking away, Kaz’s cheeks were a deep shade of red.

  “Mr. Achaius Moore and Mrs. Sylvia Moore.” Kaz informed the announcer who announced their arrival.

“ Mr. Moore!  A pleasure to have you! We’re so glad you decided to cut the honeymoon short and attend!” a fat but jolly merch made his way to the pair and patted Kaz’s shoulder.

Kaz gulped before plastering a grin on his face and thanking him, “Oh thank you, Drekov. It’s a pleasure to be here. Sylvia and I were positively thrilled when we received the invitation.” he took the opportunity to place a lighting-quick kiss on Y/n’s head that almost made her faint in surprise.

Y/n smiled and shook Drekov’s hand, “Thank you so much for inviting us, Mr Speight.”

“ Drekov please.” he smiled.

Another woman who seemed to be Drekov’s wife, came over, a smile on her face and greeted the both of them.

“Please, do walk with us in the gardens.” she urged them.

Nodding, they headed to the garden.

“ So? How did you too meet?” she asked them, a sly smirk on her face.

Kaz,, damn you and your improv, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.” Y/n giggled.

“ Oh please, we have all the time in the world!” she went on.

Y/n looked at Kaz, seemingly blushing, but he could see the panic on her eyes.

“ Well, we actually met when I was meeting her father on business. Her father, who I must say is a very good man, took me for a tour of their mansion and there she was, my Sylvia, she was having her portrait painted and for the life of her, she could not stand still and kept laughing her beautiful laugh every time she stumbled.” Kaz squeezed her waist and smiled.

It was taking everything in Y/n not to burst out in tears, why did this have to be fake, why? why did she have to suffer?

“ Yes!” she agreed, “ our eyes met and we knew it was love.” 

“ Oh! How beautiful!” the merch’s wife exclaimed, “ That is so precious! I have to be off now, but please enjoy yourself!”

After she left, both of them breathed a sigh of relief and let go of each other.

“ You okay?” Y/n asked him.

Am I okay? I have to pretend my heart isn’t breaking every time I realize you don’t really love me, no I am not okay. “ I’m fine, you?” 

“ I’m good. Jesper and Nina are probably out with the painting. Wylan is the one we need to look out for.” 

They looked up and saw Inej, whose grin was hidden by her scarf.

Kaz nodded and Inej disappeared into the shadows.

“ So, what’s going on between you and Inej?” you hesitanty asked him.

You seriously thought I was dating Inej? Are you daft?, “ There’s nothing going on between us.” he replied.

“ Half the barrel begs to differ.” Y/n said.

“ You trust the Barrel more than it’s Bastard?” Kaz raised an eyebrow.

“ Sometimes.” she shrugged.

“ Well, no I am not. I’m not dating her and I’m not in love with her. She’s merely a companion.” I’m in love with you,not Inej.

“ Well that’s news to me.” 

“ We should go back to pretending to be married again, Drekov is going to be suspicious.”

“ Yeah. I wish it wasn’t so hard.” Y/n mumbled.

“ Why?” Kaz blurted out.

Y/n’s eyes widened, “ You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“ Why is it hard?” Kaz asked her, his eyes staring into the depths of her soul.

“ It’s hard okay.” Okay Y/n now or never, “It’s hard because I know you’ll never love me. Not the way I love you.”

Kaz froze. You love me too?

Y/n continued, “It’s taking everything in me not to cry because I have to pretend you love me and-and I know it’s fake and it hurts.”

She wasn’t looking at him, she couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to see the disgust on his face.

It was because she didn’t look at him that she didn’t see him slip his right glove off.

He stepped closer and took her face in his hand and pecked her forehead, caressing her cheek.

“ I love you too.”

And when they looked into each other’s eyes, they knew.

This was love.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker angst #kaz x y/n #kaz brekker #six of crows x reader #Echo actually writes #kaz brekker imagines

[starrconch]

READER BRAIDING S/O'S HAIR

★ Includes: Diluc, Zhongli, GN reader, fluff

★ Word Count: 1382

★ Master List

DILUC

★ It took you a while to work up the courage to ask him if you could help assist tie his hair in the mornings. He was very fond of his crimson locks and yet he never really took care of them.

★ His hair would become knotted and tangled throughout his day from the wind blowing and during his fierce battles as the Darknight Hero, only to be sorted a few days later.

★ It made you mad how he wouldn’t take care of his gorgeous hair, and so, you would just have to step up to the task instead.

Occasionally Diluc would wake up before you when he had a lot of work to do, leaving you behind after quickly snuggling into your warmth and pressing a kiss to your forehead. But not today. Your partner awoke to an empty bed with the aroma of breakfast rising from downstairs.

When you heard his footsteps approaching, you called out, “Diluc! Come and get something to eat before you head out!”

He arrived to see you focusing on not burning or bursting the Teyvat Fried Eggs you were preparing for the both of you. Softly smiling and burying his face into your neck, wrapping his hands around your waist. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m afraid I can’t join you for too long as I have matters to attend to.”

You frowned, serving the eggs onto plates. “Is it more Darknight business?” Your voice was a little more stern than intended.

Diluc raised a brow, pulling away from you. “It is. Is that a problem?” It was less of a question and more of a challenge. He’d told you before what his side hobby meant to him. He needed to protect Mondstadt where the Knights of Favonious couldn’t.

“Oh!” You realised what your words implied, a little stunned. “No, no. I don’t mind you doing that, but...” The rest of your sentence couldn’t process into words, embarrassment settling into what felt like its permanent residence. He would never agree to it. Never would he let you braid his hair and you knew it.

“But what?” You two sat down together at the dining table with your food, though neither of you started eating.

“But your hair,” you whispered. “It always gets so messy when you fight.” Why were you saying this? Archons help you now you were too far in to turn back now.

Diluc’s expression softened and he chuckled. “That can’t be helped, but it’s easily fixable.”

“Could I maybe braid it so it doesn’t get tangled in the first place? When all the strands are wrapped together neatly it won’t get knotted and in your way as much.” You played with your egg with a fork instead of meeting his gaze. He was sure to deny you, right?

“I-“ You looked up to see your partner a little shocked, pink dusting his cheeks. “If it’s for practical purposes, I don’t see why not.”

★ The smile that appeared on your lips made Diluc’s chest tighten with happiness. He’d be late for his mission that morning, but the cheerful hums he heard coming from you as you plaited were worthwhile.

★ You didn’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple braid in his ponytail that you were certain would stay in place all day.

★ Once you were done and you’d both finished your breakfast, Diluc checked his new braid in a mirror hung in the entrance of the Dawn Winery.

“It’s wonderful, my love. Thank you.” He pulled you in for a gentle kiss on the lips before he set off the complete his Darknight duties.

★ Now, every morning before he set off, Diluc would have you plait his hair so it wouldn’t get tangled.

★ It wasn’t always necessary as some days he would only tend to matters in the alcohol industry or work at Angel’s Share. But seeing your content smile every time made his day before it even began.

ZHONGLI

★ You loved to run your hands through your partner’s silky hair when he rested his head on your chest. It was incredibly well kept, never really a knot or tangle in sight. Somehow it was always perfectly smooth.

★ Zhongli let you brush it occasionally because he knew it made you happy and, in the contract you two had arranged, that was one of the conditions you had laid out for each other. But never had you thought about braiding it before.

★ His rat-tail hairstyle had always been there ever since you two had met, changing it up felt it was as if you were changing up the laws of the world. It didn’t sit right.

★ That was until you two were out walking around Liyue Harbour and noticed someone passing by with a magnificent plait, all sorts of wondrous flowers weaved in between the strand of hair. There was even a few Cecilias all the way from Mondstadt!

You tugged on the sleeve of Zhongli’s coat, pointing towards the person who had just walked by. “Look how amazing their hair is!”

“It’s very impressive. Such skill and time that has gone into creating it is very admirable.” His golden eyes watched you curiously, noting how you still had something you wanted to say. “Do you not agree, my dear?”

A soft laugh sounded from your mouth. “Of course I agree. But, do you think you’d ever like to try something similar with your hair?” You looked down to fiddle with the loose skin on the sides of your nails. “It likely wouldn’t be as extravagant as you don’t have as much hair, but I think it would suit you.”

After only silence greeting you in answer, you returned your gaze back to Zhongli. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he said no, you told yourself. He wouldn’t like it and that would be okay. Even though you had secretly been planning how you could style it for months now, it would be fine. You’d be sad, but it was hair. You could move on. However, when you looked back up, your partner was nowhere to be seen.

“Zhongli?” You called out in confusion. How had he slipped by unnoticed in a matter of mere seconds?

Eventually, you found him kneeling underneath a tree by an odd teleporting contraption, comparing Glaze Lillies to each other. “Ah! Sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have left you so suddenly,” he apologised, standing with a bunch of flowers in hand.

“That’s okay.” You smiled, thankful that he hadn’t just deserted you after you asked about braiding his hair. Zhongli wasn’t one to act that way, he’d talk the situation out with you, but there was always a first time for everything. “What are you up to?” You motioned to what he delicately held.

“The usual merchant who sells Cecilias is currently out of them, so I supposed you could also use Glaze Lillies to weave into my hair instead. I spotted some over-” He was unable to continue as you carefully wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace, being sure not to knock any of the flowers out of his palms.

“Thank you, Zhongli.” You couldn’t contain the grin that forced its way to the surface of your face.

He freed one of his hands and used it to pull you closer, rubbing your back and pressing kisses into your hairline. “Of course. I think braiding my hair would be quite a good idea. A nice occasional change.”

★ You two went back to your house in Liyue Harbour so you could begin the process of braiding his hair.

★ Zhongli would have you explain every step to him in great detail as you went, specifically wanting to know how you weaved the flowers into his hair, so he could one day return the favour. If you had enough hair, he would love for you to teach him how to give you a matching braid too.

★ For the rest of the day, he would be very mindful of how he touched his hair, not wanting to accidentally pull it apart or make any of the flowers fall out. Once it eventually does unravel, leaving his rat-tail a little curly, he would come straight back to you to ask you to restore it to its full glory.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin diluc #genshin zhongli #diluc #zhongli #genshin headcanons #diluc x reader #diluc x you #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #starrconch

[make-me-imagine]

Pink Camellias: Longing for you

Valentines Special: Day Four

Day One: Morning Glories Day Two: Blue Salvias Day Three: Sunflowers - Day Five: Yellow Tulips

Plot: The reader keeps receiving flowers and sweet messages every day from an anonymous source leading up to Valentines Day. But who is sending them?

Choose your own character ending (coming on Valentines Day).

Gender!Neutral Reader x ???

Triggers: Very brief mention of a stalker/stalking (not serious)   

Words: 1,366

Marvel Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @thebookbakery, @groovyfluxie  Requested Taglist: @spuffyfan394, @gaitwae, @fablesrose, @kitkatd7, @thefallenbibliophilequote, @beksib, @destynelseclipsa, @criminaly-supernatural, @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet, @belloangelus, @snarky–starky, @saintbootlegloras, @wecallhimbrowneyess, @empath-bunny, @okkulta, @katinthemoon, @wecallhimbrowneyess, @ravennight41, @username23345, @hulkswitch, @theofficialzivadavid, @lainphotography, 

February 9th

It seemed that everyone now knew about the flowers that have been left for you the last three days. And everyone seems to know nothing about it. But someone must, it has to be one of them. You sat at your desk, trying to figure it out. Who could it be? 

Tony? Doesn’t seem to be his style, and he seemed way too amused at the thought, so maybe not him.

Bruce? Flowers and sweet words do seem like something the more bashful and shy man would do. But he is not the best actor or liar, and seemed to know nothing of it. 

Then there was Steve and Bucky. They seemed very interested in the bouquet that Natasha brought in the gym. But they couldn’t have left it at your door. Well, they had gone in and out during the time you were there...so maybe one of them dropped it off? They both seem like secret romantics. 

Natasha? She is very good at doing sneaky things, she was a spy after all. And she straight up handed you a bouquet, maybe she did not find it at your door, and instead thought it would be less suspicious that way. 

Thor and Loki have not been on Earth until yesterday, so they could not have left them...

Vision? Clint? They both seemed to have a knack for the romantic. But did they have feelings for you? 

Wanda? No, she hasn’t been around, and was too excited with the thought of helping you seek them out when she found out about it. She compared it to a scavenger hunt. 

You sighed as you leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Who the hell was it? It could be any of them, but maybe none of them at the same time. Maybe its just another SHIELD Agent that works in the tower that you know? With that thought, that brings the amount of people to near a hundred. 

Plus, there was the creepy thought that Tony and Natasha teasingly put into your head this morning. That it could be a delusional stalker that you met briefly once, but you doubted that. Though you did hate that the thought was still lingering.

Your thoughts halted when you heard a noise right outside your door. Your head snapping in its direction. Quickly getting up, you basically sprinted to the door before pulling it open quickly. 

The mixture of disappointment and relief at the sight of no one outside your door, was replaced with surprise as your eyes fell to the object sitting at your feet.

“What?” you asked in disbelief, before stepping over it and looking down the hall. There were no other people living on this floor, and the elevator had not opened nor closed. Moving quickly down the hall, you opened up the stairwell door, you listened intently for a few moments, but heard nothing.

You turned back and looked at the colorful bouquet on the floor. Moving back over to it, you picked it up, looking back down the hall you shook your head in disbelief “How?”

Looking at the delicate and beautiful flowers wrapped in a light brown paper tied with white twine, you smiled before walking back into your room, sparing one last glance down the empty hallway. You sat at your desk as you fiddled with the attached note for a moment before you opened it. Reading the words to yourself.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Pink Camellias

These mean “Longing for you”. A bit dramatic, I know. And I hope you are not frightened by my gifts and words, that is not my intention. I just simply want you to know the feelings that I have been dealing with for a while now. I long for you to know them, I long to hear you tell me the same. But I promise you, if you do not feel the same, I will feel no ill will towards you. I simply wish you happiness and love. But more than that, I do hope, and long for the days I can be the one who gives them to you.  ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

When you finished reading the note you let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you had been holding in. Well, at least they seem kind, and not like a stalker.

“I hope I feel the same too” you muttered. You hated the idea of breaking someone’s heart, especially if they’re a friend. 

You thought back to how they were able to leave the flowers at your door without being seen. Maybe the noise you heard was them leaving and not arriving? No, it was right outside your door. Or maybe they had a way of getting in and out quickly that you didn’t know about, or they were just very fast. Or....they could walk through walls...

”Vision.”

After adding the camellias to the same vase as the Salvias, you left your room to seek out Vision. After searching his room, the main living area, and the kitchen., you headed to Steve and Tony’s lab. When walking in, you noticed the man standing near Tony, seemingly helping with something. 

“Boys” you greeted as you approached, you spotted Bruce in the room behind them. You were debating in this moment whether you wanted to know if it was Vision or not.

“Hello Y/n” Vision greeted with his usual smile and demeanor, as Tony nodded “What’s up, need something?”

You needed to know. Maybe he was delivering for someone else? “I just have a question for Vision.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Did you happen deliver flowers outside my door, about five minutes ago?” 

Tony looked up at you before looking at Vision.

“No? Why? Did you receive another delivery from your apparent admirer?”

“Yes I did. But the thing is, I heard them, but by the time I got to the door, they were gone, which seemed somewhat impossible. Sort of like they could disappear, run very fast, or move through walls” you said while eyeing them.

“Ah, I see. You have the right to be suspicious, but I assure you Y/n, I did not deliver any flowers.”

You sighed, Vision hated lying, especially too you, so with the sincerity in his voice, you had to believe him “Okay, I believe you.”

“Is this frightening you Y/n?” Vision asked, worry evident in his voice.

“No, no. I’m not scared, just...very, very curious.” you said with a smile, “I’ll see you guys later” you said in parting before turning away.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it?” Tony quipped.

You turned back and smiled “Last I checked you can’t move through walls nor turn invisible. And, you really aren’t that fast.” 

He gave you an offended look as you turned and left with a chuckle “I’ll remember that!” he called out as you left. 

As you walked down the hall you convinced yourself that what you heard must have been them already leaving, and it just seemed to be right outside your door through your excitement. 

Your mind landed on Loki. He has magic. Maybe he delivered them that way? But, he has only been here for two days...Maybe Wanda?

“Ugh” you exasperated as you made your way down the hall, earning a startled look from a nearby agent. 

Getting into the elevator, you began talking to yourself “I just need to stop thinking about it. I’m sure they will show themselves when they are ready, and I will deal with it then. Yeah.”

You had hoped you’d convinced yourself, but you still felt the clear lingering curiosity and doubt. There was no way you could stop thinking about it. There was someone in this building who was apparently very much in love with you, and you had no idea who. That could drive anyone insane. 

Tomorrow. There would surely be another delivery at some point. What would it be this time? Lillies? Roses? 

Tomorrow. You couldn’t tell if you were anxious because you were nervous, or because you were excited. Maybe both. Yeah probably both.

Lets just wait until tomorrow. Who knows what will happen. 

xx xx xx xx xx 

oooh, foreshadowing???? Maybe~

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next parts (5 left)

#valentines special #avengers #marvel #avengers x reader #avenger reader insert #loki x reader #steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #vision x reader #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff #loki #thor #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #clint barton #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner #vision #iron man #captai america #hawkeye #hawkeye x reader #oneshot #one shot

[loverholland]

sunrise. pp x reader

summary: y/n finally arrived back in new york after a year in cali. not only does she find that her little corner of the world is disappearing, but that he little crush just so happened to not have disappeared. word count: ~1,900 warnings: none that I can think of. a/n: i hope you like this. this has been in my drafts since 2019 i think.

✨☁️💭🪴🪐🧋🛼🎐

Y/N’s hand touched the railing of Peter’s balcony. It was a simple apartment, one that she would expect for him to have. It was a small, one bedroom and one bath apartment that sometimes had hot water and sometimes had mice, but nonetheless, Y/N loved it. It was the first time she had ever seen his apartment other than in FaceTime, which were far and few between. He had such a perfect view of Queen’s where the tree’s sang beautiful songs and the bird’s would join in with harmonies. It reminded her of those times when she would go to Aunt May’s apartment and sit on the fire escape. She missed the yellow chipped paint and the abundance of plants. It was small and minimal but it was home. Pictures would line the walls and almost every surface that she could fill - many of them were Peter and her or Peter and his parents, but when he began bringing home Ned and Y/N, the pictures became more inclusive of their friendship.

Y/N always brought a Kodak camera everywhere. Those pictures felt the most authentic. The most real, so those were the ones she gave Aunt May. Every Christmas, every birthday, were just months worth of pictures that she could put anywhere she imagined.

Everything felt so normal, but they weren’t. Of course, they weren’t. Washington Heights experienced a blackout, one that hadn’t hit for ages. Everything was going away from her in so little time. Nail Venom was moving, shops are closing down, people are leaving. Her humble abode is leaving and it was getting close to her parent’s closing up their ?? and leaving Washington Heights for good. Leaving what she knew for good.

“Y/N?” Peter yawned. She turned her head to look at him in all of his glory. He jue woke up but he looked so stunning in the rising rays and he looked like a Renaissance painting. His curls were much messier than they were last night and his beautiful chocolate brown eyes looked like the perfect coffee that she would get back at UCLA. He was shirtless and only wore a pair of gray sweatpants and my Gods he was made right out by the Gods themselves.

“I’m here.” She whispered before turning her head back to the world in front of her. Not wanting to give it up for just a moment longer. They had practiced some Spanish, drunkenly, she must add. He was good at it, not that she would ever tell him that. Never would she imagine giving him such a big head like that.

“Are you ready to try again?” Y/N asked, implying to the previous Spanish lesson. It was so early, but she felt so at peace. The corners of her lips rising a bit more when Peter answered:

“I think I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Y/N paused, turning to leverage herself on the railing, pushing back for a moment, a wide smile spreading across her face as she looked at Peter. “Let’s go.” There was a moment as she thought of what to say. Something that he knew? Give him something hard. A curse word? She would laugh if given the chance but then the idea of her home. En Washington Heights. Her esquina was slowly leaving this earth for good, only few being able to tell the story of Washington Heights.

“Esquina?”

“Corner.” Peter answered correctly, a short lived smile creeping towards the corners of his lips. He knew he was right.

“Tienda?”

“Store.”

“Bombilla?”

“Lightbulb!”

“Too easy” she thought to herself. She turned her head to look over the horizon. The world was wonderful with how the sky was painted orange and pinks. The moon was still out, it was beautiful. And not only that but this world had Peter, the most wonderful man she had ever been lucky to know. Well, shit. Maybe not wonderful.

Last night was a lot. The lights were brighter then than any light now. The screams of joy and laughing from everyone around her, we're nothing like her experience. A drunken Peter was angry that Y/N’s father didn’t accept their relationship. He was so angry and the way he threatened his internship at Stark Industries (not that papi would get anywhere). The world felt like it was ending and it kind of did. All of Washington Heights suddenly became dark, a forgotten and hidden place in the world. The once joyful noise turned into horror and fear, everything quickly declining. And then she was alone.

In the middle of chaos, she was alone.

But now, here she is on Peter’s fire escape. The beautiful and peaceful world going on around her. Sure, it was hot. But the world was so much better. The people were quiet and asleep while the sunshine danced along the buildings. Animal’s running the streets freely before everyone woke up. Everything was right.

“You’re sure?” Y/N questioned after a moment of reminiscing. She gave him a smile after biting her bottom lip for a moment. He was right and she knew it but she just wanted to see if he was confident in himself and his answers. He hadn’t taken Spanish since high school and he claimed that he forgot a majority of it, but she always questioned it but never pushed him to speak in her native language with her.

Peter paused and pushed himself off the brick wall, taking a step towards her. His eyes searched for a reason to stop, but he couldn’t find one. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to ever find one. “I’m sure.”

“Three out of three, you did alright.” Y/N pushed herself off the railing and took a step towards Peter, her head tilting back to look up at him. She couldn’t help but be infatuated with Peter. She had only been back for a few days and all of the past feelings came flowing back. She spent so long believing that she would never be good enough for Peter that she just hid the idea of ever being with him or him sharing the same feelings. Oh, how she was wrong.

“Well teach me a little more…” he trailed, his hand going to touch Y/N’s cheek. He didn’t immediately touch her however, he wanted some form of consent and when Y/N leaned her face to touch his hand, he took that as an ‘okay’ before brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“Calor?”

“Heat.”

“Anoche?” Y/N raised her eyebrows.

“Last night.”

“Dolor.

“Pain?”

“That’s right.” She confirmed, eyebrows knitting together. She lifted her right hand and laid it on Peter’s chest, staring at it as the words left her lips like endless lullabies. Not taking any longer to think of what to say, she knew what needed to be said for both of them. “Llámame?”

“Call me.”

“Ámame”

“Love me.”

A breath escaped Y/N’s lips. They felt so close yet so far away from one another. Her eyes lifted away from being set on her hand on Peter’s chest to look at his beautiful, comforting eyes. “Perhaps I do-”

“Well, how do you say “kiss me”?”

“Besame.”

“And how do you say “hold me”?”

“Abrázame.” Y/N inevitably whispered, the words all making the flutter in her chest more intense. Her eyes were filled with so much joy yet so much anxiety at the same time. “Al amanezer. At sunrise.” [need to look up]

“Anything can help at sunrise.”

Y/N looked up at Peter’s eyes, she just wanted to kiss him right then and there. They held eye contact for a moment before her eyes dropped to his lips, leaning in a bit closer. She could feel how clammy her own hands were. She hated the feeling of it, but she knew this could dictate so much more especially considering her future. This action could change so much between them and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. But maybe she should just dive in head first. Her heart thumped against her chest, eyes closing for a moment as her lips parted, allowing air to escape and to his Peter’s lips.

“What will he say?” Peter pulled back, removing his hand from her cheek and dropping it down to his side, fiddling with the pocket that was hanging out of the sweats.

What a dramatic ass.

“Que dirá?”

“When he sees me around you?” He asked, eyebrows knitting together with concern. Y/N understood exactly how he felt. The fear of losing one another to her father. Losing this connection again. Y/N always believed that the time wasn’t right and that if it were destined to be, it would be.

“How do you say “Promise me?”” Peter asked, quieter than before. His forehead was pressed against hers, eyes closed as they took in the moment, hands briefly touching as a spark traced up their arms.

“Prometeme.”

“Promise me you’ll stay beyond the sunrise and that we won’t care what anyone has to say -”

“Beyond the sunrise.” Y/N cut off Peter. Their eyes met, searching for an invitation to kiss one another. The world seemed to stop at this moment. The trees' sweet songs slowed down as Peter leaned into the small space between he and Y/N. The birds stopped their harmonies and the cars stopped the melodies, it felt like the perfect interlude to any great story.

And then it just happened. Peters hand cupped her cheek like an angel cupping a baby for the first time. He softly guided her lips to his; it felt so soft and secure. His lips touched hers and in the moment she swore she was infinite. She was so alive and free in this moment. His lips melded with her like a beautiful piano melody being played. Everything that she could ever love and more was right here. Her heart pounded to the thought of him. To the action that was being played out.

Never in her wildest dream did she think she'd be kissing Peter Parker. During the sunrise. In Queens. She always thought that maybe one day, when they're older and they finally come to the conclusion, or maybe her accepting it more than she did before. She wasn't too sure how it would happen, but this was never the plan.

As quickly as it started, it ended. Peter pulled away, breathless

“Promise me you’ll stay.” Peter whispered against her lips as he pulled back. There was a moment of hesitation. Stay… how? With him? In New York? She wasn’t too sure what he meant, but those were the words she’s always wanted to speak to him. Just the act was something she thought about many times in high school. She had told herself that if she didn’t go to UCLA she would finally man up and tell Peter about her little crush and go to a school in NYC. But then she left.

“I’ll stay.” Y/N promised, her fingers interlinking with Peter’s. The pad of his thumb rubbing across the top of her hands. A promise that she would swear to fulfill. If not for her, then for him. She couldn’t imagine the world that he has around him but that world would be her’s. He would become her world in such a short amount of time.

Beyond the sunrise.

#Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker x fem reader #Peter Parker oneshot #Peter Parker x you #peter parker headcanon #Peter Parker fic #peter parker smut #Peter Parker au #mine #Tom Holland imagine #Tom Holland one shot

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Sarah! I have a request <3 A meet-cute with Frankie in a supermarket <3 That's it, that's the request

For you @bison-writes

Warning: language and tooth rotting fluff ❤️❤️❤️

Tag list from AI: Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867

No more being a vampire with the rest of the undead and their missing shadows, patrolling supermarket aisles with aching knees and thoughts of murdering Karen from HR for stealing their last Diet Coke from the shared fridge at work. Nope. Not you. No siree. You are currently at the barrier of a Foo Fighters gig - close enough to be blessed by the sweat of the god that is Dave Grohl. Gliding on the back of your trolley handles, singing along tunelessly to Everlong as you reach for another bag of Italian bistro salad that’ll more than likely go brown in the depths of your salad drawer - but hey, it’s good to pretend you can make grown up choices, right? Maybe for being such a sensible adult, you could treat yourself to a little something with more sugar than sense?

*****

Frankie is tired. So very, very tired.

There are days the tiredness inside comes in both forms, seeping through both the physical and mental - where his body needs to rest yet his mind needs it desperately to move, to help burn the anxiety right out - extinguishing it like a candle flame. Without physical exercise to get his blood pumping or mental exertion to keep him sharp, his mind will keep him up all night long, not allowing him any rest. He once thought his old man weak for falling into alcohol like he did, but, Frankie now gets it. Three years sober from the little twists of white powder - mostly thanks to the large, searching brown eyes of his little girl.

With her arrival imminent from her mom’s tomorrow, he needed to ensure that he had something to offer her with a little more nutritional value than endless bowls of Captain Crunch. He was there with a fixed list of ingredients. Breakfast would be eggs, milk and flour for airy pancakes that he layers with a mountain of blueberries and endless syrup. Lunches needed to be something that could be packed with snackable bits ready for building dens in the forest together but dinners would be taken care of via whatever diner he hit on the way home from their adventures - praying she didn’t fall asleep before he got something solid in her tummy.

As he winds his way through the aisles, he ticks off items from his hastily scribbled list. Hmmm. Dinner. Shit. He hasn’t thought of anything to feed himself tonight so he stands there in front of the half-emptied fridge stacked with microwaveable meals for one, wondering which would fill the emptiness inside him tonight. One hand rubs his bleary eyes - trying to get them to focus on something - as the other rubs out a knot in his lower back when a swoosh of wind whips behind him making him snap his head in the direction of your rapidly disappearing presence.

God, when was the last time he scooted on the back of a trolley?

Having left him with a pang of jealousy that he’d only grabbed a basket, he turns back to the food. Previously being utterly uninspired by the corporation’s offerings until your momentary presence, he spots a battered package towards the back of the fridge - hidden behind some fluorescently coloured Mac n Cheese. Hauling out a pack of Singapore noodles, a small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. You - the supermarket witch, gliding down aisles as if on a broomstick - have blessed him with something he feels a pique of excitement about eating.

That is until tomorrow when he has a reason to cook again when his amor de vida will come to fill his heart with her giggles and cuddles.

*****

The Foos have now turned into the Pixies, with Black Francis and Kim Deal forcing you to bob your head and sway by the loo rolls, instead of moshing in between the fruit juice and milk. Grabbing all the essentials on your way through the shop, out of the corner of your eye, you catch the warmly illuminated display of bakery goods. Ooooh! You’ve been such a good girl with your sensible salads and proteins - you totally deserve something sugary to celebrate reaching the end of your first week teaching at a new school.

Not finding it too hard to convince yourself of how much you definitely need a treat, you kick off from the floor, press your tummy against the handles, gliding back through the supermarket as if you had wings. Just as you close in on the cabinet filled with sticky deliciousness, a tall, broad expanse of a man steps out in front of your trolley, causing you to slam on the emergency brake that is your sneakered foot.

“Holy shit! I am so sorry- I need to grow the fuck up and stop pretending I’m five! Are you ok?” hoiking the headphones from your ears, you question the poor almost victim of your cart as the tinny beats spew forth.

“That was impressive braking,” the man lifts his baseball cap to attempt to flatten the dark, unruly curls by dragging his fingers through the fluffy mess, “Not hurt - and a lot of adults could learn from pretending to be a bit more kid-like.”

“Braking by the baking - shit, I’m sorry, that was terrible,” you inwardly sigh at your awful dad joke as you drink in the details of the deep dimple in his right cheek that has revealed itself as his shoulders and soft tummy shake with laughter at your comment, “I’m sorry- it’s been a week of thirty 5 year olds all demanding me at once so I’m a little excited at the prospect of eating something entirely formed from sugar and fat!”

“Hah! You must be exhausted,” the stranger continues as he fiddles with the edges of his brushed cotton plaid shirt, “I just have one three year old half the week and that is pretty full on. What are you thinking of choosing?”

“Not sure - what would you choose?”

“Can’t go wrong with a doughnut,” he says, furrowing his brow and pouting his lips at the selection on offer.

Sucking in a short breath through your teeth, you nod your head in agreement, “Good thinking, Batman! Mmm, raspberry jam doughnut, it is.”

“Oh you’ve gone down in my estimations.”

“What?” You squeak through the giggles, “I go down in your estimations due to my doughnut preferences rather than the fact I almost ran you over?”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head teasingly, “Always go for the custard filling, never the jelly! I am sorry but ...kinda feel we should part ways now…”

“Ah, that’s a shame - I was just about to buy you an apology doughnut for stealing one of your nine lives this evening,” you bat back at him, your eyebrows arched up by your hairline.

“Apology doughnut? Ah - should be more of those in the world,” the handsome man gravely ponders the concept before concluding, “Well, I may have a solution to this disagreement- how about you get two jelly and I buy two custard and then we can compare over a coffee?”

“Deal. What’s your name, custard doughnut man?”

“Francisco Morales - Frankie,” he offers with his hand shyly outstretched.

“Ok, Frankie - let’s go get that coffee and I can prove just how wrong you are,” you grin with a wink - completely ignoring his palm to place a kiss on his flushed cheek before spinning on your heels to head to the checkout, “I might even let you have a spin on my trolley but watch out for sneak attacks from handsome men, who jump out in front of you.”

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