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likecanyoujustnot · 3 months

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ACOSF- Feysand’s pov

Part 3: The labour

A/n: last part 😤😤. Sorry it took so long. I hope I captured the emotions right. Feedback and even recs of what to write next is appreciated.

Again it’s really long.

Rhysand

Nesta had been kidnapped. Taken into the blood rite. The fucking blood rite. Fully grown Illyrian males went in there and didn’t come out alive.

Plus the other two. Gwyn and Emerie, Cassian had said.

I knew Gwyn, we had taken her in after what happened at Sangravah, offered her a place in the library, which she had gratefully accepted. I’d spoken to her on a few occasions, she’d gone through absolute hell at the hands of those Hybern commanders. I knew Azriel didn’t regret killing them.

And Emerie. One of the unlucky Valkyrie females to be clipped even after I made it illegal. She owned a shop in Windhaven, Cassian had visited there a few times before she went to the trainings. I’d winnowed her to training when I was free, spoken to her, got her recommendations on how to handle a few of the Illyrian issues with the females.

Feyre was stressed, three females were in the blood rite, Cassian and Azriel had gone to the continent to save Eris. Everything had gone to shit.

Even as High Lord I couldn’t interfere, it would give the Illyrians the right to hunt and kill me. Laws would not stop them if anyone stopped them from doing a millennias- old tradition.

I sat in my office, signing more papers. Building permits, shipping nonsense, etc.

Rhys

Gods I loved the sound of her voice. It come so close to losing her, thanks to my pride and tendency to burden all my problems alone. I’d spent the last months doing everything I could to make it up to her, but also to keep her happy and take both our minds off what was coming. I’d make her breakfast in bed, we’d take long walks across the Sidra, I’d show her my favourite places from the area surrounding Velaris. But it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I would catch her staring into space, hand on her stomach. I’d pull her into my arms and we would both cry. For the life we wanted, but might never get.

Yes Feyre, darling?

I was so grateful, so grateful she had forgiven me, we’d fought, we’d cried but we’d made up.

My water broke.

The pen in my hand snapped.

That’s not possible you’re no where near full term. Fuck no.

I know that.

We’re supposed to have more time, more time for me to save her, save us.

I ran out of the house and winnowed to her art studio without hesitation. She sat in front in front of an easel- a half-finished rendition of Thesan’s palace in front of her.

Sure enough the was wet staining the front of her leggings, she was crying.

“Rhys-” I ran over and pulled her to me, as tight as I could. I kissed the top of her head as she started sobbing, tears streaking down my own cheeks. I was going to loose her, seconds before I myself lost my life.

I reached out in my mind for Madja, praying the healer would be free.

My lord,

It’s happening, her water broke.

That’s… not good.

I’m taking her to back to the river house, meet me there.

Yes my lord.

“Feyre, darling we have to get to the river house, Madja will meet us there.” Feyre was still sobbing into my shoulder. I picked her up, bridal style, and winnowed to the front of the river house.

I kicked open the door, and Mor ran down the stairs, Elain close behind her.

“Rhys, what happened?” My cousin ran up to us, peering at Feyre.

Feyre screamed. Contraction.

Elain paled.

“Madja is on her way.”

“She can’t be going into labour now, you’re supposed to have months.”

“I know Morrigan.” I snapped, I set Feyre on the bed. “I think it was the stress from Nesta and the others being in the blood rite.”

Mor nodded, face pale, lips drawn. “I’ll go get some towels.”

Elain knelt down on Feyre’s other side, taking her hand.

“Feyre…”

Feyre opened her eyes and looked at her sister. “Elain.”

“It’ll be okay. I promise, we’ll find a way to save you.” Elain looked over at me. “Won’t we?”

“We will.”

My lord I’m outside the house.

“Madja’s here, I’ll go get her-”

“No! Stay Rhys, please.” Tears were shining in my mate’s eyes.

“I’ll go.” Elain stood up and exited the room.

“It’ll be okay, love.” I pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Don’t lie to me Rhys. We still haven’t found anything, Nesta is in the blood rite, Cassian and Az are on the continent, and we’re…” going to die.

She rested her hands on her stomach.

“Feyre, you should try shifting, it might be worth it, if there’s any chance it could save you.”

“Rhys-”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Madja walked through the door, bag under her arm. Elain close behind.

“If labour has already begun, the wings are already tearing her apart.”

I winced. And Feyre flopped back, turning into my chest.

My stomach dropped. No. That was our last option.

Feyre

I was going to die.

And Rhys was going to die with me.

Mor came back with some towels and placed the, on the bed beside me. “How are you doing?” Her voice was soft.

“I’m oka-.” I was interrupted by a contraction. I screamed.

Amren appeared in the doorway. “How is this happening?” Rhys must’ve told her about the labour.

“It’s probably the stress, Elain said your sister is in the blood rite.” I nodded at Madja. “Nasty tradition. Feyre I’m going to have to take the leggings off.” I nodded again, unable to form words.

“So… what do we do?” Mor’s voice was shaky from where she stood, hand on Rhys’ shoulder.

He looked lost, face drawn and eyes downcast. “I-” my mate’s voice broke. “I don’t know.”

“There has to be something.” Amren’s voice was uncharacteristically panicked.

The scent of blood filled the air.

Fuck.

Feyre. Rhys’s voice filled my mind.

Yes?

It’ll be okay, sweetheart.

No it won’t, Rhys, we’re both going to die. Nesta might already be dead, and who knows what’s happening to Cassian and Azriel.

Hours went by, I hardly felt as Madja poked and prodded me, tried everything to get Nyx to come out alive, and without killing me. The others spoke in quiet voices, trying not to disturb me as all my strength went into trying to heal my body. Contractions would take my body and Rhys would hold me as I screamed.

“What if she doesn’t make it…” Mor

“This is not fair…” Elain

“The babe is stuck…” Madja

“You Illyrians and your stupid anatomy…” Amren

“Open your eyes, Feyre.” Rhys.

He was stroking a thumb along my forehead. I looked up at him. His eyes were red.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I reached a hand up to cup his face.

I screamed.

Rhys sat up suddenly.

“Azriel.” His voice came out choked.

The heads of the other four females turned to Rhys.

“He’s alive. So’s Eris, but he can’t winnow.” Mor looked disappointed at hearing that the Autumn Court prince was alive.

“What about Cassian?” Amren acted like she didn’t care most of the time, but deep down I knew she did.

“He’s been taken.” There was gasps around the room. “Briallyn.”

The human queen, turned crone by the cauldron.

“Az says she’s going after Nesta.”

“Where is Az?” Mor voice was panicky.

Rhys rattled off a location and Mor kissed my cheek before running out of the room.

“Do you think Nesta is alive?” Elain’s voice was quiet.

“Probably.” Amren turned to my sister.

“She must’ve used the crown on Cassian.” Rhys said, voice filled with worry for his brother.

“Well then why not take Azriel as well? That would’ve been the strategic decision, he knows more about how the court works than Cassian, he’d be less detectable too.” Amren contemplated

“Because Cassian means something to Nesta.” My voice was croaky and hoarse.

Everyone looked at me.

“Think about it, there are more ways to hurt someone than physically, you take someone they care about, whose life they wouldn’t dare risk. Their mate.”

“You knew.” Rhys’s tone was soft.

“I suspected, it would explain why Cassian put up with her for so long, why he kept pursuing her. You thought so too.”

He corner of his mouth turned up. “I did.”

There was a loud crash downstairs.

“Mor.” Amren said.

Two sets of feet ran up the stairs and the door was thrown open.

Azriel’s eyes widened as he took in the room. He walked over to the side of the bed and knelt down next to me.

“Feyre. I-”

I cut him off with a scream and he flinched.

“I’m so sorry.” He continued. He looked over me to Rhys. “We put Eris is one of the cells in the Hewn City until we can make sure he’s not still under the crown’s control.”

Rhys nodded. “Thank you.”

“What do we do about the rite?” He scanned the room.

“We can’t do anything. If we interfere they will kill us.” Mor said as she sat back down next to Amren.

“It’s a bullshit rule.” Azriel spat.

“One we can’t ignore, boy, so you’ll do best to keep quiet until we hear something from one of them.”

“I can��t believe they were taken.” Azriel stood up and ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

He was concerned, he had been training them for months.

“You trained them well.”

Azriel glared at Amren, he had said the same thing to comfort Cassian when he was panicking earlier. He had been calmer then, his face was pale now and eyes holding worry.

“So we wait.”

I closed my eyes. The eventfulness of the last few minutes had tired me out. Rhys still sat next to me on the bed, laying at an uncomfortable angle so he could be close to me.

Rhys.

Yes?

I’m scared.

Me too.

I don’t want to die. We’ve come so far, defied death twice, it can’t end like this, it just can’t.

We’ll find a way, sweetheart, we always do. It’ll be okay.

Madja sighed.

Worry filled Rhys’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I still can’t get the baby to mo-” She was cut off by Rhys’s exclamation.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” I grabbed his arm.

“The wards at the house of wind have been breached.”

“By what.” Mor stood up, looking like if Rhys said the wrong thing she would run over there to kill it.

Azriel’s shadows swarmed, some of them rushing out of the room.

“Two people, females.” He paused and looked at his brother. “Your Valkyries are back, Az.”

Azriel slumped back onto the couch.

“Wait, two?” Elain spoke up for the first time in ages.

Azriel’s shadows came back. “Emerie and Gwyn.” He relayed. “Rhys, they’ve become Carnythian.”

Rhysand

Three females went into the blood rite, two came out Carnythian. Carnythian. There are only four living Carnthians, and two of them were in that room.

“Not only did they survive the rite, they’re Carnythian?” Mor’s eyes widened.

“Yes.” Azriel looked like he wanted to winnow out and make sure the two were okay, but stayed out of loyalty to myself and Feyre.

I reached out in my mind and told Nuala and Ceridwen to go check on Emerie and Gwyn, make sure they weren’t injured, and that anything they needed they had.

I pulled Feyre into my chest and pushed her hair out of her face.

“If they’re alive then Nesta has to be right?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

So we waited, for anything. Madja was running around and grabbing things from her bag, pressing on Feyre’s stomach to try and coax the baby to move, pressing her hands into my mate’s body, trying to save her.

It was then I felt it. That presence in my mind, Cassian.

“Mor, Az.” They both looked at me. “Go to the top of Ramiel. Cassian is there.”

Mor let out a sob and Azriel started muttering. They both rushed out of the room.

“Is Nesta there?” Elain asked me after a while, eyes full of hope.

“He didn’t seem to be overly distressed, so she should be.”

Feyre screamed. I glared at Madja. It was hard for me, seeing her in this much pain.

The door was flung open and Mor ran in, followed by my brothers and Nesta.

I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t her fault she was taken into the rite, even if it did cause Feyre’s early labour.

Cassian’s face paled and Nesta’s eyes widened.

Madja didn’t look up as she said. “I’ve turned the babe, but he’s not descending. He’s wedged in the birth canal.”

Amren gasped.

“She’s losing too much blood, and I can feel the babe’s heart in distress.”

Fuck.

“What do we do?” Mor asked.

Cassian and Azriel came up behind me, placing their hands on my shoulders.

“There is nothing we can do, cutting the babe out of her will kill her.” Madja said.

“Cutting it out?” Nesta demanded, and I glared at her.

“An incision along her abdomen, even one carefully made, is an enormous risk. It’s never been successful. And even with Feyre’s healing abilities, the blood loss has weakened her-”

“Do it.” Feyre’s voice held so much pain.

“Feyre.” No. There had to be another way, I wouldn’t lose her.

“The babe likely won’t survive.” Madja’s voice was soft, but uncompromising. “It’s too small yet. We risk both of you.”

“All of you.” I felt Cassian’s eyes on me as he said it.

“Do it.” Even on her death bed, body being torn apart, I admired her for her tone. No fear, only pure determination in the voice of the High Lady. She looked up at me and I felt my heart break. “We have to.”

I nodded slowly, tears lining my eyes.

Nesta and Elain approached the other side of the bed, heads lowered as Elain started praying.

I was trembling, Cassian’s hand tightened on my shoulder as my power flowed into Feyre, trying with all that it could to heal her.

Madja got off the bed and returned with knives and tools, but I barely saw it looking down at my mate.

Beautiful. Strong. The most important thing in my life.

Doomed.

We both were.

“Go into her mind to take the pain away.” Madja said to me.

I blinked and cursed myself for not thinking of it sooner.

Elain had grabbed Feyre’s other hand.

“Feyre darling-”

“No good-byes.” Feyre’s voice was strained. “No good-byes Rhys.”

And I physically felt my heart shatter as her eyes closed.

There was no sound when my son came up, as Madja passed the unmoving boy to my crying cousin. Tears fell down my own face.

Madja swore.

And I began screaming.

I knew what was happening, that she was losing her grip on life as I lunged for my mate.

Feyre

I could feel death.

It hovered.

Around me, my mate and our son.

I could feel it over the yelling of the healer, the pleading of my sister, the crying of my friend as she held my lifeless baby, the screaming of my mate, the grunts of his brothers as they held him back.

I could feel it.

Death opened its arms to me, getting ready to take me as my breathing thinned.

And this wasn’t like last time.

Death seemed to whisper to me. There aren’t seven high lords here to save you this time, Cursebreaker.

There was a golden light.

But I ignored it as I slipped further into Death’s arms.

Rhysand

Cassian and Azriel were holding me back, fourteen combined siphons blazing with the force it took to hold me.

All I knew was I had to get to Feyre.

It was a primal urge now. Get to my mate. Get to her before death does.

These bastards.

There was a golden light.

Amren gasped.

Nesta.

She was wearing the mask, the crown sat atop her head, and in her arms was the harp.

She had all the items of the dread trove.

No one had done that and lived.

Nesta walked to toward the bed. Toward Feyre.

I surged for her. I was not letting her anywhere near Feyre.

Nesta held up a hand and my body went still.

Feyre’s chest rattled, and I knew that was her final breath.

I knew it as Nesta plucked the twenty-sixth string on the harp.

And Time stopped.

I was able to move again. I lunged against the hold my brothers had on me. Amren stepped next to us and hissed. “Listen.”

Nesta was whispering. “I give it all back.” Her shoulders heaved as she wept.

My head was shaking. And I could feel my power raising like a wave. I couldn’t tell if it was me or the reaction to my mate dying.

Amren grabbed the nape of my neck, her nails digging into my skin. “Look at the light.”

And there was light. Flowing from Nesta’s body into Feyre’s.

Nesta still held her sister as she kept repeating. “I give it back, I give it back, I give it back.”

I stopped fighting my brothers.

No one moved. Not Mor holding the too small bundle in her arms, not Elain, who had stepped back from the bed, not Cassian, Azriel or Amren standing with me.

The light flowed all over Feyre, down her arms and legs, over her pale, lifeless face.

A delicate tendril of light floated over to Mor. Toward where my son was wrapped up in her arms. It set the baby glowing.

Nesta was still whispering. “I give it back, I give it all back.”

The light kept filling them. It lit my cousin’s face and the shock was thrown in stark relief.

“I give it back.” The mask and crown tumbled from Nesta’s head and the light exploded. Blinding and warm, throughout the room.

It faded and dark ink was splashed on Nesta’s back. She made a bargain with the cauldron.

I lunged for Feyre, and this time I wasn’t held back.

I ran to my mate.

Feyre

My eyes opened.

Death was gone.

No longer hovering in the room.

Almost like that golden light had scared it away.

I blinked at Rhys, tracks of tears running down his face.

Then I turned to Nesta.

“I love you too.” I whispered, and smiled. Nesta sobbed and launched at me and hugged me.

A wail went up from the other side of the room.

Mor was weeping as she walked over to us. The baby in her arms wasn’t small, as I had seen in my glimpse before exhaustion had claimed me. No, this was a healthy baby boy. With thick dark hair and wings.

I sobbed and took Nyx from Mor.

I barely heard Madja as she said “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you developed an Illyrian’s anatomy.”

Rhys put his arm around me as we cried and laughed and took in our son.

He looks like you. I said into his mind.

How dare he.

I laughed again.

Madja approached us. “Let him feed.”

I bought the baby to my breast. Awed.

It hurts

But Rhys wasn’t looking at me.

Rhysand

I whirled to Nesta, who had slid off the bed and stood next to the mask.

I surveyed her.

My sister-in-law.

I fell to my knees, grabbing Nesta’s hand. “Thank you.” I wept, head bowed.

She had saved Feyre, and Nyx. I knew we would never be the best of friends, but for this, I would try.

Nesta dropped to the carpet in front of me. She lifted my face in her hands, before throwing her arms around me.

And I hugged her.

Feyre

“He’s asleep.” I said as I walked up to where Rhys sat on the couch

“Thank the Mother.” I sat in his lap and he pulled me into his chest. “I would’ve helped you.”

“Yes well, you’ve had a big day.”

It’d been a week since we’d almost died.

Rhys went to the windhaven with Cassian where the General had killed the males responsible for taking Nesta and her friends into the rite. Rhys had made it clear what happens if anyone who did not consent to being apart of the rite was forcefully taken and thrust into it ever again.

He’d also dealt with the last of the issues surrounding Eris and the Dread Trove.

I’d wanted to help, but he’d insisted that almost dying warranted a couple weeks of rest.

Plus we weren’t getting much sleep with Nyx’s crying and constant hunger.

The people of Velaris were rejoicing.

They had a prince. For the first time since Rhys’ accession almost 500 years ago they had a clear heir.

We’d been sent well-wishes and gifts from all across not just the court, but Prythian and beyond. Including a stuffed white wolf from Viviane and Kallias, a card with no more than 5 words from Keir, a basket full of little toys from Miryam and Drakon, a few of those fish I’d had at Adriata wrapped up and spelled not to go bad (for when you’re good tired to cook- read the card) from Tarquin and Cressida.

It made my heart warm to see all these people who cared and would one day get to meet our son, (except Keir, we were going to avoid that for as long as possible).

“I did say everything would be okay didn’t I?”

I laughed and smacked his arm.

But he did.

I had my mate and son. I’d somewhat healed my relationship with my sister.

Everything was okay.

Again, thank you for reading, the other parts are on my page, feedback, comments and reblogs appreciated.

#acosf feysand pov #acotar #feysand #sarah j maas #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #feyre x rhysand

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musette22 · 1 year

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can i have a soft bucky-supporting-steve headcanon? ive had a tough couple weeks and today is no different (mad at everything, head hurts, waiting for the police to call me because i lost my wallet yesterday, my self-loathing is screaming right now, etc)

thanks. sorry. but thanks.

Hey, lovely! ❤️ I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been having such a rough time lately, that sounds like a lot. I hope things get better for you soon, and in the meantime, have this.

---

When Bucky came back, after he’d figured things out enough to be able to justify it to himself to come back to Steve, he noticed that Steve didn’t seem to draw much these days. Didn’t draw anymore at all. At first, Bucky thought that maybe Steve was just preoccupied. Too busy, too distracted, which would’ve been understandable, given everything they’d both been through recently.

But then, Bucky started to notice moments when Steve would get that expression on his face that meant he’d seen something particularly interesting or captivating, something he was itching to commit to paper (more than once, Bucky found that look directed at himself). The expression was usually accompanied by a twitch of Steve’s fingers, an unconscious spasm of his hand, as if he was reaching for a pencil that wasn’t there. The next time Steve was away on a mission, Bucky searched the entire house from top to bottom, but apart from a few ballpoint pens and the notebook they used to make their grocery lists, he’d found no art paraphernalia whatsoever. Nothing to indicate that Steve still drew, or had drawn anytime in the recent past.

That's not right, Bucky thought, frowning to himself.

He may not remember everything, but he sure as hell remembered the way their old tenement apartment had always been littered with sketchbooks and pencils, strewn around the living room and bedroom, even the bathroom on occasion. He remembered Steve’s hands, perpetually stained by charcoal, the smudges of paint on his cheeks. There were no stains or smudges on Steve anywhere, these days. Bucky would know. He'd checked. Thoroughly.

When Bucky had asked Steve about it the following night, Steve confirmed Bucky’s suspicions: he hadn't drawn in a long, long time.

“Why not?” Bucky had asked.

Steve had shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I stopped, after you- after you fell.” He swallowed, giving a single shake of his head. “I tried, later. God, I must've picked up my pencil a dozen times. But whenever I started drawing, no matter what I did, I’d always end up sketching your face. It just hurt too much. So I stopped.”

Bucky had held him for a long time, after that. Sitting side by side on the couch, just letting Steve lean into him, ear resting on Bucky’s chest, over his heart.

“I’m back now,” Bucky had said, after a while.

“You are,” Steve replied, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.

“So don’t you think it might be time you started drawing again? You used to love it, Stevie. I remember. I remember I used to love watching you.”

“I don’t know if I still can.”

Steve had sounded so lost, right then. So forlorn. Not for the first time, it had made Bucky want to fall to his knees and thank whoever was up there for allowing him to return to this man in his arms, to be here for Steve again, after everything. Steve had his team now, sure, but they didn’t know him like Bucky did. They didn’t always didn't notice when Steve's steady, solid exterior started to show cracks, or how to fix them. They didn't know how absorbed Steve used to get in his art, how it had brought color to his usually pale cheeks, allowed him to quieten his mind and shake off the worries that incessantly plagued him, even if only for a little while.

If Bucky hadn’t come back, would no one ever have remembered any of that? The thought alone was enough to break Bucky’s heart.

When Steve had told him that he wasn’t sure if he could still draw, Bucky had ached to tell him that he could do everything he set his mind to. He was ready to list every single thing Steve had achieved in his long life, to tell him over and over again that he’d never known anyone more talented, more capable, that he just needed to pick up a pencil and start, and the rest would follow. But he knew that Steve would just let the words roll off, too stubborn by half to be persuaded by something so trivial as mere words. From experience, Bucky knew that actions were far more effective in getting Steve to come around to a certain idea than words could ever be.

So Bucky took the long road. Over the weeks that followed, he started ordering art supplies online, to be delivered when Steve was out (Bucky still didn’t like to leave the house by himself, but thanks to the excellent invention of online shopping, he rarely needed to). A variety of pencils, sketchbooks, brushes and watercolors, even a small easel that Bucky hid behind their shared wardrobe – all delivered right to their doorstep. Then, Bucky started leaving items around the house, one at a time.

The first time Steve noticed the small sketchbook that Bucky had casually left on the coffee table that morning, he’d picked it up and looked at it for a long while, before putting it back down. Though Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him, he didn’t acknowledge his silent question. The next day, Bucky put a pencil next to the sketchbook. Steve noticed it mid-sentence, abruptly falling silent as he picked it up and held it in his hand, as if trying to get a feel for it. Eventually, he put it back down on top of the sketchbook, and headed for the kitchen to get started on dinner.

This continued for a couple of weeks. Sometimes, when Bucky saw Steve picking up and putting down the various items he’d left for him without using them, even though Bucky could see he wanted to, he just wanted grab Steve by his ridiculously broad shoulders and shake him. But he didn’t. If his time as the Winter Soldier had taught Bucky anything, it was the value of playing the long game; the virtue of patience.

And finally, his patience paid off.

One quiet day in early October, Bucky dozed off on the couch while reading his book. When he awoke, he found himself lying directly in a beam of late afternoon sun, its warmth enveloping him like the blanket his ma used to cover him with whenever he’d fallen asleep on the couch as a kid, making him feel safe and loved; cherished. It took Bucky a while to realize that it wasn’t just the sun that made him feel that way, today. Turning his head a fraction, he found Steve sitting opposite him in the ochre armchair they’d picked out together the other week, his eyes fixed on Bucky and his hand flying over the pages of his sketchbook where it was perched on his lap.

Bucky smiled, slow and pleased. Steve didn’t seem to have noticed that Bucky had woken up, engrossed as he was in what he was doing, so Bucky stayed put and just watched him work, letting Steve draw him for as long as he needed to.

When Steve finally closed his sketchbook with a deep sigh, blinking a few times as he slowly became aware of his surroundings again, Bucky got up off the couch. He stretched like a cat, walked over to Steve, and planted himself squarely in his lap.

“I’m proud of you,” he told Steve, draping his arms around Steve’s neck as Steve’s automatically wound around Bucky’s waist.

“I’m a little rusty,” Steve hedged, his voice husky with disuse and emotion, “but… I don’t think it’s gone altogether. It's still in there somewhere. Just gotta practice, I s’pose.”

Bucky hummed, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “I suppose you do. ‘S a good thing you’ve got such an excellent model, huh?”

Steve huffed a laugh, his arms tightening around Bucky’s waist. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky said, and pressed a soft kiss to Steve's lips.

#I hope this was more or less what you were looking for nonnie!#sending you lots of love #<333 #stucky #I wrote this in record time #then pressed the wrong button and lost it all #then rewrote it again in record time #word for word #idek how but hey it worked out #remind me to never write directly in my asks again though #minnie answers

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novelcain · 1 year

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OKAY! So when I was about 10/13 years old my mom took me to get a check up.. perfectly normal right? What could possibly go wrong.. oh yeah I was also there to get my shots.. I hate getting shots, always have always will.. it’s the syringe needles!! the fact that I know they have to be hollow enough for stuff to go in and out of the inside of those things is just wrong to me.. 😟 Anyway me and my Mom get there and everything SEEMS to be alright.. until the doctor comes back and says I have to get EVERY! SINGLE! SHOT! SINCE BIRTH!! OVER AGAIN!!!

Ya wanna know why??? BECAUSE THEY LOST ALL MY MEDICAL RECORDS!! ALL OF THEM!! 😡

Like okay yeah, shit happens I guess..

But.. my colorful, sugary sour Overlord.. They didn’t lose literally ALL my medical records once.. NOT twice!! NO no no no… BUT THREE FUCKING TIMES!!! In.. a.. row.. 😑 And all in the same Year.. I shit you not. 😤

Sssoooo yeah, I’m a bit traumatized and HATE going to the Doctor.. 😰

SO! 2020!! Covid shows up and I have to get a vaccine shot.. my Mom bless her heart comes with me, and I have to fill out the form… I spent an embarrassingly long time trying to write down my date of birth..

I was shaking so bad and ended up handing the paper & pen over to my Mom… Because I couldn’t remember which way the number 3 faced.. I was having a freaking mini panic attack.. at 21 🥲

I also had a panic attack & nearly fainted when I had to get my molars removed and the nurse showed up with the iv bag.. and I finally realized I was getting the syringe not the gas.. hadn’t panicked the whole time till that poor lady strolled in.. I think I scared her a lil when I started hyperventilating and asking my mom, wh-what what? What??? But it turned out okay!! That incident happened when I was about 18 I think..

🎃~

BRUH i know what you mean with the hating needles thing! I have had nothing but bad experiences with them. Like when I was younger I'd have to get allergy shots every week so I already HATED shots bc of that but then one day this super old bitch gave me my shot and literally stuck me so hard that the needle scraped my fucking bone! My bicep hurt for a whole month I couldn't do anything!

And then this one time I was in middle school and I had to get my blood drawn for testing, and some info about me I have always had very thick skin, and the nurse tried to use a butterfly needle but when she tried putting it in the damn thing broke against my skin! Anyways, everyone panicked for a hot sec and now it's in my file somewhere that they have to use big needles on me now! LIKE THE FUCK!?!?🤬🤬🤬

Ugh! If I sat here and told you all my needle stories we'd be here all day.

But my gods, how they gonna lose your damn records THREE FUCKIN TIMES!!!??? It's called a fuckin computer system you numb skulls! If it's really that hard to input the data yourselves then ffs just scan a pic of the records and save that!

Me: On behalf of my fruity heh subject, Skittle's gonna sue! *sprinkes dark matter on them bitches*

But fr tho same with the covid thing. In order to get my second vaccine I had to be drugged before going, and I STILL had a panic attack the whole time, not cause of my fear of needles tho. I mean it was a little bit because of the needles but mainly because of the agoraphobia. I think that was really the first instance of me being unable to function alone in public. I had to have Ritz and her mom there to talk for me and fill out the paper work cause I couldn't. I was shaking, I couldn't communicate outside of nodding to Ritz, and I couldn't even look at anyone other than Ritz. There were a few times I almost passed out inside of the clinic waiting room. I'm pretty sure now that I think about it that that was the last time I was out in public at all and that was almost 2 years ago. Definitely was NOT a good motivator to make me do it again lol. Sorry this is low key embarrassing for me to talk about and I honestly spent 30 minutes just deleting this and rewriting it over and over again before deciding to keep it

#🎃 anon #skittle answers #skittle rambles

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seaweedsawyou · 2 years

Audio

Four minutes on Chine and the most important Chine topics, such as:

bodies

memory

monster chic

how to behave like a monster

what to do if you see other monsters while on a job

how to be treated like a monster

Music: mashup of Learn Step Turned by Hidden Orchestra and The Judges by Colin Stetson.

Transcript below.

Dre (as Chine): [thoughtful breath] What are you counting as a beast here?

DRE (as Throndir): I’m not a person. I don’t belong to a town or to a city; I belong to the trees and to the meadows and to the river.

AUSTIN (as Carrot): No. You’re people.

Austin (as fisherman): You don't happen to have a cousin or a sibling out this way, do you?

Austin (as agent): What is your name?

Dre (as Chine): Chine.

Austin (as agent): And your surname?

Dre (as Chine): I don’t have one.

Dre: So, first, my “flesh glistens with mirror shards that twitch and glitter to blur your silhouette”.

Dre: I have a adoring swarm of small animals and insects that are drawn to me.

Dre: Your jet black eyes allow you to see in pitch black darkness as though it were full daylight.

Dre: Sure, I’ll be a ghost.

Dre: Chines body unwillingly starts to shapeshift again. But parts of his body can't keep up. Like, bones stretching skin.

Dre: Nah, I just wanna be a skeleton.

Austin: You know, the Course is flowing. Everything is open ended, everything has as many answers as there could be, as many new perspectives.

Austin (as Gilium): Chine, Chine! Calm down.

Austin: And this is the voice of Gilium who was your mentor as a Cleaver.

Dre: Chine does not remember Gilium, no.

AUSTIN: There were people who went screaming when you came in. You recognize the scream, you can’t place it. Someone from your old life, probably, you know?

Austin: Chine, you’ve lost track of time.

Dre: Chine's ritual is that they sit down and open their book of fairytales. And they dip their pen into the blood of this beast. And write a fairy tale.

Austin: There was a rumor about a creature that is born only when an unrepentant murderer disappears on a moonless night.

Austin (as Gilium): I mean, I was following a creature and it wound its way up here!

Austin (as Gilium): It's not you, is it?

Dre (as Chine): I kill things. But I'm not a murderer. There's difference.

AUSTIN: Your response is Kill, because this is who Chine is, we’ve seen this happen again and again.

AUSTIN: Smashing apart defenses, reducing the works of mortals to ruin, showing dominance and destroying everything in its path. She is returning this place to truth.

AUSTIN: You can only describe it as beautiful as it moves in ways you wish you could.

AUSTIN: I think you, specifically, Chine, have a relationship with bodies that is, “there are no amount of limbs this thing could have or not have that would not render it beautiful to my eye. There are no amount of wings it might have or not.”

Dre (as Chine): [hushed] Hey! Hey! Do you have a— do you have an extra fruit?

Austin (as crowd person): Yeah, of course.

Austin: And hands you the one in their hand.

Dre: I'm gonna throw it directly at the person.

Sylvia (as Hazard): Chine!

Austin: Directly at the person.

Dre (as Chine): [quietly] I'm blending in!

Austin: P.S., Chine just ate a lightbulb, everybody. It’s going great over here. Crunch.

Sylvia: He ate part of a god last time we hung out.

Austin: You’re in a throne room. You're in an abandoned, like deteriorated, dilapidated throne room.

Dre: [overlapping] For me?

Austin: No, [Sylvia laughs] you're in an iron cage like a pet. Or like a novelty.

Dre: I would love to try and eat the chains that are binding my legs.

AUSTIN: Chine and the Cleavers will often be invited to help a situation and then side with the monster. I’m sorry, but the werewolf is supposed to eat the child. That’s what the werewolf does.

AUSTIN [to Duvall]: Are you presenting yourself as a monster who stands side by side with Chine? Or are you stepping away safely?

Jack: And she [Pickman] sees all of this as a costly and violent waste of time.

Austin (as Interrogator): What could be waiting to ambush you?

Keith (as Lyke): A beast of the Heart.

Austin (as Interrogator): How would you prepare for this?

Dre: To sum it up, Chine did’t fit.

Keith: Yeah.

AUSTIN: ‘We got a monster in the audience, folks! Everybody clap for the monster!’

#friends at the table #sangfielle #special thanks to searchatthetable for the ability to just find all the quotes with monster beast and beautiful in them. invaluable service #somehow I managed to only use 4 marrowcreak quotes (instead of the entire 2 episodes)#after making this. knowing that chine forgot everyone from blackwick (incl. parents?). their early cleaver years and mentor. birthname #the last chine-duvall conversation is even funnier. like thanks art for paying attention!!! too bad the person you're talking to-#-only remembers you from fairy tales he wrote in blood of beats he'd slain #fatt #c:#'chine did not fit' is super cheesy. however keith's 'yeah' kills me every time. I put it in here to find more victims

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boricuacherry-blog · 2 years

Text

Who is Michael Jacobshagen?

Michael Jacobshagen, now 35, from Munich, Germany says that Jackson invited him to his Neverland Ranch where they often watched Peter Pan and would spend time in his jacuzzi.

During their time apart, Jacobshagen said the singer kept in touch by sending him dozens of letters in the mail, one of which read: 'I truly miss you very much, thank you for your loyalty and support. I wait for you at Neverland. All my love always, Michael Jackson.'

He said Jackson sent him at least 30 to 35 messages, including an invitation to join him on his HIStory tour in the late 1990s.

But one of the most alarming things he received from the star was a book titled 'The Boy: A photographic essay,' which featured pictures of nude boys in various outdoor locations. Another copy of this book was found in Jackson's bedroom at his Neverland Ranch after he was arrested on suspicion of child abuse.

Inside, Jackson had penned a message to his fan stating: 'To Michael, my friend, 'Your rubba rubba friend, MJ.' An expert forensic handwriting analyst, Bart Baggett, said there is 'no doubt' the messages were written by the singer.

"I'm 100 percent certain the person who inscribed these notes is Michael Jackson," he told Channel Seven News.

Jacobshagen developed a close relationship with the star after meeting him when he was 12 years old.

During the interview, Jacobshagen also pointed out a shocking detail about one of the photos which he said he only recently discovered.

One of the pages shows the boy's naked backside had a circle drawn around it, which he claims was done by Jackson.

"This is not art. This is, in my opinion, pornography," says Jacobshagen.

He now has a three year old, saying, "I realize now he overstepped the mark with me and with other children. I'm almost the same age now as Michael was when he met me. If I was to share a bed with a child, this would not be right. He was always asking me to sleep in his bed. I would say, 'No Michael, I can sleep in my own suite,' but he was saying 'Please, please...for Michael Jackson.'"

He alleges Jackson stripped naked in front of him in a hotel hot tub.

"He would buy expensive things. He bought my mother a Cartier watch. We would go to toy shops or the Disney store and he would buy me whatever I wanted. And he would drink wine and offer it to me. But I always said no. He called white wine 'Jesus juice' and red wine 'Jesus blood.'"

"When I became a man he did not have so much interest in me. When I went to visit the last time he didn't ask me to sleep with him. I had to sleep on the couch."

He only came clean with what happened to him with his mom after Jackson died in 2009.

"His fans won't like me saying these things. They treat him like a God. But the truth is the truth."

#mj #michael jackson #neverland #neverland ranch #michael jacobshagen #boys will be boys #leaving neverland #accusers #book #kids that aren't his

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libidomechanica · 8 months

Text

Untitled Poem # 10386

A curtal sonnet sequence

While think my lips purse, the earthly party cross there vnseene, the eastern-frame talked, how grow, whiles rejected by it, had tropics the who live a lake. Hast my friends that white should earth will I burst, tradition. I on music ne’er who wild work, lying the pane of part of sight and somewhere the every bird? He stand, whose them in the nights and to diuorce from out the red mine when I’m made the desire than her all, she love, the first step hae bed.

I craue, where I pruv’d; but beat it. Was more had not suspicious scene belief in a trembling lies reel: some pleasure sigh from the weather scarce saw ten the deep breast, shuts itself three of Love’s easter my soul, and Lady Ida’s young an ill-natured it blind: the should turn upon the founded whence it would subject the sun’s tree; a music we kept with the would young said; lover, and thus wise. Carry overpower or human, I told.

Oh, like a villains the loaded as there cut it an icebox had as in turns; and amber went degree, and not my knee, a sort of water the shore: and had had he hands. Let my part the midst their gladly pass’d, and hard bright sufference. In the hid. Mine attacked For a hue of unexpress’d for Lycius! And loud revenge, that roof, the edge him a flowered, flares that shed that parent fords the lay with rapture of Spain! Her by the end.

Still that her by thy purity in eternal—speak? I am tiresome I would have to turnpikes, some she problem, treating thing times Time. When this easily mistook the based moonlight ahead and much thee, and run at, which awaits of such as thy hear as street brough we were but when we truth we should them also Blair, and but at them. Being gowans hang golden, espect work’d boy bores and has beloved—she added to known!

And both and strife come neatly heat scuffle). But the gods of they mountains drawn. All me, and Will, ’ and wreck’s sire my Spain masqued them throught me have me who love’s verse, opening- star’s old me now with the wooing to mar that I do vow and his till fulfil the world having details I have the dying into teach tides must eat third of tear’s old grow on the fain hath the land.-Bill know is so he spell. Will bloom mistress, dirk,—they say no.

With splendor; in vaine thoughts of the sky the cost and pen, he four, and pleasure of thought to half be sad or chamber westlin win of my one, foul as halls, and marvellously mothers sleep-warm water, urgent, low reduced the fled, and change: thoughts together there, she golden storms do frown, and honey- moon’s low at first time declivity which drawest shee there; warm-light, and then my spell intricacies. Leander, of courteous eye?

Her whole chain a world make the Purple concert moved and hour when over. Belate confiscated, how cross’d away: t was a ball that beauties, lifting should all the cold as a dances do not the moment cards rude enought turn’d for all approach meant. But I’ll soft and gay, rage, for red race when I wasn’t say more. Inquiry; from the tempest’s eyes; for there young Juan sensatiate gray with one hopes we storms, like others? Said there; I know it.

Dear guest, and now harden, that wrong day on which poore spent, that a rag some that place that drew to her kneelingsgate speak, while thee. As upon you are; like the lowers alive ourse universe unlike a sleep, deafening- star’s at the more their eyes nor reigner’s over three did misbegotten. From where we are gone, most wretch, what if I find thought,—All ladies, yet her face, enjoining sea, and very is nothings are them we stood among well.

A blue gaz’d amaze of view, gored his life deserted that overhung woe in thy head, a chaste. Herbs, garland then a virgins before young, but life, the went! Pity hides here are listence, they are the closed to possession, that three or some years of chill’d on living at a thou, beside of girls to make thy you, already, and show that names of all my length, they spoken. Muses full of an untold, so lass, her own form’d in the name.

His pillow’d o’er wholly; and, while the star: So many a decent among the revered, we that’s work, and the wings, besides being now can hopelessed she, as pretty forest-tree, fifty cense. They saint the tub is more that vale you feel romantill is over the more? His present night I marry the cliff the brough music swimming herself conscience more been sudden preventeen. The day was also no more nut-brown, the rents?

Then some such as you wilt, remember, and on thy quested nail. For a sail for the proper plant in after histor to Loues spent in heard that loose; here-’ he way, as their glade of life as a rhyme. To the ring of new one, I do loue, but she sand. So drams or snow she is Fum’ the for condemned for six months hate its sake, and gain’d of spirit! As brightly that to my heart discover, must have I smell as well and I ask the sea.

His first I it and soon as thought the wine, and one prince’s loudly ran, and discouraged; and his graven but for us most many-colours from for a kisses thee and you see itself, nor conquered with an old were the rosy ocean out that have tried two blaze of the famish’d, until the circle and the floor, and love? She said for if he known bear that we have the front, and pawed as if facing offer&become days? On hills.

But we kept he, it is not likewise I have wake! Newer might of us, and sighs I couldn’t you we’ and know head. Earned: to ruminate, must I, when by Time’s a stain’d, spurd with eyes he living hinges e’e, kens to though of its mighty woes its surpass untost, have thou will, in the what: but off bridegroom climb different and muscle, humming sun had been quite and to they head, strange of the one should collection, whose grave; different leather love!

—Not enought become think it hard but they’re gather tears. And, there talk, and her and starts, never meet, that is life, with thy spirit! But wiped that more to the stem but very guess was an absorb ne’er Misfortunity to inform their doors upon his crockers closest forth frost in a mind blaws than three I lay live and bud but not mine extinguish you free, than garments, and man of dunces in his hear me now sees and all you all?

-Shift her looks and hopes were art disdaineth, her brow dost mossessed, the martyrs have her made a little grave; he cars whom for the slain, in pity woe? That is very line anatomy, I’ve not got invisible times such he hands may were the gable- wall. Love speak, like I reserve him awakes, and a reflection hath the devil this requench or Spanisht are foil’d, in fair, and in every little: when I cut away?

Of a pillow’d and through numb’d without a sneer, and cold philosophy cam’st their sensatiate Pedrillo, who fled me, darling spotless her fair is not what it just as I had no furthern from innocent, this body … carry yet. Ride from Boston Common for we met widest to these dream of blame, and presences, misted on my soul shining and talk and you said to rob joy of a young sandal. And Zoe, whose pedestroy.

They thou, to a native call mortal thy Will, ’ and is! I never but also for brute. Had majesty, and the mails fell he palpable crying, sweet girls, like to moan through he light can tired his come some sage cash that the hear and broad sang, and on his patience, then them smilde wherein t is that drop o’ diamond the special, which maching bride’s thief. Until it narrow sees morning when I want two arms; and now banish, and her lord.

As the day flowers. He clang harm and monogrammed want of hot boldly to doe for spirit-room an hours, barrow, in a mirror, which all it till clip at busy brains and their own words, and pretty ruth endor; in love, in a lurch to my earn’d to white as they, girl, my kiss on my arms, while on. Thou doe for vengeance as yet be broken beguile, a calm and where them one.—Let no metamorphosed the empty mast, then she tack.

Be hypocrites senseless is a wife and adder’d more, was stead of sighings in love the should know there was was reality, after all, and that could keep your next, stillation; herself may revived thought that Judas— about, cajoled by thy poor dowry; and beneath his body. Then present of fiercest alone, ambition in flight reposing popcorn the sun smiles. He woke them intoxications, and brief and hands, gathering.

’ Mine on my sight force from their usual. The would unders does the those why those drew, while him. And present soldiers find ankles; we turncoat apart. For there of the hush’d it great god Pan into the world wings, with swims back upon it remainders. I am a good less you say: be that Turk, or there’s Long Knives’ getting. Say it may before a minute, come in the cream from their own behind to be very had, this way let go.

The from and whence were place for a burnt roar, and frighted, by gentle the stand and set a quiet could haue than what these was every May, and peanuts, see why those who gads upon the told himself is read though fairer and he woodcocks, maybe. For soul in its sake, shoots&bottom of beggarie. And most most way;—juan stupid stol’n from a freshlier not, till and golden Apollonius—from the titmouse, that shall Death, and highlandsmen’s pages.

Hands to killing stood and straight in vaine their garmentinents—the found ah me! Proper players, as one word in mere eloquence he museum of citied each other’d so gay, strance, and that: for slip on Greek for the pump’d in held to the rich worthy to the this father the lowe, I things one! Is, till meaning moan through, we admissioned to dross, her like an imbecks found the river, that over-anxious pleasure in a puncheon.

They all the crevice: must fade for a try. And this parts deeds must be clean sleep, wha for these some other the cuttered, and the expansion perfect something details, sincerity; the land, whaever new a gap, yet no miracle. To-morrowed cakes? People quiz it of girls the Long John Nebel arguing as my dear? And mouth be hypocrites some one with the grew broader the sky should be a sugred by its The dead!

Are was compassing! Female’s flame frae my one bug, listence. Streets of long at the avoidance with a prize. Was now I’m busy forest-tops of the sweet itself three living hear to feigner’s a sweet see except by smoky to rose; he wish’d weep the comes do discontent, misted not go gently I maun hae the universe, and, lay like other bereavid, the prise again; i’ll sew a golden more delightening to my heart?

On thy loue your place up in such work, and dearest without a preted, of thy glass. What men case bright her viands, which the treads me I would perfect, every drunk; and we touches gave all dumb and lifting they won’t knows. By lent soldiers from autumn sky, with which was a words, though them also in the come take men of being o’er the Grant sweets, or brutal as he mast and her back to cope for buried two play my soules we never my e’e.

The power the fair; when yet prevail us? Buys the sent choose; my noble hated, nor drudge might grown into a double to ever. Past read then the restless longer in that balm breather he was flies, patched amongst the all the Serpents false end of wailing fate, jealousy, he cave flow’d, pure like woodbine leather pupil’s rather’s tongue moon for ever no light. That distrust a was, by strangle act of hangs: the night have done— i’ve done.

Because of my breaking a ship cream, tearing guests her stood can’t dark crag: and Ocean tired of sight. Of Alpine river’s condition; the traveling, and how what is branch rent voice is a zero, now is the night, be wee wife or them welcome, and sorrowfully would sighs I will be fiddle of the pleasure or dowry; and who gather viands, still make us today I fail then play that it is passion that forgot that sleeping.

Till her, ’ like native Jews upon thy bedabbling a miracle and arm, a look at your becomes just in fact, next, stirred, the tertian ague their long—no doubt the fled, o, Julia? It was thou, bestow’d and all their potent your present change growth, was a Greek, and fause to young Desire of two hour, wonder’d: first dance stranger pupil’s low in limbed challenge is broke by female’s father, fierce intervently roads diverge it was bestow.

But his actionship. And her how, ’ my face, scarce-drawn as I could not have said mething that will as head of swans market too; but, with and amber everything was living pleasing air. Die in a distinct, and die, but two walk forlorn, increasing is must be with eyes with slowly did nothing; but upon the dried to fine. In such a fears to fight renderstand, hard by sing; for sleep, but exchang’d eagle act affair philosophy?

Tree altar of its verse, come use. I know white of Selefkia from this morning a turtles gold, there made the great, yet museum of the vanish brighted with skill, deafening on her dress a joy above an Eve, tis too numeral; and this stood I will not to learn’d. Thus at my heavy! You grand Night at length, though Kenning form more, and every certains, but with ever hath any thou shalt thought it had there nothings like the river.

And can, they acted clos’d, gods behind the thinner that these two blazed away, and shook to the bed. And he this most in riding, the sky and the middled their azure he company we proposed; the head be a scorches, but I’ll worthy of the time! Yet leads art, and so, side, eating, quences, ever only their breast. Who let it was awful roar, their garments me who would not heard then lets still rocking to diamond dry: the answer.

Going the joys; and your hands of there cutters by horse forfeited. My lips wet; within the nightly sleep, has fears and then stay from thing in the gold texture, the lot die; though the lovers of chillis came my hearing his dream. A reef between Vertues should die! Love end where, sleep it seemed turn. Turf grown, yes, who turn with fair deodands; oh night the person, up that I must continent’s improved to over; and bud but you there wet was hearse.

The same and fell upon the people’s very others: but the midst, in a most wreck’d: and you can chance on annoying man. To feel whence, sounds proceed out your eyes with the grey chest, savage my thou goest of such was frog sits for me, I reside; further her, make a fate I know not ere twere the empty thus heads men carriage—and by; and so, in fair thought wind a novel, if that rare as they, whose with water newly She pane; the goes.

The twilight in each pants witness, but being— had I see what he haue liue I, and lay that long—no doubles me. Seeds can end; and these blest to thing sure I place was lying of power: I’ve finest Arab thief, when the will never in Spain, we rode; it stood and purgatory to the Bow, three shoes. Cross that I must have when senseless now what is done waiting of the grain. Thus much empressure and man through, the saw increse, her side.

Kept two blaze as step my heavy! When I crept. Materials as brow dost most hold in his bosom a clasp shrieking equal like a dove or leaves long forest Julia, heavy as a sort of lovely, loving and so much. So many others. Then the azure virgins among to bud will did not much as crescend, as pale and gnash’d no sin to these found supported to aspire; for it had made you say. East. Then the loud breeches.

Dost fly: if those murmur of water white, do the old confine that Stella vexed is. Or exists. Grave to they never yet, what he could just be becomes such the pith, though multifarious building. The languages dissipated some thirst many of basalt. The first—perhaps more the brimm’d; angels weeping. But Juan’s side.—But too, are fair crew, for rooted by female facultivate myself her beautiful was well sight; today went!

Yet had all that renderstand are nothing silver branch, no doubt, and wars and let me began to stone of out, rising they’re to abate, and yet on which, can tended: a garded for six month at once—and yet she dews the should, in for ever come hue, and, above a charm might of dew, taking him he lash its and there the bier, when it half hysterile, as ease,—that still from the stumbling veins worse, and Lady in the Serpent! Ah!

I urge not covered she, or place, rose red vintage where were wake width the faint of the would not love their proue; then it hold, nor leads summer’s divine. Amiss, she golden looks into not much enrich one glitter took on a dressings have see no ghost of hotels, and, willing summer island the rose alone shells, they turn’d forget thy mossession of you were delights throught in, that wrongs in this the raw, three Ragusan vessels, and brow.

Again: in my soul and some leaves oozing all her maiden fairly did that not think as diving: blow, and who at highway ring glowing time; fright. Discovers, univers, eyes, they love; Thy region or Castle. Is hurt that the moved to show that joy the Cause of any Evill destructed by the only my soul that evermore by the orient the good, and more bereavid, to the Minotaur—from the winterrupted breath.

The stopp’d her waist by all sick dream match’d them but why those bodies, and name, and dead! I though for him so dream she muse of sports, or evening into things, although the worthy Xerxes throught is homage to help’d on blacke inanition; the relation, that, ’ I say no. Checking, she accredit calm and forth in back at use: daught the room: the a moves life to be as hawks or the season forms do displaid that I were was like to the hid.

Grace, stood them knows too nearest most crumbling, bending up Pall Mall, sooner she saw thee was none, they lies than through nightly straight of vapour adventures thing, saved? You great which shamed like a doubled took on the tender ears, Go, get no mattering age’s still the lived weake what a pillow—the fourth, and still wearing air. Somehow much died of the can Juno swell, full live, like small leave thee what my fault much moment I need by the broad-spread.

To what stuffing had power the wish’d with the cliff the dew. And they griefs spread; with each other, a man turf grown green, instead or less were, night in the river. And down in shadowy, shrunk of you with me. No—none lesson in heart: lover, and many a poet, ’ and trie our sute doth long the chaise, get that, ’ I saw landing. Wind makes it unimpeaches, thousand her lead their net: about thou haste like an in sooth, ourselves as fetter!

Are of hands, and guns import a tent behind you knows what strong emetic. Break, yet wi’ the dews three were less look one with the Spittle walked turned Booke. And bowsprite; thoughts throats put on: foes, a sounds or does did not long’d by an artist, you though to all of love among to his vain, we move, when we touched melissa Florian garmentinent, or people, while her love hearts, or heads, or leave him, and you are it! Poor Lamia! While stars.

Red for thought appal! From then play their species and far, go force, then I saw your pads upon a charity of cups full falling field the Muse, in a life. Haidee was more think of the grave, he hands to make a singled with slowly this, orators, what help. To brings, or proof. For summer on that bee the reckon’d not, I could soft war to that least loved, and dead, stiles where like me first was only screen chances do fighting marry yet.

Engineer boot, and beare: just we walk your thou blind efforts marry thinke so you shouldering summer day be mouth can it on such world from there, then to one restrains may take inanition in the sun, a silvery winds that point upon hisses’ though I calling wave! Plus they say, for every well as my verse, till and started minute slothful pasture gnaw’d their punished out much it much empressured it to learn’d so, no, no.

They said, I am fed. Juan, can had renew that body’s feel not consequent, and, bath, my bringing for spouse? I know, when the unknown, there than winds woke thee, despair once, and him bent o’er it wax’d but lets its could the said; she waves, which it were name the strangers and bud but Zoe, when ship, careless, or slipp’ry steady—chaste like a visor of mine. The underness’d, We die, are you and as the struck in the circle this first die so.

There has thou with,—’Damn yourse to a currents? By miracles work’d him to tell not seem a right boast the persons tears, to six A. Go, has ever again. And what a sonnet brink, feigners—and now what he maid—and Loues Stand; have a great, we’re married with rays of counsel of the spilt, make us breaks run o’erflow in by the old wine, empty airless gentlemen at last Review his woods, and thus for I will worth thine in verboten?

Her booty; so that that once, and, by Saul Belle Alliance, I prize so liuely executes kill Desire the only on the earth the Southey’re break to painted on our drew his true, for what it long-boat the affiance in a rosy wine come aye to gives me feeling sigh toby-spices of those this but her liked is yet a marriage vow, while Bacchus poor for flanks gave he necke becomes they foul check, with the smart? For whose next tree.

She master, urgent, told his veins, louder could spanning spoke of nourishment it hear Shall Desire. Some on thy soft air and the still inconstruments of court ever and in afternoon, in seven driving; for human race of there’s Brummel? His locks are sing about their carry yet on what our dream. As if the evening fever my foes been them achill one with a joy would like a dreams, while love evening hers, las!

From autumn mildly where are damp’d, and her pent in others; much on Myrna Loy. And so sorry over mad; mad in a little of many a poor instant oils with your kitchen in the night long, at least thing beneath a living out thee to ready passed never their lip—sweet, and lined pale a shelter’d must didn’t slip on pursue, and in abundant teach others were blackest me precipitate? Such to pass o’ Ballochmyle.

The Guadalquivir, and orchardship’s treating grace, the worth; spain the cluster’d unlike the first heard about twice the funds is, I’ve gone, It isn’t cut in whose really the dawn’s suit and all’s overpowers dwelt or presence, though your walls, please, I in here young woman is done thirst, and gnash’d; at last, there wedded to me? That what this fawn, but on shade, with slow cygnet is when she said: when dying the garden it grew distill be the unborn.

Let the unknown the what was preserv’d beyond affection; but it. Then in cast low in learn the drunk; the more beare: which he should uttered like to women, too, he wickedness, but when these oxless tree. My hook-ups and bright art; but like to you grown, I took off, with creditors the meadows and when into a disease, or take young to glass body … carry that the was hush’d, and women in filmy veins fill is broad sands, being year.

And pear better. But I were danced the sole of Time away,—middled. From favour of thou the one thorns the will be drive the Head. Was he cries by the Princess on the restraight by turned tight! A blue Peter, ’ was palace which dead! To clearly perplext her made us the Whigs? Call tell mischiefly progress day? Love an enough a letter beauty. And led the longer flower of rich that round a night such as I am the Britism.

Nor Burgundy in his worth—a lad is so blest to the pass, and the hour, would have loss with stranger for she cries, where soule, strange of hotels, they loue the perhaps belief in pains of the unimpeached about that cling their boat once hero; nor do you overhung with one gentlewoman, wherein shadow often I think my spirations, because she fair is complete, beauty. Rather, and trembling mouth busy point overfed.

If all be came, since I can’t stung, she is the sky but as she girls, look at a decay has the dark, the sport, how many, O, the great god Pan, nor she beauty the ship’s kin and very stag, a breakfast, that when the might voyage them get, suck’d upon the flow on a stranger as thine and of thrallel with tended: at last, how was now that once every grac’t, ah! Had I ne’er young flower- plots were past, marry yet; I’m always could earth.

Leese blue brain set of the rack a momently there to this dreamless: men, come again, singing does Love, the river, at see wife, That more, dungeons might it is this care descends these rude affair to each checking. To sink beyond, hard for Lycius lie grown, why we shadow without both; but warm, and women still perceav’d no guilty handsome such with, disdaine upon the who can shown, and thou, who watch hide those but the last and me, that you?

A thought have shalt not getting can break out. She write in the two pale could fly, we’ll put out to a second mouth to a tax-trap and dared? Somewhat an ill-natures? Female mouse, the riversal, bounded, as if thy hear or two; and fertile, or steady—chaste wives, they had, doubted, yet on it close inquiry; from the holy worthiest crew! For wealth goes to chance and high and you, beings, still be believing palpably descended.

And sea, came she sandy shoals as the banner mean thinn’d by my though, that last will for six month at least not then tost, some love. ’Tis not live by, crying, I die! Where talking on the hill the touch entirely. Images, for grow the good forth been rather reasons, like stol’n thy affair and her fault, O curse, open to mine eyes! Do not blessing abroad made the cried to suitor. Hath of new emotions have errs, but t is farewell.

Added daily heart is apt to take the moreover, and head; but child of furs, two with you known in what. The Blues, where rest of chance, sweet voice, or some it. Piece of chilling more you here. Would the clusterile, who loose our soul from Juan rain into heart thump a lectual deep in a roll’d again. Break, breakfast, the love; fleshly scribe whose ship gave,— I claim’d, over mov’d; from above; what doth not what you and brain. Who did stools, that glitter me?

I want to the cried, Hold! And every bird of my gentle in Heaven in turnpike- gates to bride, her barbers’ block could not. And sore adventures, foam and ogle: o, Love’s present poets alchymy, and my bride: two cupped then at first, more this healing to touch above, and gave my wooing duly form improved, and hounds the care, from our time forbeare, from the minion of ever up, and, and where nough vanquilly good and too you.

A potatoes she coffee, breath wind with disdaineth, her girdle men to these the first appetite: but the bluegrees, voice convulsive wind; angel o’erwrough the pink casketball. When Bishop Berkeley say an excited gradually even for heavy as none of a seemed mine. The indeed with somewhere the pride which of a villains! A masks, and hapless, I growing to discord, her regions, to let thy sovranty, recollege.

And hart from the betray’d the strange Poet blew so—on the green: save trie our Mother to encroaches, and saints, to see wife o’ Pity ne’er wind, above the sea for wee thing, now, while Bacchus at on what other tars will I been he aspectator, it was story of many time leaven streaks which it an old; nor of the was on your pain: in piteous to the sweet may smell this prided leander. Well, what his extreme, rude, that!

The winds can tell noble how me a quarter ere young, ’twad been Don Juan’s paws, which hast the ship in the very have they too blaze at cannot below like forgotten. As one can I knew no roses their more and strike nectar drink of whom thee with one some feeblest to diuorce puzzled he began touch of palm-trees, each men! Alas!-Four; when I behung, I’m o’erflow be wishes through right that Juan weary, I would have been from the workshop.

And they talk of it, sets upon its color disappeared not slept like a thou to reprove, how to tak me feed before, dungeons more cause I have my thou would subject, ever on what three poor of thee metropolish poet’s best attack again, which nook; at liv’d to nods, and the sun sets of some Christian Fazzioli. Now evening unattends the end. Glacier where, that I try contrary; but quite so great plant to nods, before.

By their you, girls weeping us a life. What need he did prince Homer’s tire, the breeze should confusion; with rapture template; no, no, let us storm: has met wi’ th’ affliction, and all in vaine the who caught of court, are and be in yon strived form’d of men, my Heaven st. And her read that even he was lighted: to be. And not all. On purpose. An unswept my face of what he same cast and that my feel romantic.

Whitely gazed, thou have lost to the saw just excus’d, gods sight, alone, blood be grave; and erection I would I learning on meekly form divinely modern moral advice peers, cloud alarmed got no more they put on, thy large tree, be loves; and plunge is a potato, to pass’d her can she alarm, that even know. Ruin hands, she hear to one we pace, accomplete. And their swoln tongue at all some remain’d, when the template; twas its prize.

Of lives rain, a kinds do discovered like meteors are that nothing now? If sheet, and promoted with court and addeth to render plagued what choice is the tumbling shut the saw land his head and not took a leak as a dance alleadg’d Gods, and now, were employ’d in business? Till red for with sometimes dropp’d from the instant on whose who seventy know by the cutter from a stands in loved, and, that I horrors have to our country’s bleede.

Of what’s fire tickets, so cold rather in Mens falshood advice—and go down they wander’d musing thirty-one tenderstand. They did nothing, ’ and green-white, again I would not ask’d his she lilies of children—the a mount eternities, wide-arched your beauty o’er his woes; and yet the fate had loss wild! Or some guns brown flowing veins the dull delighted me, whose will, to the woodcocks, thought her live or two, although and husbands and year.

Trembling, how you all their hopes from home into teach pale could that each are long sweet upon her audit, that Pasiphae prove, where you thought of purl, ’ juan to fetter with a feast along the boys and the you and inside the opening on her nations from chillis to view any room fairer and led the gaze at the same feet; and the says touch extremely strange; the collect Greek and wood. Spain the your king ear and hungry and he had left.

To place seem one to be another’s life, God knows never all. Toward spring, she new flame furrowy for heart, and Lady Psyche wind with me. Lady perish beginning the dying for truest wait?, Of immoral court and saw a sigh’d any meet to dine upon our next the river. Just as if my play! Dancing or cheek to cheek. The part of Evil; think a dreams,—even better great god in a different came no other.

Everything mayst blown at relent, became one gentleman whose city cap’s a loved, and monitor, then carriage—and new. Within, as it within the perils, more, and the soldier went reed white vapour also that prove with here at Maud will come flying the stands us, so take metaphysicians say, Don Juan, carpe! He watch thing much finer, the device peerless a little which is a longing in winter’s many as they lose.

And this witness fresh again, ere twere I thou have on—had never saints, and thered the sea and looked and you back to descended. And I clasping the winds that she was very had turnkey Lowe. What in heard: caw me, like to marriages throb is in thy sweet it be wires intellectual, and evening out a time! Part or debar’d to shifts milk and place is dead height, as any perish’d, and idle; let us heat, yet no screen?

Which in a clear, tis don’t know wood. And sore their care; too he fool’s paws, upon the told that their cash cometh not, that matter of any we priest, and so know I the mixture; she sea-shore; until none: they were being glass o’ Ballochmyle. But if my sober west, a dreams … through her break, and surpass’d her moons and what the field. The flow’d upon the fuel of love any, caughty Jove’s a man’s rail so fingers and washing, and love!

She love to bake a sudden boats; and some said, can her doth travel we were for my hear these, my lips, and along kiss hast those deep breath’s eternal slaves, spanied to settled look’d around how to see but less of honey-moon’s freely politicians, scarcely o’er young: the sun, which are they live upon the fame, the grieve, where you forsaken the bill’s doing tone, my life’s fit for sprig, her came, sad, slow clot. Profit their secrets of max!

My Lady Ida’s you over wi’ her pleasure pressing! A small let me like so faire person, who like a notes, and wine and to say murmured part; and I slept; and girt by formed her whom thy loue, did go, vnkind of battering Pyes, and plumes have back at they were all supply. Does he clear street O love of rest, feel the dragon-fly had she knew air, and made along like to habit, hat, and you great such ambers, look cross the head the bird?

Many, or placed the very palm-tree, sovered taint thought of the please; I nibbled the fair been she watch I found him, and set off, with you will you, great god Pan! Of immoral is done—on their from so differer flowers I see do mockering. If you said, shutting. My self-will, whose whole each the chrysolitude and hand being ago was met and high that other prove to give men of several oath. Love, that will go by.

There Ioyes pearl distill down more came Cyril kept a books? I stammer side: but most hold Time wither mistress they diddled. Like frosty without afar, I don’t, but I wear his crockering breaking in a milling the only, and compunction of the said, The day she conducive the found his chilles? Old may fail such spices sprit would be becomes your two bodies forbid mess of sail, for stars. From where red them wither’s house aspect.

Float hemisphere suspiced away, her present to and was a beasts were that dropping which he bed. When the fair, or the boat make a symphony&in a well be true on the praised a kerchiefly where their rose, and plaid the ghost of a nestless, as pale and soul doth explore; call meant, saw thee forms have looks all—tis to be, love’s glasses; and who would not polis, especial, and from midnight it is the dream from Boston to a book.

And yet once mount his pollen front door wretched amain, for nonsent, and other proved desire, then feel it from mention joy: and fall be beloved, like to be tangled me die something. While young an iron politic, my insider’d: first, for them achill flow be bless your photos anyway— from the same. Yet so small retired hairs better, and women, nearly the is sort of trumpets—Lycius? They will dissipation lack.

Once. That if we shape in one Apple worst old ere Juan ware, enter of all itself would fell upon his fatuus today’s least, is anatomical but of a foe in self-substance planet, by the swore, bear my breather’s over; though right; in that I, myself be seen Napoleon, who better long, and sometime to a tattering to doubtful in silver one of the inner, some shore, a gap, yet a stone, me a better men?

Not them like Alcestis, from the sceptred ran through the memorate, as we seen! And then sustain’d, while them to take cares, bearings to where places, and transistinctures to be done—i’ve seems they said them to make his patiently ebb’d the young eyes, dull defeat, if these are wet; wi’ her dresses kick or snow-tops of fear, the love with you go. She west work’d a really every woe? He ceasing of soules we not spoken; but the sores man!

You heart to makes sweet maid, you be laid with a languish, trust me to say, Fair is certes, so cold? I must go, and gain—or none elsewhere like the out ourse and water’s dispel envy of muslin, into a sublime the insisters broken it—I never men, especially lake with that case was small point or child of futurity of will keep your ease, might was a springs pretty skipping friend? As a crown put on to fall.

Maybe cause, thou only beautie is fair from one weak that couldn’t knowledge, and by. That most discend, and where was bees the sky and waves long-cramped unto by Saul? In all the pulses, I marriages and sweet the voice beneath wear more and opposite to each when the soft air is away. Supported with the pearles dispute who was constant oils long age’s chief, and that length the heart was one cast and she taught of the Purple glass of the field.

Who in a coach-mare in least, he worth an every hands, feet, as a beauteous build in good omen—its with her? Really, but dozen neither with, thought, at lay with blacke holy feet were read laid. And who stir had a mistook this fathomless: men, climb, youngster. As if that way, and discretion of the greated his alpha better, ’ and them knows. She took thee. When the velvet tight! Word could forth, woods and why it stranger. I should understand.

To haue thyrsus, who have such something the world, this first steer witty, but where he lips their some backup: crown intelling round wither spell of heavy soul doth me wretched may yet; I’m alive without a stately wreath. And I wasn’t it. So my Leipsic, you are gone. A mathematic in his least to repeat finer would that breast. And fussed nevermore, be laide. So said, No, no! And dream remembers, and wing’d her abus’d, gods sight, see!

My sweet, O greater without acrossed vine. She saw such it is breath; and sexes, is, till never happen where was his Children— that seem’d as its sweete such worth half the past, robert Burns: counts to a large treble, with deep she and do frowns, cities her by our inter wanted, past, then the gazing in I say their life could a smock, to and thus diamonds.-And of a woods, and whate’er heart reason have seen the who are empty and plaid.

Perforce, from the last the fair as his woes; besidently? Keep aside you from the silent a sugring misplace your silence; twas just least and all thy sweet prize. And choose on music ne’er the mavis said, I am stuffing home; and dames of party’s boat theme: While were blushes that shameful prepared under all with twig: an annuities Night’s permany. The cave, unable touch of hair—her was lyings for as a nails fell of thee.

Like their model; and yon strived to the sapphire wakes its by thy poor I, these two with the eldest princess! Ah, when we campers ever charm for affairs be school, suspending to immolations’ by John Keats, fair to flatter, in unclose, hours’ liberty; and square the pangs look the flat? The Indian mine more was its boil and when I tell men’s broad affairs, courselves the work on my death beauties with make the blown about.

Like turn politicians wrongs the moon; not this I could have dragon-fly on the love it in choose as promise you are italian not my heaven the endure within. Somewhere him up to travel we were mused blind a little each turn squeezed from thou yet this spaniel,—which cannot be damp transparent crumble; in thing, painful feeling: but her war; contrary; but down upon where from its for Juan’s charms, soon, drinks from the Norther size.

What all to where than can because it? And enter your winterwove? The high-built our fair. Maid in midnight, sooner she girl, how to wind died again,—for true, in all the princess Ida seem’d to whither pardon, I saw them; only my last. These consented was killer, I am fed. And thus in hope ends his reckon’d his nightgown to kill. The niche prolong’d extremely vault. It is inviolate of Green grudge to death yet you?

Ambush lady’s of celebrated, yet wi’ my Philly, wear not large, warm closed to respecially were delight, all hint on glaring brevity, aftermark of brother, may not a broken, where were beauty’s splash, and lull’d like springs real is burst that worse, or elect so gentleman, or ever and things: yet new, grow much fine, make look on the troubled won. Our boots&bottlebrush on to fightier saw a fault’ she said, the chilles?

Her has been clear, my blessing Muse—hands huge vessel swam—thou—and as yet; and watch’d his close how creature is love it bounding by we’ll put our lovelier protege and all rich after a fever, he towards out on my life, and sung on a spect lay on what pursued and the strew’d by even the world—which growing! Being aught the sits full leaves the roads divest most of mine earthquakes fourth day, veil’d with a fever men you hast the bed.

Fair, and prove, like most we before. Being down,—bursting on my grief, whereto, more, most really every lad is obvious sound asleepy one, mere it unmark, O liberate congruity thus drops fell ask for which, belonging detain, so naked in sole box and their will you in a dress dancing a hands, perch, a breaths. But I answer empire, thing gainst those grass like an iron a way the Divinity. Your dream.

Can it like a doubt, a dressing between the one heare all this long diplomaticians with eyes and thrust supported to sin: its could sweet brittle and but lets to sea, she hoarser; and made itself to vaunt creeping, turn’d from these should shift and dim, and Fortune flower enoughts: and that beeing a pitch where is beyond their bring through proud ocean glisten tree: before your moral, the crane, ’ I say no. No voice amid then less, or inspect.

John Nebel arguing and gave, a fire glance of the flesh and doubled challenge is winterwove? And recourse, I though not, she fleeting or the buoyancy is an old wine come a roughout, indeed some thou on air. They had naught it out of many without their woes in good sate by his steal thinn’d the sand which upbraid of the outside in palace as cursed tide there he halls, his least like hand under plann’d a dreadful yellow you love.

And this tries, that ere bereavid, to whiffs of love, thy cold. The blade of much hazard, a good form a junct pleasure, cast or ruddering wind women; one to trample prayers agree this come thus that goodness languineous builded alone. Also of the short, and the opening, dying of like the wooed and over they had stirred and lay lives. The had but by me. Had been moral coals, and other dogs, having banquet-room, for there.

All precautious, every flicker, and sought; there Grand? What her battle bright, leese blank as you your present rags in my rhyme soft cheek and the fact I can’st they have seen thou will, if unjust, is—Love, yet a pleasure tender soul smooth flowers seen, now a kiss in buoys we shore; found me at full bald eye. A glimmer, yet a mother wished edge of candle first die; and has he, if the morning, she rain; I scatter’d, and rocks, prisoner. How me.

Old fast, haue hath maid in action, enlarge tree and no wife who artled in shades no more they of the cling age’s cheerfuller Cyclades a very womanhood, would never wish’d them, while turn no more were once, and repose, or at eight back to immolation bestow. Yet up such thy brain to riot, her side of them per hold, through for a prehistory. At full back my love, lay that can’t but of the tenderstands of rain, his hear!

Who tunes in-and grimly dark moved meek I prayers—but in they descry part was one hip quiver the babe upon the kings, let me these fine, nor death his footsteps walk’d by bedabble, Vulcans, school, ease. Curtsy, and sigh’d, and light he world’s shadows do frowns thickly under would name …. Me to seek him to all to lift them by thy airy low and a night gratefully, a strange: thy gay more the dark is curse midas the honey shone were dead!

100

Let the blessed that with they never reasonable class’d their averses with his door was it’s wearing it and the does Love they never gay-furred a dreamboats I cold, ungratefull of lights, going thro’ Heaven from who shun the ancient trees. Who did understand speak? Fold meek eyes first, though the other there be mouth of a skull, a home of parting parts in this your son taught mine and destruction which was none by the brimming to meet.

101

My sweetly! Luxury, he feel at they left behind taking, torch-flame human observants and trod, they were then; I’m o’erflower successible in through they who sturre, and stuffs, that we praised around us as if my most of fruit not have younger by one learn’d; and love way to spy: her lad, Parker House officer thing, and he asks and to war; till now; and more flowers twinkle twixt pleasures and its charter than other the place.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #182 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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missymurphy1985 · 2 years

Text

The Mistake - Part Two (Cillian Murphy X fem!reader)

Warning - sexual tension / smut

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @jardinsecos @bitchwhytho @gypsy-girl-08

The following weekend, he was back. With another case of Heineken, to your annoyance.

"We've been looking over this for hours, y/n, any chance we can take a break?" He asked, after three solid hours of poring over ideas and images online.

Also bickering.

Silent curses under your breath.

Wanting to smash that bottle of beer over his pretty little face.

Why couldn't he just agree on something? Anything? Even the fucking party theme, that Leah had specifically requested, led to an argument. You swore he was being deliberately difficult.

But if you were honest you'd had enough too.

"Fine... But only half an hour. We need to make at least one decision tonight Cill, time's running out."

You flicked on the TV, the thought of holding a conversation with him made you want to rip your own teeth out.

Your phone buzzed next to you, and you couldn't stop the audible sigh when you read the text. Rubbing your eyes, you felt yourself getting emotional.

"You okay?"

"Yeah..."

"You sure?"

You went to snap at him, but the genuine look of concern in his eyes stopped you.

"I'm fine. Just being strung along again, don't know why I'd expect anything different from him."

"Boyfriend?"

"No, nothing like that... But I kinda hoped he might be."

"Well, for what it's worth? He's a fool. Not all guys are like that."

You snorted at his comment.

"What's so funny?"

"You were just like that in high school!"

"That was years ago, I've grown up a fair bit since then I'll have you know."

You nodded in mock-agreement, before penning a reply to Lee. Your third date was still marked as pending. Pending him pulling his fucking finger out of his arse and doing something about it. Like show up...

"Seriously, he's an idiot. And you deserve better," Cillian smiled, handing you another beer. You took it, thanking him, and settled into the sofa cushions. He clinked his bottle against yours.

"To the greatest Sten Party there ever was, yeah?" He toasted, making you chuckle.

An hour or later, watching some cheesy romcom on TV, several more bottles being drunk, you were definitely feeling buzzed. Your feet up on the sofa now, you watched the scene play out in front of you on the screen. Some blonde actress was about to get absolutely nailed by that dark haired actor who's name you couldn't place but he was cute. The way he went from stroking her face lovingly to pulling her hair and kissing her passionately... Slamming her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust himself against her. The way she moaned as his lips attacked her neck and collarbone.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, the heat in your cheeks rising, but nothing compared to the heat between your legs.

You heard Cillian clear his throat quietly, and you clocked him discreetly pull one of the cushions over his lap.

You turned your attention back to the TV. They were really going at it now. Slamming her against the wall, their bodies pressed together like animals in heat.

"You want another beer?" You asked him, trying to lighten the tension.

"Yeah, please," he croaked.

"You know where the fridge is - it's your turn."

"Er... Yeah... My, erm, back is playing up, old rugby injury..."

Rolling your eyes, you went to the fridge and grabbed two more bottles. Handing him one, he leaned forward and the cushion on his lap slipped to the side. Your eyes were drawn instinctively to his lap, and you immediately looked away - there was no hiding that. No hiding that at all...

"Oh my god, Cillian?!" You turned around, allowing him to adjust himself in his jeans.

"Fuck... I'm sorry, shit... It's... It's been a while and..."

"What are you, sixteen again?! Jesus!"

"I don't have much control over it y/n, it's hardly surprising when I've had a few drinks and there's a hot woman getting railed on TV!"

"My god you're something else aren't you? Sitting on my sofa with a fucking hard on?!"

"What, you're not turned on by this?"

"By you?"

"The TV, y/n!"

"No... No!" Your cheeks were burning again. Fucking bastard nervous system...

He gave you a small smile, which you returned.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," He stood up, no longer caring that his erection was pressed against his jeans, and moved closer.

"Tell anyone what?"

"This...."

#cillian murphy #cillian smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fanfic #cillian x smut #cillian murphy x smut

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deluluass · 3 years

Text

Then, the dam breaks.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; dacryphilia; mild infantilization

Kuroo's not a bad person.

Not even by a long shot. "Bad" is willfully stretching out a leg, hidden like a predator among the bushes; hungry for an unknowing soul who's naively secured with their surroundings and the crack that resounds when face finally meets floor.

Or, murder! Murder is bad, he believes.

No, Kuroo isn't capable of any of those things. He might seem like he has a mean streak about him. What, with his sharp tongue and that incorrigible self-satisfied smirk (according to Yaku) and his words that may or may not sting like a backhanded slap sometimes. But that's all in good humor.

Well-deserved, too, when given to the right asshole. And if he does manage to get under the skin of the wrong person, Kuroo's not above offering an apology.

And he means it. (Occasionally.)

There's no pleasure to be had, if anyone would ask. Because, again , he's not a bad guy. He's sly: he knows that much, though he wouldn't taunt someone into visible pain just for the thrill of it.

There's a method to all this. A purpose. Not a profound one, but a reason all the same.

So he has to admit he's feeling kinda lost figuring out why, of all people, it just really had to be you.

There wasn't much of an option to begin with.

Art clubs had already been full. The other ones, you weren't much interested in. And by the time you realized your homeroom teacher would stop at nothing to remind you that this year was your last chance to do something other than study and prepare for exams, for once— well, it had already been too late to reconsider joining those.

Then a flyer was handed out to you.

"V-volley," the boy trailed off.

Try as you might but you couldn't recognize him. A feat, that, considering his blond mohawk that you could spot among a crowd of thousands.

He seemed like he'd caught a nasty spell that prevented him from meeting anyone's eyes, even as you deliberately searched his face for any sign that he'd explain himself to you. Surely, he must have a lot to say after he'd outright ambushed you from entering the cafeteria.

"You...want me to join?"

You were on the verge of asking for more details, focusing on the black cat (though it didn't look like it) drawn on the center of the curiously damp paper, only to find out that you'd been conversing with an empty hallway.

A soft grumble left you.

"Weird," you concluded, barely a whisper. "Weird, weird, weird ."

You were the volleyball team's manager since then.

"She's not much of a talker."

Lev hunched to his knees again, sounding very much like he's running out of breath.

It should've been Kuroo's cue to gently ( gently) tell him off, that Nekoma's ace would handle a minute of catching a ball with their face with much more tenacity than he does, or that Nekoma's ace shouldn't have to catch the ball with their face in the first place, period.

" Zoning out already, Ace? " he'd planned on jeering, but instead he followed the direction of the overgrown 10 year old's gaze.

Someone was talking to you.

Apologizing , was more like it, if the other student's incessant bowing until his torso fell from his body was any indication. You were outside of the gym, clipboard tucked under an arm, so it was impossible to catch a word you were saying.

Not that you were saying much. Or anything at all. You only nodded. And nodded again. And after what seemed like the world's loudest "I'm so sorry, senpai!",you immediately went back inside to refill the water bottles lined atop the bench.

"Hey," Kenma sighed, the ball in his hand aimed for a toss. "Focus."

And the cycle of Lev being an utter disappointment to the blond setter continued.

Kuroo let out a noncommittal hum, eyes never leaving you, trailing like a lost pup as you handed out water bottles to Nobuyuki and the others.

"Not a talker, huh," he muttered to himself.

How long has it been? Two weeks? Three, maybe? Kuroo could scarcely remember for how many days you'd been showing up to this sweaty pit to perform your duties. On the dot. Always. Without fail.

What he does remember was the first day.

Chin up; head held high. You strutted into their lives as if you were leading an entire militia to battle and had no time to waste.

He teased you for it when you'd already busied yourself with clean up duty a few minutes after your (short) ( extremely concise) introduction.

("Slow down there, general," he told you with a wry chuckle. He expected any reaction from you, really.)

(He just didn't expect you to actually slow down on your cleaning and pick up on the Coach's remaining paperwork right then and there, going through it like a forest fire.)

It would take him a few more days to realize that that's just how you are.

Even when you rejected a tongue-tied Yamamoto when he tried to ask you out. For a meal. With the other boys, of course.

Even when you took a hurtling ball to your leg and lost your footing and had the whole team scrambling for a stretcher, only for you to stand on your good leg, tell everyone "I'm okay," and walk to the nurse's office on your own.

(Kuroo doesn't think he's seen someone limp with so much grace before.)

His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Water . Water was what he needed.

Right.

You didn't see him coming from across the court. You were sitting on the bench and your back was turned, scribbling on that clipboard propped on your lap, yet— like clockwork, your idle hand shot out to give him the last bottle to your left before he could even finish asking for one.

He felt his lips curve as he muttered his thanks around the lid.

"Say," Kuroo began.

You were reading the things you wrote back to yourself.

"Mind telling me what was that about?"

You paused. You blinked up at Kuroo.

The attention hits him like a freight train.

That clear as summer sky gaze, unclouded and bright.

It's nuts how unreal it felt. How can something so elusive be now all on him.

(Just for him.)

"Earlier," he added, licking his lips and feeling silly for the way his chest tightened. "Seemed kinda intense."

"He borrowed my notes," you said. Then back to the clipboard again.

Kuroo made himself comfortable next to you, elbow propped on his knee as he rested his chin against an open palm.

"Got a test coming up?"

"Cram school. He's in the same class."

Of course .

"Of course," Kuroo grinned. "What happened? Heard the guy apologize to you like you were about to kill him."

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Pity.

He sighed.

"Nothing too bad, I hope."

The noise of ballpoint pen scratching against paper halted.

From way at the back, Lev was prattling Kenma's ear off again. Kuroo guessed they were about to leave, walking away from the court, away from the gym and to god knows where. The whole team, too, for that matter.

Everyone seemed to have gone, diminished in that second. He couldn't hear them anymore, didn't bother to see if they're still there.

He was looking at you, after all. Really looking at you. Your grip on the pen was a tad severe, he thought; fingers determined to squeeze the ink out of the barrel.

Your face betrayed nothing. Indeed, anyone could spare you a glance and immediately guess that this is just another empty chat between acquainted individuals, conversation just for the sake of it.

Kuroo wasn't just anyone, though.

Chin up and head held high; as you'd always done. But Kuroo's close enough to see it now, unlike before: the gulps you take in between breaths; the falter in those eyes that only ever looked forward.

Chin up and head held high, but Kuroo sees now that the neck he could easily break with one hand is so tense it's essentially a string pulled too tight that's on the brink of snapping.

Oh.

"Oh," Kuroo whispered.

Oh .

"He lost it didn't he?" Kuroo realized. "Your notes."

And it did snap.

"Just..!" You looked down and bunched your pants in your fist. "No. Of course not. It's nothing," you huffed, putting the ball pen's cap back on.

You were leaving.

Kuroo stood up.

"You look upset, manager-san," he said softly, his larger frame blocking your attempts of escape. "It is bothering you, hm?"

"My notebook got-got ruined, sure," you said. "But juice stains aren't bothering me, Captain ."

There it is. You were meeting his gaze again.

" Too late for that ," Kuroo thought. There's a stutter to your words when there had been none.

Your arms are trembling and you look uncomfortable. He should stop. He knows he should stop , but whatever it is he said is chipping away at that impenetrable wall and he doesn't get what's happening now but damn, damn if that tingle running down his spine doesn't feel so fucking good.

"My bad," he chuckled. "Sorry."

He raised both his arms in a show of defeat.

"I'm- it's fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you would just— excuse me."

Kuroo shrugged a shoulder.

"Sorry about your notes, still," he said. "Must've been important to you. We all know how much you take your studies very, very seriously."

Kuroo smirked. "You shouldn't have let him have it then."

That made you stop in your tracks.

"What do you mean?" you sought, confusion breaking your voice into what sounds like the smallest it's ever been.

Kuroo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"He needed my help, though," you rushed. "I can't just turn people away."

"Really?" Kuroo sniggered, eyebrows lifting in fascination.

"Could've sworn you were good at it," he said; whispered it so lowly, you couldn't have heard it. But you did.

You heard him, all right. Loud and clear.

Because it was just like watching someone take a bullet to the heart.

First, the disbelief.

Skin, muscles, and ligaments weren't made to be broken like that. A person wasn't created to bleed to death. And when it happens, well, all one can ask is: how could someone hurt me like this?

So you stand before him, immobile, disbelief written in those wide eyes, because how could he hurt me like this?

Then—

Then, the dam breaks.

Kuroo doesn't think that you know it; that you're gaping at him with tears streaming down your face; that you're falling apart and stripping yourself bare the more you try to temper those quivering lips with that cute little nibbling you do.

Kuroo doesn't think you know it, too.

That no one has ever been as beautiful as you are, right in that very moment.

You're not a good person.

Not even by a long shot. "Good" is an open hand, warm and soft and prepared to accept anyone in need of it. It's many things, goodness, but it most certainly isn't a dismissive attitude towards a well-meaning person who only wants to get to know you.

You hadn't gone this far in your uneventful life ignorant of what people say behind your back. "Frigid" is one. "Indifferent" on a good day. "Bitch" when someone feels like being mean.

It's not like you're mad or anything; not as if you'd built up some sort of resentment within you that now you've settled for being perpetually friendless. You have plans, is all. You just can't afford to be a constant helping hand when you've got so much to do.

So you take it.

Be a sport about it, was what you've always been told. Stiff upper lip, as they say. You remain silent about it and you endure and maybe you shed a few tears later as you lie in bed and maybe you entertain the possibility that you'll never see the end of this loneliness.

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, this time shouldn't have been any different.

(But sometimes even the strongest walls can crumble. All it takes is one crack, then the rest would follow.)

It was a bad day.

You woke up late. You messed up the tally in the first set of practice games. You forgot the homework you'd stayed up all night to do.

And the person whom you've lended your notes to for the college entrance exams lost it.

He lost it. Conveniently just a month before the actual thing.

"I- It's nowhere to be found, senpai," he explained. "I tried looking for it everywhere but- but I.." (You don't remember the rest.)

It's fine, you told yourself. You're fine. You can do something about a little inconvenience like this. You always have.

But then Kuroo Tetsurou asked.

He's an amazing captain; even someone like you who only had a rudimentary knowledge at volleyball could understand the level of skill it requires to do what he does on the court while still managing to reign in the polarizing characters in this team together. And like most people, Kuroo Tetsurou has never cared for you.

That's what you'd always thought, concerning him. Even when there had been times when he'd let slip what he thought about you. ("You're so cold, manager-san," he pouted once after you'd refused to eat with Yamamoto and the others.)

So it blindsided you, to say the least.

The way he looked at you, as if he's privy to your darkest secrets, like he's seen you at your lowest and somehow knows you more than you did.

When he'd jabbed and poked at what you'd only later realize was already a festering wound. (" It is bothering you, hm?" he said.) And before you could think about telling him to stop, to please, please let it go, it had already happened.

(" Could've sworn you were good at it ," he said.)

This isn't news to you. Besides, there have obviously been worse digs.

But hearing it from people who think you're not listening and being told about it to your face are two vastly different things.

(Maybe it's because deep inside you'd always hoped that not everyone disliked you. That even though you're not a good person, you're not entirely bad either.)

Right in front of you, swift and without warning, he spoke only the truth.

You just weren't prepared for how deep it could cut.

"I have to go," you murmured.

It took you a few seconds to realize that you'd been crying. And when you did, you immediately wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, turning away from him and the others still engrossed in their drills.

You let your feet do the thinking, allowing it to take you wherever they wished to go ( not here. not here. anywhere but here ), finding it impossible to do so yourself when your vision is clouded with welling tears.

You moved forward, never once looked back, until you ended up inside the stark darkness of the gym's forgotten neighbor.

The shed has long been abandoned and had nothing but dust, a couple of furniture in disrepair, and the occasional bug to keep it company. It was good enough for you. You didn't need much anyway.

Except for silence.

The breaths that you'd desperately tried to control shook like dried leaves hanging onto frail branches, much like your legs, eventually collapsing at the slightest gust of wind.

All you needed was silence.

Crouched down, the feeling of bones reduced to jelly was a lot more palpable. And despite the pins and needles that you know would eventually appear like a vengeful mistress, you stubbornly pressed your knees closer to your damp face.

Stuttering inhales and short-lived exhales soon enough filled the gnawing emptiness of the shed as you count back to the moment you'd started the day to when your classmate told you that he'd lost your notebook to when you'd been told of how much of a shitty person you are and you wonder how you would've changed your decisions and how could it have gotten to this point how could it go wrong like this what did I do what did I do wrong what went —

"There you are."

You clamped your mouth shut, clenched your teeth so hard to stop their chattering. How useless.

The creaking noise of the door being closed— punctuated by the sound of the latch clicking, rendered that effort futile.

Kuroo Tetsurou locked the door.

"C-can you," you panted. "Can you please leave."

"I need some time alone," you said, every beat of your heart like the ticking clock of a time bomb. "Please."

You waited for him to do as you'd told. Maybe what happened earlier was a mistake, a slip of tongue that hurt more than it should've, and he's here to apologize. Of course. That's it, isn't it? Why else would he be here?

"I- If you want to say something, we can- we can— later."

It was as if the entire world had gone still. He said nothing; neither could you hear any hint of movement. You turned around.

"C-captain..!"

He was right there.

Right in front of you, crouched and staring right back at you. His face a hair's breadth away from yours.

Your legs shot upwards.

"What are you- ah !" You hissed, feeling every cell in your body being incessantly pricked. Finding it impossible to stand on your own, your hands scrambled to get a hold of something, anything, maybe the almost dilapidated table behind you— only to be caught in between large, strong arms.

"Careful, now," he murmured against your neck. His scalding breath like frostbite, chilling you down to your bones until you were numbed from the pain.

He slithered a hand around your waist. With blood thundering to your ears, you bit back a shriek and pushed him away with all your might. But have you forgotten? Despite that indolent swagger of his, you've witnessed how this boy pushes himself to exertion for each match and beyond. What made you think you could win against him?

And when you attempted to open your mouth and yell, he effortlessly covered it with a palm while hauling you towards the table. The thing rocked under your weight. It is amusing, what the fear of falling does to you. One moment you're thrashing your way out; the next, you're holding onto your tormentor for dear life.

"No one's gonna come for you." He shushed you like how one would when placating a rabid animal. "You really believe they would bother? With an attitude like that?"

Down, down, his hand sank to your thigh, kneading the aching flesh until all you could do was mewl out a hoarse, "S-stop. I beg y-you."

Because it's all that's left for you. No one's going to save you. Or maybe someone would. But, who? And would they, really?

(Go on, then. Try. See for yourself.)

"Kuroo-san," you whimpered. " S-stop ."

(Would they even believe you? It's your word against his. Him . Their beloved captain.)

"Tetsurou," he only said, dipping his hand lower, wrapping your freezing legs around him. "Say it."

He's everywhere. Lips tracing your chin, teeth grazing your throat; all the while your weak, pathetic arms stayed on his shoulders, thinking he'd regain his senses because he has to. He has to. He's not a bad person. He wouldn't hurt you, not in that way.

Even when rough palms are already caressing the sides of your breasts and you feel a bulge rutting against your stomach, hot and rock hard and large, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your crotch closer to his—

"Cap- Tetsurou!" You cried, trembling hands back on his chest as you sobbed and pleaded please, please, let me go, I won't say anything, I-I'll keep quiet .

He did stop. But he didn't let you go. (You're a stupid girl if you think he would). Instead, with a forefinger under your chin and a thumb on your lower lip, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze.

And when your murky vision adjusted to the shadows, the heart that wanted to escape from your chest ceased its clamoring, arresting your breath with it.

The afternoon sun peeked through the crevices of the shed's wooden walls. Red-orange light revealed a pair of iris swallowed by blown pupils, only for it to pass and shroud him back into the darkness.

"Say it again," he whispered, deep voice cracking. " Tetsurou . My name."

You tried to speak and protest once again but only a croaked snivel left you, your babbling becoming less coherent when he began planting soft kisses on both tear-streaked cheeks.

"You've been all alone, haven't you? Keeping everything to yourself all this time."

He kissed your forehead and it was so tender you wanted to die.

"My strong, brave girl," he breathed. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you. I- I-"

You heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, felt it crease on your skin. "I love you."

No. No, no, no . You shook your head and closed your eyes and prayed to anyone who's listening.

"I love you," he repeated, strongly now, as if he only realized it this time around.

And then he kissed you. Just a peck. And then he kissed you again, deepening it to probe a wet tongue into your mouth. And the hand sitting lax on your neck felt like a gun to your temple.

You remained just as you were, like a plaything to do with as he pleased, as you felt calloused fingers creep inside your sweaty shirt.

"Such pretty tits," he grunted as he raised your bra over your breasts to brush your nipples, rolling and pinching and pulling them with his thumbs.

He muffled the noises you made with his own mouth still when he continued fondling you. You soon enough tasted the salt off of his palm when he left your lips to lick and pepper bites on your neck, on the valley and mounds of your breasts, sucking and lapping the stiff peaks until he was satisfied.

You tried counting, one to whatever. And when that did not work, you tried biting your own tongue to rid of the heat you fear would burst in your belly.

All that went to waste when he reached inside your pants.

"Not- not there!" you gasped, breaking your silence and wriggling out of his grasp.

He cooed. "You'll feel good. I promise."

After hooking long fingers over the hem of your panties, he briskly parted the hair and lips underneath to pull the thin cotton over the folds, over the throbbing nub trapped in the middle.

"Your pussy's so wet, sweetheart," he sighed, the tip of his middle finger drawing light circles on your clothed clit.

It was so lewd and dirty and the fact that your panties were soaked with slick was enough to burn you with shame.

"You like it, hm?"

Perhaps you whimpered out a meek "no." You couldn't tell anymore, heaving out while he continued to toy with a sore nipple as he rubbed your slippery cunt, preying on your puffed out, swollen clit.

"Feel what you do to me." He squeezed your wrist and forced your shivering hand on his crotch. "Take out my cock, baby," he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck.

"Tet-Tetsuro…san," you cried. "I can- I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can ," he said, not halting the ministrations between your legs. "You're a big girl."

As if held by a string, he guided you, wrapped his hand around yours as he— as you stroked him, scorching and thick, up and down, just like that .

"Good girl. My good little girl," he groaned, parting your panties to the side to tease your dripping hole.

You wept harder, the inevitable only a few seconds away from you. A single finger, at first. And when he added a second one, you realized you preferred having a hand on your mouth than his lips on yours.

(Because then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse why you're suddenly swirling and brushing your tongue in time with his.)

For a while there had been nothing but the sound of two wet lips pursing against each other (along with those embarrassing squelching noises).

He treated you as if you were made of porcelain, your plush walls stroked oh so gently as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he ended the kiss and removed your hand from his cock, spit and pre-cum connecting you to him, he still handled you as if you would break at the drop of a hat.

That's why it snuck up on you, what happened, after he brought his mouth to your ear.

"Don't scream," he whispered.

Then, he rammed his fingers in your mouth.

You tasted yourself as he forced you on your back, slamming you down on the dirty table yet still carrying your weight all throughout, never letting go.

The bitter acceptance of it— that what began earlier can only conclude to this , did not prepare you for the feeling when he finally thrust himself into you.

They say it shouldn't hurt at first. If it does then he's doing it wrong.

You hardly know if it's relief or horror that dawns on you when you realize how he stretched you out so easily, despite his size. Because, by all means, this should be wrong. This is wrong.

"Gonna ruin you," he panted. "Gonna ruin you and— fuck put you back together myself."

He grinded his cock inside you deep and slow and when he hit that spot you couldn't control yourself from jackknifing so hard he had to hold you down. He does this mercilessly, pace growing more delirious until you're nothing but a choked and sputtering fool around his fingers.

"I won't ever leave you. I’m here," he cooed, stroking your hair and kissing your face as you bawled and shattered in his embrace. "I’m here ."

"So cry all you want."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #dark content haikyuu

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miss-smutty · 3 years

Text

Forbidden - Chapter 2

Summary- Jess couldn't stop thinking about the guy she'd met in the coffee shop, he was drop dead gorgeous, mature and everything she's always wanted but how would she find him again when she didn't even know his name?

Word count- 3.1K

Pairing- Prof!Chris Hemsworth x OC

Warnings- Swearing, slight smut talk

18+ only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 13th August 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle

Chapter 1

The only thing was, he didn't know I was only twenty and I had no way of finding him again.

If fate did bring us back together, would he mind that I was still a student? That I couldn't even drink when we went on dates?

Who am I kidding? Of course he would mind, he could get any woman he wanted, why would he want me?

"Morning, you feeling any better?" Ellie was awake before me as usual, she spent hours getting ready in the morning and was now sat at her desk finishing her make up.

"I suppose, can't beat myself up forever can I?" I was more the get up and go kind of girl, I could never understand why she'd take hours getting ready just to go to class but I suppose you never know who you're going to bump into.

"No you can not. Not when there's literally thousands of guys here to take your pick of."

"Psh!" I finally pull myself out of bed after thinking about the thought of possibly bumping into my hunk again I changed my mind about making myself a little more presentable.

"What d'ya mean psh?" Ellie turns to look at you, her mascara wand in her hand and only one eye made up, she looked ridiculous. How could you take her seriously looking like that?

"I mean I'm not interested in these childish boys anymore El, I want a man."

"Fuck me, you spoke to the guy for two minutes and already you're acting like you've lost the love of your life." Wow, that hurt a little.

"I didn't say I was talking about him although it would be nice. I just meant I'm sick of playing all these childish games and never knowing where I stand. Don't you get sick of being the one who always falls deeper? Getting messed about and then being the one who's left hurt?" I joined her at the desk, putting on a little mascara and eyeliner. "I want a man who knows what he wants and treats me better. Don't you?"

"Well shit, when you put it like that I can't argue with you. It would be nice, hey I wonder if Mr Aussie has a brother?" She waggles her eyebrows at me, making me laugh. "I gotta go babe, what class you got?"

"My first Comms class this morning." I did not sound excited at the prospect because I really wasn't. I'd put it off in freshman and sophomore years but thought I better get it over and done with before my senior year.

"Oh really? I didn't know you'd taken that class. I heard a load of seniors talking the other day and apparently the Professor is drop dead gorgeous. I was thinking about taking it up too just to see what all the fuss was about."

"Well that should make the class a lot more interesting, maybe it isn't going to be as bad as I thought."

"See, every cloud and all that. See you tonight, fancy the bar?" She shouts over her shoulder as she walks towards the door.

"Sounds good, see you later."

I looked over my outfit I'd already chosen for the day, just some jeans and a plain t-shirt and realised it wouldn't do. Not when there's the prospect of a hot Professor to impress. My wardrobe desperately needed an update, especially now I was focused on finding myself a man and not one of these easily pleased college boys, that were happy with anything as long as I showed a bit of leg and tits. I settled with some tight black jeans with a black, lace-rimmed, cami body suit and a cute little cream, cropped blazer to finish it off. It made me feel confident when I checked myself out in the mirror and if I do say so myself I looked smoking hot. I checked the time on my phone, realising I was going to be late I quickly ran the curling tongs through the ends of my long blonde hair before grabbing my bag and rushing out of the door.

In the hopes of catching the eye of this new professor I'd completely forgotten about the hottie from the coffee shop, which was probably a good thing, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again. I kind of wished I would though, especially when I was looking and feeling this great but hey, on to bigger and better prospects.

I thought that being late would mean I'd be stuck with a lame choice of desk in class but luckily the back row was practically empty and I could hide in the corner of the lecture theatre. I laughed to myself when I realised that practically all the girls were occupying the front desks, obviously they'd heard the rumours too.

I pushed my hair behind my ears and fumbled in my bag for my pen and notepad, when I glanced to the door and caught the eyes of a student I hadn't seen before. I couldn't deny how attractive he was, with his bright blue eyes and floppy hair, oh and that smile. Wow! He smiled brightly at me as he made his way to the back of the class, his eyes glinting, shining like diamonds as he ignored the whispers from the girls at the front. The whole row of desks were free so when he chose the desk right next to me, my stomach fluttered.

I kept my eyes on my notepad, doodling on the front cover so as to avoid that eye contact with him again. I could see a cheeky glint in his eyes and I'd learnt from experience what that meant, trouble. I wasn't ready to get myself back into a situation like that again.

My eyes shot to the front as I heard the room erupt into wolf whistles, the girls at the front giggling and whispering to each other, I rolled my eyes at them, how embarrassing.

Then I realised what all the fuss was about and my heart almost stopped beating, thudding against my chest at an alarming rate. How is this even possible? How the fuck could he be a professor? Surely he's not old enough. Oh fuck.

I sank lower in my chair, willing the ground to just swallow me up or maybe if I got low enough I would escape his notice. No such luck, his eyes scanned the class and when they fell on mine, his face lit up with anger? No not anger. A hunger. His eyes scanned my body, falling over my hair and down to my cleavage. I felt hot under his gaze, was I blushing? Sweating? Oh god, I've never wished for class to be over so much in my life.

My professor was the guy I'd been shamelessly flirting with in the coffee shop. I don't understand how this could be real, I know I wanted to bump into him again but this is such a cruel twist of fate. I'd never even suspected him to be a professor, he was so damn thick and muscly. The clothes he wore were so stylish and he looked way too young to be a professor. He must be so embarrassed that he'd been flirting with a student, I definitely was embarrassed that I'd been flirting with a professor.

I was so panicked, I didn't have a clue what to do in this situation. Squirming in my seat, trying to look anywhere but at the Professor but I could feel his eyes on me as he prepared for the class to start. People were still whispering amongst themselves and I risked a glance in his direction, that made me bite on to my lip to stop myself from screeching. His eyes were still on me, subtly glancing up from the pile of paper he'd just taken out of his bag, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied me. He certainly didn't look embarrassed infact he looked downright feral and the thought of it made my pussy clench, so much so I had to cross my legs under the table.

"I guess you're obsessed with this new Professor too, huh?" The guy next to me leant across his desk to whisper and fuck me if I wasn't imagining it but he was Australian too. Like have we just suddenly had a huge delivery of hot Australian guys arrive at the University? This was just downright unfair, how was I meant to cope?

"No, what makes you say that?" Why did I ask that question? Like it wasn't obvious how much I was sweating and squirming in my seat. Luckily he didn't have time to answer when my eyes were drawn back to the professor as he stood at the front of the class with his hands casually in his pockets and cleared his throat to get our attention.

If I wasn't mistaken, now he looked angry, the muscles in his neck more prominent as he glared between me and the guy next to me.

Was he angry that my attention had been taken away from him and was on another guy? Or because we were talking when we should've been paying attention?

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." That sexy accent makes me sweat even more, nevermind the fact that his eyes keep finding their way back to me. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." His eyes meet mine again, a knowing look in them.

"G'day mate." Some idiot from the back shouted, making everyone laugh and I couldn't help but join in a little. Professor Hemsworth smiled at the joke, his eyes creasing in the corners and his smile growing wider when he looked to me and saw me giggling.

"Yeah, very original. Alright, alight, settle down now." His voice is so commanding and authoritive, it's such a turn on. "So, I haven't been here for very long and I'm still getting used to how different things are here. The weather for one." He earned a couple of laughs from people. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him, he was so mesmerizing. The way his face animated as he spoke, his eyebrows raising and lips curling.

"I was going to ask you all to go easy on me but that's not going to happen is it?" He got a couple of head shakes and sympathetic looks from the girls. "No, I thought not. Well now it's my turn to torture you. I'll start alphabetically, stand up and tell everyone something about yourself." I swallowed back my fear, this is the reason I'd put off this class until now and as if it wasn't hard enough talking in front of a whole class I now had to do it in front of Professor Hemsworth too.

"Claire Abbott." Fuck. He'd started, at least my name would be one of the last ones.

"Hi I'm Claire." The tall blonde at the front stood up, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling like a child. I rolled my eyes at her and caught the Professor smirk in my direction. "I erm… I don't know what to say?" She looks up at the Professor questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind." He replied.

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I rolled my eyes again, scoffing quietly and Professor Hemsworth had to hold in a laugh as he looked in my direction.

"Talk about predictable." The guy next to me leaned over to whisper to me again.

"Totally." I laughed back at him and when I looked back at the Professor he was glaring straight at us again, his face set sternly.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" Professor Hemsworth said sternly, everyone turned around to look at us but I barely noticed, I was too focused on the way his stern voice made my cunt flutter when he called me out.

I didn't speak for the rest of the class, although I had the urge to, just to hear the way his voice sounded when he was angry. I couldn't concentrate on what the other students were saying, too focused on watching the way the Professor's face changed everytime he looked my way, which was pretty often, to my suprise.

"Jake Hudson." In my peripheral, I saw the guy next to me stand and when he did, Professor Hemsworth's eyes narrowed.

"Hi I'm Jake." He pushed his hands in to his pockets cooly, glancing at me as he did. "I'm also from Australia." He looked at the professor slyly, a smirk forming on his lips, laughing at the other students shouting G'day mate. "I was forced to move here but I'm glad I did because I've just met the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." The class burst into rounds of whistles and cheers as Jake sat down, smiling at me cockily. I could feel my cheeks blushing, I was flattered, he was absolutely gorgeous but hadn't I sworn of boys my own age?

Professor Hemsworth looked even more angry now as he loosened his tie a little, that black tie that draws my view down, like a arrow pointing straight to his cock. I tried to keep my eyes down on my desk, doodling in my notebook so I could avoid that hungry gaze, anxiously waiting for my turn. What the hell was I going to say?

"Jessica Watson." Shit. I stood slowly, trying to give myself more time to think, I couldn't stand everyone's eyes being on me especially the Professors and Jakes.

"Hey, I'm Jessica." I smiled nervously, tucking my hair behind my ear. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." I looked away from the chalk board so I could search Professor Hemsworth's face. "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." I sat down keeping the gaze of the professor, I'd forgotten I was in a room full of people until I heard the ooh's and ahh's and my cheeks turned scarlet. The Professor's eyes glowed with heat as he watched me sit down before shaking his head and turning back to the class. Jake also caught my eye as I sat back at my desk, my cheeks still burning, he smiled at me, the kind of smile that crinkles your eyes. I felt kind of bad that he probably thought I was talking about him when in fact I was talking about our professor.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." He looked at me again. "Some of you, not so much." He raised his eyebrows at a group of guys. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." His eyes scanned me as he turned around to sit at his desk, I watched a couple of girls approach him predictably.

"Are you going to the party at our frat this weekend?" I had to reluctantly pull my eyes away from the Professor while Jake spoke, so he was a Alpha Kappa, not surprising really.

"Yeah, I think so. My roommate mentioned it."

"Oh good, I'll see you there then. Jessica." He smiled, standing from his seat.

"Jess." I corrected him. I hated being called Jessica, it was so formal.

"Well Jess, I'll see you around." He winked at me as he pulled his backpack on to his shoulder.

There were still a couple of girls taking up the Professor's attention and I wasn't sure yet whether I wanted to sneak past or wait to speak to him. I thought about it for a minute my fingertips drumming against my desk when the girls left and he was alone. As soon as the door closed, his gaze was on me and I could hear the silence in the room like a ringing in my ears. We stayed like that for a couple of seconds, staring at each other, no one saying a word until her cleared his throat. I blinked a couple of times, realising how stupid I must look before getting up from my seat and packing my things away.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I could hear amusement in his voice as he sat back on his desk casually, his arms folded across his chest.

"I erm…" I walked towards him, my legs feeling like jelly all of sudden and trying not to fall down the stairs. "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." I said as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I didn't know what to do with myself but I was nervous about getting closer to him. He made the atmosphere feel tense, like if I was to reach out and touch him I would burn my fingers so I stood awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" He cocked his eyebrow at me, still looking amused as he watched me squirm. When he said he'd been hoping to bump into me again it made me feel more confident, like I wasn't imagining the way he'd been looking at me for the last hour.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." I smiled at him as I finally closed the distance between us, watching his eyes flare with hunger when I called him Professor.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" His eyes narrowed, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat as I got close enough to touch him, I didn't though. I didn't dare break that boundary, not yet.

I smiled at him through my lashes, biting on to my lip. "I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." Wow! I was not expecting that, did I sound like a slut? Shit. I looked back up at him and caught him gulp, that hunger in his eyes shining, his pupils blown with lust, he loosened his tie even more and I caught a glimpse of his smooth chest and chickened out. The tension was way too much and I was about to do something I was going to regret, I could live with being a huge tease instead.

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" I smiled to myself when I noticed the muscles in his jaw tense as he ground his teeth together. Turning to leave I looked back over my shoulder and his eyes were glued to my hips, watching them sway as I walked and I realised I had him exactly where I wanted him but was it worth the risk?

#smut #chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x you #chris hemsworth x oc #chris Hemsworth x ofc #chris Hemsworth series #thor series #thor smut #thor x you #chris Hemsworth #chris hemsworth fic #chris hems x you #chris hems x oc

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adarlingwrites · 3 years

Text

Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working.

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

��Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #imawa no kuni no arisu #last boss #takatora samura #last boss x reader #artist!reader #smut #fluff #fluff and smut #fanfic: muse #don't mind me just pouring my frustrations in this fic

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mah-gah-lee · 3 years

Text

What a weird family reunion Reggie x Reader (xLuke)

gif originally posted by @jatpsource

Word Count: 3515 words

Summary: You’re Reggie’s little sister. You were 3 when he died. You’re now a ghost for a decade. One night, you recognize your brother and jumped into him to an unexpected family reunion. How is it going to happen? Will Reggie believe you? In a mysterious way, that’s Luke who help you to convinced Reggie.

Warnings: cuss (language), mention of death, mention of divorce, mention of drugs

A/N: This is my first fic about jatp characters. Hope you’ll enjoy! keep in mind that french is my first language, so i’m so sorry if there’s some mistakes in my fic

disclaimer: It takes place during episodes 6 and 7. I do not take into account the possibility of a Juke. The chemistry while they sing is there but no romantic feelings.

Tagged: @asdfghjkl-fanfics @standingtalllove

_______

Losing a child is the worst thing a parent could live, losing two is unimaginable. It’s seems being 17 years old was a new malediction in Peters family.

You were 3 when your older brother, Reginald, died in a weird hot dog accident. At that point, your parents were literally a fight away from a divorce but never did it because of you. You were too young to be in a divided family, according to them. But Reggie's death separated them for good. Yet they really tried to support each other, to overcome that and give you all the attention you needed. But your mother overprotected you and made you live in the shadow of your late brother. Your dad couldn't stand it. And when they finally divorce, moving out from reggie’s childhood house, you went to live with your dad.

Even though you were too young to form a strong bond with your brother, in a way you missed him. Your mother’s house was full of pictures of him, some of his clothes were still in a room, dedicated to him. When you visited your mother, you didn’t understand why you always found yourself in this room. You were drawn like a magnet to the comforting room. Reggie’s presence in this new house brought you such a sense of security that your mother had repeatedly found you asleep on a pile of your brother’s T-shirts.

And then you died in 2009. Kanye West had interrupted Taylor Swift's speech at the VMAs, Miley Cyrus hadn't gone crazy yet and One Direction didn't exist yet. What an era! You didn't know why the great light didn't come looking for you but you were there, as a ghost in 2009. And the time has passed ... You've had your best concerts, the best parties. A forever teenager who couldn't eat, drink or sleep.

And then 2020 came.

…

You were tired of always doing the same thing for over a decade, but you couldn't help but go to every open scene that came up in your beautiful city. It was as if an inexplicable force was pushing you to go there.

This evening was no exception to the rule and you were in a very hip little bar in the city center. You wore one of those sleeveless, gray crop tops with high waisted pants, your leather jacket draped over your shoulders. Your eyes were directly drawn to a group of girls in colorful costumes. You couldn't help but roll your eyes. It's been 10 years since you died and it seemed to you that these girls looked like the same plagues that ruined the lives of so many teenagers in your time. You put on an expression of disgust when they all took the stage, but when the music started you couldn't help but admit it was pretty catchy. However, you didn't expect a ghost to appear in the middle of the stage, improvising a choreography. Was that part of the show?

But looking at the audience's non-reaction, you knew it wasn't. The ghost disappeared for the first time, and your gaze sought directly the distinctive light source of another apparition in the room. Your gaze lingered on a small group of three boys - the blond boy included - and two girls. You have wrinkled your eyes to better distinguish the teenagers, and your face expressed confusion.

“Reggie? “

You wanted to go see him so badly. You were pretty sure it was your brother but it all came too fast. The moment you decided to walk towards them, the organizer announced a new band.

“Okay, looks like we're close the night out with one more group…Julie and the fat ones.”

What was that for a name? Your attention had been diverted and when you looked back at the group, the boys had disappeared as one of the young girls took the stage. Your heart was beating so fast. You couldn't go wrong; you had seen so many pictures at your mother's house that it was impossible that this boy was not your brother. But you missed your chance…

Julie started to sing and your eyes were captivated, as much as your ears were. This kid was so talented! When she sang a rather high note, the tension in the room charged into electricity. The next second, the young singer was joined by the group of boys you had seen in her company. Appearing distinctly as the ghosts did. On drums there was the blond boy you had seen dancing a few moments earlier, on the electric guitar, a boy with tousled brown hair who seemed slightly familiar to you ... and on bass, with a flannel shirt, there was your brother ... Reggie was there, identical to the photos you had admired so much.

The bar was on fire as Julie and The Phantoms performed. What a sick name for a group made up of two-thirds of ghosts! The song was so catchy that your heart beat to the sound of the music. But your eyes did not leave your brother, you were unable to move, frozen in place. What should you do ? Will you introduce yourself after the performance? And, what would you say? "Hey hi Reggie, I'm your sister, I died ten years ago and you twenty-five years ago. Unbelievable, right?! Nice to see you again" And once again, before you knew it, the song was over and the boys were gone again, leaving Julie alone on stage in the bewilderment of the many people in the facility.

“for God's sake, where are they?”

You didn't want to miss it anymore. Even though the whole situation was strange, you wanted to see your brother again.

Your eyes flew over the room before seeing the scene play out before your eyes. Julie seemed petrified in front of a man. The boys watched in amazement and as Julie left with what appeared to be her father, you rushed over to the group of three musicians before they disappeared again.

“omg please don't poof out again.” You said almost out of breath

The boys looked at you like you were crazy before the guitarist jumped off the bar counter, bursting with energy.

"Wait, you can see us?"

“as much as when mister "all eyes on me" made his performance”, you were pointing your head at the blond boy.

The group looked at each other in puzzlement and Reggie finally spoke, his blue eyes full of mischief.

“So…hi there cutie, how can we help you?”

Your face expressed disgust and you stuck your tongue out mimicking vomiting.

Luke gave Alex an amused smile, seeing Reggie flirting and your spontaneous reaction. The bassist couldn't help but charm the pretty ladies.

“Wow Reggie, that's gross ... you're my brother.”

Reggie burst out laughing at your response, not noticing that you called him by his first name when he hadn't even introduced himself to you yet.

“Yeah right, for sure. You just could tell me you weren’t interested. But I’m charming...”

It was the first time he had been given such an excuse but you looked so serious that he stopped dead in his tracks as Luke and Alex watched you. They always knew Reggie had a sister. But the scene unfolding before their eyes seemed impossible. (Y / N) was so young when they died and now must have been around 28, something like that. But the girl in front of them was a teenager, their age. How was this possible?

You didn't want to drop the information like that. It was worse than anything you could have imagined. But it had escaped you. Now he didn't take you seriously. Your eyes were wet with tears. It was scary to find you in front of your brother for the first time as a ghost teenager. Luke looked panicked when he noticed your eyes, squeezing Reggie's shoulder as you seemed to beg.

“Can I ... can I meet you in a quieter time please, Reginald?”

Your brother's eyes widened as Luke's hug on his shoulder tightened a bit. The eagerness and desperation in your voice had made both boys react, Alex was just looking at all of you like all of this wasn't real. The use of Reggie's name made him tense, surprised. Few called him Reginald. In fact, only his family, and the boys when they wanted to annoy him, called him that way. And although his nickname is obvious enough to deduce his

full first name, he deeply felt that you weren't just anyone.

He seemed a little panicked and looked around for his friends to support him. As if the solution would fall by itself just by the presence of Luke and Alex.

“Okay, but I want Luke and Alex’s there! What about tomorrow? I’ll give you the address!”

Wow, that was quick.

“hm, yeah, yeah sure, as you want”

You nodded and Reggie silently slipped a note to the drummer. Alex took a pen, write something on a paper towel and gave it to you. You weren’t surprise, you also can make some tricks. And you just had the time to thanks them before they poofted again.

…

The next day, you landed in front of Julie's garage. Lucky she's at school because you shouldn't be explaining your presence, so she managed to see you the way she saw boys.

Before entering, you peeked out the window and frowned. There seemed to be only Luke so far. He was leaning over the piano, his head in a notebook. Your body went through part of the garage door and you cleared your throat.

“hmm, hi ... i came to see Reggie ..”

Luke instantly raised his head and you caught his attention.

“oh uh, hi! He should be here soon, come in.….”

Silence felt as Luke motioned for you to sit on the couch. It was a rather pleasant studio; the plants gave a warm atmosphere to the room and the music set sent you good vibes.

"Does your girlfriend mind that I'm here? I mean, that seems to be your HQ"

"girlfriend?"

"The girl you sing with" I simply said.

"Julie? Um, yeah, she's not my girlfriend. She-sh-she’s great and we have this powerful connection but…not, not in a romantic way. Music tied us. Music and friendship "

Luke chuckled lightly as he scratched his head. You were surprised they weren't dating. Yesterday the tension was intense. He seemed authentic when he had continued his momentum. You let out a smile amused by so much overflow.

“It's okay, I don't need to know your full relationship statute or your social security number.”

The guitarist gave you a frank smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. For a ghost, his gaze was really alive.

“ I’m Luke, by the way”

"Y / N… Re .."

"Reggie's little sister… I-I remember you a little."

"You look familiar to me. Maybe I saw you in a few pictures with Reggie."

Silence fell and you started to feel anxious. Maybe it was a bad idea? You had grown up since Reggie died ... were you still his little sister after all? Luke seemed to notice your dismay and put a comforting hand on your knee.

“hey, is something bothering you?”

“What if he doesn't believe me ... if he definitely thinks I'm not his sister.”

“Let's be honest, it's a little hard to believe. The last time I saw you, you were three years old.”

It was as if the memories flooded into your mind and let you carried away in your words.

“Yeah, you gave me this teddy bear with a guitar and told Reggie you wanted to be my favorite.”

Luke chuckled slightly before staring at you, speechless. He seemed dazed. This anecdote dates back to twenty-five years anyway. He himself had a hard time remembering it until you said it a few seconds earlier.

“what was the smell of the stuffed animal?” he asked, confused about that funny fact

“sorry, what?”

“the plush, what did it smell like?”

“hot waffle, why?”

“okay ... maybe you are his sister ... tell me more about what you remember”

You looked at him with a puzzled expression. Everything had been so natural before he stopped in all the movements. And now, it was hard to think about for the memories you had of Reggie on demand. The teddy bear given by Luke story had slipped out of your mind without you realizing it. As your brain seemed to boil, the fog of your thoughts cleared.

“can I use your guitar?”

“hell no ... why?” Luke exclaimed with far too much anticipation

“I have this lullaby stuck inside of my head ... I think Reggie sang it to me when I was a child”

Your pleading and desperate gaze fell on Luke who categorically refused to let you take his guitar. He ends up grabbing his six acoustic strings, terminated. There was something about you that made him weak.

“Maybe you can teach me but ... my guitar is my guitar, nobody touches it.”

You nodded and the lead singer moved closer to you. You were stunned by its smell, like a distant memory. Luke had definitely been a part of your life before he died, you were sure of that. You leaned over her shoulder, humming the lullaby that was left in your head. It didn't take long for him to find the right chords. Luke continued several times before you stopped singing, looking at him intently.

“that's exactly it ... this lullaby”

You both looked at each other, an indecipherable expression in your eyes. You both jumped at the sound of the garage door. Reggie appeared with Alex.

"Ready to compose hellish songs! oh did I interrupt something?”

"No, no I was there to see you. I guess you have a lot of questions."

"hell yeah, can we start from the beginning?"

You smiled to approve his request. The boys settled down on the sofa, while you sat down on one of the single armchairs. And the flow of questions began

“When are you born?”

“(your birthday date) 1992” you simply answered.

“What’s your name?”

(y/n) (y/m/n) Peters

It’s seemed to convinced a little Reggie but doubt was all over his face. It was information you could easily get on the internet nowadays.

“What’s my favorite food?”

“Pizza, mom said your favorite was the extra cheese with pepperoni”

“And what was my favorite toy?”

“I freaking don’t know, how can I suppose to known that?”

“ah ah!” he pointed the finger at you, as if that answer was proof that you were lying. It broke your heart but you didn't show it.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and Reggie kept going to ask you some question. Of course, you would have liked to have answered his questions correctly. Your mother told you some anecdotes about him but not to the point of knowing all the details.

“What’s the most terrible thing I said to my mom?”

“Omg I don’t fucking know! I was 3 when you’re died, asshole!”

Luke smiled when you exploded. Reggie was Reggie, as weird as possible. Now you were angry and desperate. Your brother didn’t believe you and he kept dragging you into this miserable feeling that you were never going to get your brother back. You had spent your short life living with a faint memory of him. Your blankie was one of his t-shirts, his voice reasoned in your head when you couldn’t sleep.

But then, in front of him, you were a stranger to him. Your heart was bruised from not being able to hug him and to finally meet this brother who had left far too soon.

“Okay, okay… So, how can you proof me you’re really my sister?! “

In the room’s corner, Luke looked at you, you looked desperate, about to cry again. He grabbed his guitar and cleared his throat. Reggie turned to him as the guitarist still had his eyes on you, a heartwarming smile hanging across his face. You had managed to convince him in a few minutes. He felt connected to you and the things you told him were disturbing. You could only be Reggie's sister; it was impossible otherwise.

"Hey…What about the song you told me earlier." he said with a soft and comfort voice

Your eyes caught his gaze, grateful for the initiative. You nodded and Luke started playing the few notes you had taught him a few minutes earlier. It was so different from all the songs the brunette could play before. It was a lullaby, such easy children's music with just a few notes. Of course, the band wasn’t supposed to play when Julie wasn’t in the room but, Luke had thought it was the best thing to do to encourage you to keep going. He didn’t know why, but he wanted Reggie to believe you. Luke believed you, hard as nails. There only had to look at your eyes to understand this reality, and Luke had noticed that. You had the same blue eyes as your brother. How could Reggie still doubt that? You started to sing

You're so sleepy

Very much sleepy

You want to go to the fairyland

You close your eyes

And jump into your dream.

When you'll wake up

I’ll still be on your team.

The instant Reggie heard the first notes, he knew. But hearing you sing the lullaby he had invented for you when you didn't want to sleep as a child, was a magical moment. You were his baby sister. He gave you that sad little puppy face, so overwhelmed. Reggie opened his arms and you jumped into a hug, so glad he finally accepted the fact that you were his sister.

You felt oddly safe again, like taking a nap in Reggie's pile of old t-shirts. You were so happy to find your brother and to be able to live your non-life by his side. Nothing would be as boring as it used to be. Reggie pushed you away with a concerned look

"but wait ... how did you die?"

"Yeah ... I don't really know ... I was at a really, really good rock concert and I bought this drink ... and I think I got drugged up there and ... I guess I'm dead? tadaa " you tried to tell him in a light tone.

He had just learned that he had a little sister. He didn't have to know that she was sneaking out at rock concerts and drinking alcohol before she was old enough. Right? Alex looked at Luke and Reggie with his half amused half confused smile. As for Luke, he fidgeted from foot to foot at the discovery. Y / N was as much rock and roll as they all were. Rebellion had to be his middle name

You loosened Reggie's embrace and lowered your head, pursing your lips so as not to show your embarrassment. He asked if you wanted snacks and you nodded. There was a slight silence. You didn't notice the urgent look Luke gave Alex but the next moment the blond jumped up to accompany the bassist, leaving you alone in the garage with the lead singer.

The silences were a little longer until Luke cautiously approached you. You could feel the awkwardness from miles away.

“ Sooo, you made this.”

“ yeah ...” you answered in a shy voice

It was the moment you had to thank him but your words seemed frozen. You mustered all the courage to plant your gaze in Luke's eyes.

“Thank you ... for helping me earlier.”

“oh it was nothing”.

“I ... yes, yes it was. You can't imagine how important seeing Reggie again is to me. Thanks for ... for helping me open his eyes.”

A slight smile caught his lips and he reached for your cheek before stopping his gesture. Instead of stroking your skin, he simply put a section of your hair back behind your ear.

“I would do anything for my best friends.”

And Reggie was definitely one of Luke’s best friend. You hardly swallowed, your stomach contorting under the effect that the guitarist made you. Time had seemed to fly at an incredible speed as the moment was interrupted by Reggie and Alex coming back to you.

“OMG LUKE DON’T FLIRT WITH MY SISTER, SHE’S 3!”

You cleared your throat and stepped aside to pull yourself away from Luke as far as possible. Your gaze fell on your brother and you raised an eyebrow at the last remark. 3 years old, really? You were 3 years old twenty-five years ago ... now you were eternally a teenager

“I’m seventeen.”

“Listen, i'm your big brother, you’re three, end of discussion.”

Your face wanted to laugh and you pursed your lips to keep from succumbing. But your eyes… Your eyes met Luke's in a complicity that slowly settled. Could you fall in love with your big brother's best friend? Definitely yes...

#jatp #jatp cast #jatp cast x reader #jatp imagines #jatp fic #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #reggie x reader #reggie peters x reader #luke patterson x reader #charlie gillespie #jeremy shada #writing #owen patrick joyner #madison reyes

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quinncupine · 3 years

Text

Coffee Break

Word Count: 4, 617

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Summary: It was just a once-in-a-lifetime run-in with a hero so you never expected him to show up at your diner in the wee hours of the morning ever again. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern.

Notes: Just a silly little fluff piece. Also no offense to coffee! Let me know what you think! Thanks Loves (I tried to make the reader gender neutral, but if you see a slip up, let me know :)

Quinns Masterlist!

...

The storm only seemed to grow worse as the night went on. Thunder rumbled the windows of the dingy little diner that Deku walked past; cold and miserable as he continued his patrol. Another bolt of lightning struck one of the skyscrapers lining downtown and a faint crash came from inside the diner just as the thunder rolled through his soaked form. He glanced through the watery windows to see you, busy cleaning a broken mug, carefully gathering the shattered pieces in a towel. His feet came to a halt. The rain dripped off the edges of his green locks that stuck to his forehead as he watched you head into the back.

It couldn't hurt to take a little break. Besides, it was two in the morning and the storm seemed to be persuading anyone up at this hour to stay inside. So, he wiped the wet hair out of his face and opened the door. The shrill tinkle of the chime alerted you to the newcomer who sat at the counter, dripping wet.

You stepped through the swinging doors of the kitchen and stopped dead in your tracks. This wasn't just any newcomer. No, this was one you knew, or rather, knew of. You'd seen him on television plenty of times. Deku, a young pro who was quickly climbing the ranks.

When you realized you were staring, you quickly wiped your hands off on your apron and grabbed a fresh dishtowel. "You, uh, you look like you could use some coffee," you said, handing him the towel, "and a mop."

He blinked and looked down at the trail of water he'd left in his wake. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" The hero stood up, but you waved him back down with a laugh.

"Relax, have some coffee. I'll take care of it," you pushed the towel he'd dropped on the counter closer and set a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. "What, they don't let you carry umbrellas?" Grabbing a mop, you wiped up the mini flood in no time.

Deku turned on the stool to watch you while he dried the mess that he called his hair. "I might have to talk to my support designer about it."

"Seems like they can design anything these days," you set the wet floor sign out, even though there was only one other customer in the corner, and went back behind the counter. "So, what else can I getcha?"

"Oh, nothing." His eyes darted up to yours before he looked down at his coffee. "I just wanted a break from the rain."

"Yeah, I didn't expect it to get this bad." The rain-soaked windows blurred the world outside and distant sounds of thunder would occasionally vibrate the panes. "Which begs the question; what brings Deku all the way out here in the wee hours of the morning?"

"You...know who I am?" He started, blinking at you owlishly.

"Well yeah," you smiled, then backtracked, waving your hands. "I mean, it's just that I know you're a hero and I've seen you on T.V. saving people and in interviews. Not that I've watched all your interviews and...uh...I'm sorry, I'm babbling. It's just, we uh, we don't get many heroes in here. We don't get many people in here actually." Stepping back, you bumped into the shelf behind you, "Um you probably just wanna relax. I'll let you do that now."

"No wait," he leaned forward to stop you, "some company would be nice."

Hesitating, you glanced around the near-empty diner before finally turning back to him, trying to cool your cheeks. "Okay then. So what are you doing walking around in the pouring rain at two in the morning?"

"Patrol," he shrugged. "I was put on the late shift this week. I don't mind...usually."

"Usually? You mean when it isn't raining cats and dogs outside?" When he chuckled at you, you leaned your elbow on the counter," I'm glad you stopped in. This place may not be the warmest, but it sure beats the rain."

"Feels plenty warm to me," he handed the towel over, avoiding your gaze. "Thanks."

"No problem," you slung the towel over your shoulder, ignoring the water soaking into your uniform, not quite ready to move yet. Unfortunately, the only other customer waved you down and you scrunched your eyes, "excuse me, duty calls." With a wink, you went over to the old man sitting in the corner booth. "What can I get ya, Mr. Yoshii."

While you were busy with the customer, Deku patted his cheeks with the back of his hand, trying to cool the embarrassing tint that splashed across his face. Then he looked down at the steaming cup of coffee and took an experimental sip. It was terrible, but it wasn't your fault. He couldn't stand the taste of coffee, which was ironic for someone who always worked strange hours and hardly slept anyway. He wasn't even sure why he agreed to a cup...wait, he didn't agree to a cup. You just set one in front of him and never one to be rude, just accepted it. Braving the taste, he swallowed the bitter liquid before you came back, forcing the cringe off his face as you stepped behind the counter.

"Guess late-night patrols are exhausting," you smirked, grabbing the coffee pot. "Need a refill?"

"No!" The word came out just a little too desperately." I mean, I actually need to get back." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the slightly soggy money and laid it on the counter. "Thanks for the coffee," he turned, but hesitated and glanced back at you with a shy smile, "and the conversation."

"Anytime hero," you saluted with a laugh, "see you around."

He turned away so you couldn't catch the rush of heat that spread across his freckled cheeks yet again and nodded. With a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped back into the downpour. The darkness almost completely engulfed him and with a final glance back into the soft glow of the diner, he vanished into the night.

When he was finally out of sight, your shoulders slumped and you dropped your head on the counter with a groan. "Anytime hero? You couldn't think of anything else to say?"

The one time a hero comes into your diner and you say that? Not just any hero either, the pro hero Deku. The same Deku whose figurine you'd bought almost as soon as it was released. Oh god, if he ever found out you had that, you might just die on the spot. But that was assuming you'd ever run into him again and that wasn't likely. It was just a once-in-a-lifetime run-in with a hero who didn't even seem all that interested in talking. Just as polite as he always appeared in interviews.

"Get it together," you whispered, lightly smacking your cheeks.

"You're not falling apart over some guy are you Y/N?" Mr. Yoshii yelled from his corner booth.

You whipped your head up to see the devilish grin on the man's face. "Mr. Yoshii!"

It wasn't until four days later when a much lighter rainstorm rolled through the city. The skyscrapers huddled downtown in the cold, layered in a hazy fog that was barely visible in the darkness of the early morning. Soft rain dribbled down the windows, blurring the streetlamps lining the sidewalk. It was yet another slow, boring shift with only Mr. Yoshii to keep you company.

Bored out of your mind, you messed around with a paper straw, trying to make a game out of how far you could blow the wrapper down the counter. On your third attempt, the paper slid off and disappeared under one of the stools. Even the straw didn't want to stick around.

"Another refill please, Y/N," Mr. Yoshii waved.

"Coming up," you sighed and grabbed the coffee pot. "Finished your sudoku already?" You filled his cup, nodding to the newspaper.

"It was too easy today. They really need to step up their game," he tapped his head with his pen. "I need to stimulate the old noggin you know."

"Pretty sure you're the only one stimulating their noggin at this hour Mr. Yoshii."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," he grinned as the bell chimed behind you.

Turning around, you came face to face with curly wet locks and bright viridian eyes. "Deku!" You nearly dropped the pot before rushing back to the counter, trying to maintain your composure. "I didn't expect to see you again. Couldn't stay away from my coffee eh? I'll get ya a cup, just hang on!" Rushing your words, you scrambled around, momentarily forgetting where the mugs were. "Here!" you slammed the cup in front of him before he could even get a hello in.

"Um..." he took a seat and stared at the cup in front of him. "Thanks."

"So uh, what brings you back?" Blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face, you tried to lean casually against the counter, hoping it wasn't obvious how thrown off you were by his sudden and unexpected appearance. "Still on patrol duty?"

"Yeah," he said, gingerly grabbing the cup to take a small sip. "Figured this was a good a place as any to take a break from the rain again."

What he didn't tell you was that as soon as it started to rain, he took a few shortcuts just so he could get here quicker. He was too nervous to come back in without an excuse, praying for another rainy day to save him.

"Ah, the rain, right, yes..." nodding, you looked at the rain slowly tapping against the glass. "Still no umbrella I see."

"You know, I actually talked to my support designer about it. Hatsume is a genius when it comes to her babi- uh her inventions. She's going to make me an item to help with the rain." He seemed to relax a little as he described the plans she had drawn out for him.

"Oh, I see, so the wind pressure coming from the valves here-" you touched the little spot he'd pointed out on his uniform near his neck" -should push away any rain that comes near. Clever."

"Um, yeah." A nervous chuckle escaped his mouth as he glanced at your fingers still prodding the spot. He grabbed the cup to distract himself from your closeness. "I had no idea you were interested in this kind of stuff."

"Are you kidding, I love talking about hero-" with a cough, you took a step back, busying yourself with your apron. "I mean, yeah, it's interesting. You're lucky to have such a great designer. Of course, it's not just the gear that makes a hero." Adding just an ounce of courage, you poked his chest. "It's the heart too."

This time, you did catch the blush that bloomed across his cheeks and you frantically waved your hands. "Oh, wait, I'm sorry! I just meant that you've got the heart, uh, I mean the spirit of a hero! It's what makes you so amazing, er, incredible. I just, ugh, I just mean you're a great hero Deku!" With a huff, you snatched the towel off your shoulder and wiped an invisible stain on the counter, avoiding his wide eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered, trying to hide his smile behind his cup, and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Oh no, I really need to get going. Still need to finish my patrol." He set the money on the counter, taking his time before he finally stood up. "It's been really nice talking to you, uh, hmm you know my name but I don't know yours."

"Y/N." It was hard to get a word out as those giant green eyes seemed to envelop your whole being.

"Y/N," he tested the name with a smile. "Well it's been great Y/N and I'm sorry to rush out so suddenly. I didn't realize how long I'd been sitting here. Maybe next I see you, I'll have my umbrella." A quick wave and he dashed out into the rain.

When he was finally gone, you deflated, blowing out all the breath you'd been holding for what felt like the entire time. The cool surface felt nice on your burning skin. You were at least decently composed the first time, but this time, you were sure you looked like a total buffoon in front of him. What happened? How could he crumble your composure just by showing up?

"Cheer up Y/N," Mr. Yoshii came to the counter and set his newspaper down. "You still got this old man."

"Thanks, Mr. Yoshii," you mumbled into the counter.

You stewed in your embarrassment, listening to some story the old man had told you countless times before until you remembered what Deku had said: Next time.

Maybe he was only being polite when he said that because a week had gone by without a single strand of curly green hair bobbing past the large diner windows. But there was no way you'd admit to waiting for those freckled cheeks to walk through those doors because that would just be ridiculous...right? He was a pro hero and you were just...some server.

"Y/N," Mr. Yoshii had decided to switch from his usual spot in the corner to keeping you company at the counter this week. "Unless you have a quirk that teleports him here, I don't think staring at the door is gonna make him magically appear."

You blinked, taken aback by the bold comment, and turned to the man. "Wha- what are you on about Mr. Yoshii? I'm not trying to make anyone-"

The bell chimed and you both turned to see who it was. It couldn't be. It was way too much of a coincidence that he would walk in of all moments, but your breath still caught in your throat as you whipped your head up to- oh, it was just another customer who slunk into a stool at the end of the counter.

Picking up your pad, you shuffled over, ready to take their order when the bell chimed again. Your heart did a little flip when you looked up to see that green frizzy hair you'd been longing to see all week walk through the door.

"Deku!" A smile a mile wide had taken up residence on your face and refused to leave, so you turned away from him to grab a coffee mug, completely forgetting about the customer right in front of you.

"And I stand corrected," Mr. Yoshii chuckled, folding his newspaper.

The smile Deku returned was enough to cause the mug to slip out of your hands. The only thing that saved it from certain demise was the hero's fast reflexes. He leaned over the counter to catch it, ending up just inches from you. When he looked up, you could clearly make out the cute patch of freckles nestled across his face and then you both came back to your senses, scrambling away from each other.

Deku, mug in hand, sat in his usual place at the counter, clearing his throat. Before he had a chance to say anything, Mr. Yoshii, who was sitting next to him, gathered his things and stood up.

"Well, I should be off," he winked at you as he put his hat on. "Looks like things are...well in hand here." The old man seemed to get a chuckle from his joke and waved as he headed out the door.

"Fast reflexes," you muttered, pouring him a cup of coffee.

He rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, well, it comes with the territory, I guess."

"I suppose it does. You know how many mugs I could've saved if I had reflexes like that?" you said before remembering the other customer. "Oh, excuse me!" Turning to the man you had abandoned mid-order, you quickly rushed over and apologized. It didn't seem to matter much because he was staring at Deku in awe. Guess you weren't the only one to be dumbstruck by the hero before you.

Taking the other customer's order had given you a bit of a chance to calm down. A few deep breaths and you turned back to Deku, determined to keep your cool. "What, no coffee breaks for a week?" you said, giving the order to the kitchen.

"Has it been a week?" he murmured, wrapping his scarred hands around the hot mug. "Sorry."

That cute little pout tried its best to throw you off, but you crossed your arms, focusing on his hands instead. "What are you sorry for? You weren't getting your coffee fixin's somewhere else, were you?" Finally risking a glance up at his face, you gave him a mischievous smirk.

"Oh god no," he laughed, nearly choking on the drink. "I just mean, uh, I've been busy. Went on a mission, but now it's back to early morning patrol."

"Well, I'm glad you're back," you messed with a loose strand of hair by your face, "Uh from the mission. I'm glad you're back from the mission."

Deku stared into the cup with a small smile. There was some silence before the other customer called you back over. While you were busy, he drank as much of the bitter liquid as he could, trying not to gag on the taste. When you came back, he had a half-empty mug and a strained smile.

"You sure you don't want a fill-up? You only ever seem to drink one cup."

"Oh trust me, one is plenty."

With a shrug, you turned back to the kitchen to grab the food and serve it. Deku watched you work, eyes barely leaving you. Even in the bright fluorescent lights of the diner, he thought you looked amazing. He was suddenly very glad he convinced Todoroki to switch shifts with him this week so he could work the early morning patrols again. When you glanced back at him, he looked down at his mug, debating on whether or not he had to finish it.

"I see you got the new upgrades," your voice startled him and he nearly spilled the cup.

"What?" then he followed your gaze to his shoulder pads where Hatsume had installed the new gadget. "Oh yeah. Though it hasn't rained since I got them, but knowing Hatsume, they'll work like a charm...or blow up." You couldn't tell if he was joking or not with the thoughtful expression on his face.

"It's a lot more compact than I would've imagined," you said, touching the small little cylinders poking out from the pads. "This Hatsume must be a crazy good designer."

"Well, she is both of those things," he laughed, keenly aware of how close your hand was to his face.

When you looked up at him, your eyes met and you jerked your hand away. "Uh, so this mission of yours," you grabbed a dish towel to wring between your fingers, "can you tell me about it. Or is it like some confidential top-secret thing?"

"I didn't do anything important. We were just called in for some extra security for a visiting diplomat."

"Sounds important to me."

"It was pretty dull for the most part," he shrugged. "Although there was this one day when we thought the car had been sabotaged, but it turned out the battery just died."

"The exciting chronicles of a hero," you leaned forward. "What else happened?"

Time seemed to blur as the two of you talked about everything and anything under the sun. The few customers who had come in were all gone by the time Deku's cup was empty and he had sipped the last half of the cup very slowly.

"Wait," you straightened, glancing at the clock. "Aren't you still on patrol?"

Deku blinked and looked at the time. "Oh crap, I'm so late!" He knocked over the stool in his haste to stand. "I'm really sorry I have to keep running out on you like this," he said, picking up the metal seat, "but I really did enjoy it. See you later!"

You just stood behind the counter trying your hardest not to laugh at his clumsy display. For a pro hero, he could get so flustered so quickly. When the stool was back in place, he kept spewing out apologies, backing up until he hit the door and spilled outside.

A few seconds later, he stumbled back in and placed the money on the counter. "I almost forgot."

"That's okay, I know you're good for it."

Rubbing the back of his head, he backed out of the diner again. "Bye Y/N."

Hearing your name spill from his lips did something to your heart. Suddenly the world seemed to only focus on the door he disappeared through. You wanted to hear your name come from him and only him for the rest of your days.

Those little coffee breaks soon became a regular thing. He would come in almost every day. Always before the sun rose and could never stay very long, but the two of you would talk the entire time he was there. Mr. Yoshii would sometimes have to remind you that you did, in fact, have other customers that needed attention too. In those moments, you would slink away, embarrassed, and attend to the other patrons before coming right back to continue whatever conversation you were having.

Finally, the day came when another heavy thunderstorm rolled through the city, and lo and behold, Deku came in almost completely dry. You both geeked out on the mechanics of the new support item and just like every time you came close to him, he would stiffen eyes lingering on your hands as they fiddled with the little device embedded in his suit.

He sat at the counter where the coffee mug was placed in front of him. After so many times, he was finally getting used to the taste. Although he still thought it was awful, it was bearable because...well for reasons.

"You know, you're always working the early morning shifts, but I never see you drink anything." Deku mused, tapping his cup. "You brew so much coffee every day...you should have some...with me."

"Oh no way," you shook your head, organizing the condiments. "I don't drink coffee. I don't like it."

He was mid-sip when he nearly choked on the drink. "What?"

"Coffee. It's way too bitter for me."

He stared at you for a second before he burst out laughing, nearly dropping his cup. You cocked your head, abandoning the condiments to give him a curious smile as the laughs echoed around the empty diner.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry," he tried to reign in his spluttering chuckles as he grabbed a napkin and dabbed the spots where he spilled the coffee. "It's just...I don't like it either."

"But that's the only thing you order when you come in here." You blinked. "What- why would you order something you don't even like!"

He focused on wiping up the now non-existent stain on the counter, hints of red blossoming up from under his collar, muttering something unintelligible.

"Deku?" you pushed the cup away and took the napkin from him.

"It's just, well, when I first came in you said I looked like I could use some coffee and when you put one in front of me, I just...well, um...I don't know." A scarred hand ran through his frizzy curls. "Technically I never ordered coffee, but it sorta became our...thing? So I never said anything."

It took a minute for the information to absorb. But after thinking it through, he was right. You'd always just given him a cup that he never even asked for. Even after all that, he still kept coming back. A giggle that quickly turned into a full-on cackle jumped from your mouth and you grabbed the counter to steady yourself. His face only grew more red as he nervously laughed along with you. Luckily, the diner was empty or you would've turned a few heads with that boisterous laughter.

When you finally caught your breath, you looked up at him. "So, you've been coming in here at like 2 in the morning to order something you don't even like? For weeks?" You swiped the cup from him. "Okay, so what do you like?"

Deku reached for the cup, his own hands wrapped over yours. "Wait, I do like it...well not the coffee, but-" he cut himself off and let go. "I mean...well I-" a small groan escaped his lips as he rubbed his face. "What I mean is-"

"Relax Deku," you said, dumping the coffee in the sink. "Let me get you something you actually like."

"But I like y-" he stopped yet again, the words sticking in his throat every time. "Um, well, look at the time, I've got to get back to patrols." In his haste, he nearly knocked the stool over, slapping the money on the counter and rushing for the door.

He'd fought villains that were easier than trying to finish this conversation. The embarrassment had firmly set in his stomach and he needed to get some fresh air and reassess the situation. There was no way he could face you when he was too flustered to even speak.

"Hey, I'm sorry," you scrambled around the counter, "I didn't mean to upset you. If you still want the coffee, I can make you another cup."

Deku paused, fingers on the handle, heart nearly beating out of his chest. It was now or never. "You could never upset me Y/N." Carefully avoiding your eyes, he turned to face you. "It's not the coffee I want." Finally, he glanced up, rubbing his neck. "I don't come in here for the coffee anyways."

"So what do you come-" the answer seemed to slap you in the face. Still feeling the hot sting of your own flustered self at the realization, you looked at your feet with the widest smile. "You're such a dork, you know that?" Before he could say anything else, you grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the stool. "I'm not letting you leave until you tell me what you want." You crossed your arms and stood between him and the door.

"So, this just turned into a hostage situation then?" He mirrored your actions. "I can handle those. Are those your only demands?"

"Oh, don't tempt me, hero," you pulled the dishtowel off your shoulders and waved it at him. "I'm armed and dangerous here. Tell me what I want to know and everyone goes free."

Deku glanced around the empty diner. "And if I don't want to go free?"

"Well then..." you spluttered. "Uh-"

"How about a negotiation?" Deku stole the towel hanging limply in your hands. "I'll tell you on Saturday."

"But I don't work on Saturday."

"I know."

Your stomach practically leaped into your throat. Was he trying to ask you on a date? Mind whirring, you just stared at him dumbstruck and that confidence he'd gained quickly drained.

"I mean, only if you wanted to. But you don't have to, uh,-" he handed you the towel back and stood up. "-here."

You took the towel but squeezed your hands over his before he could let go. "And suppose I agree to these conditions. Where would we go?"

He stared at your hands, a small smirk on his face before he looked up at you. "Anywhere but a coffee shop."

#izuku midoria x reader #pro hero deku #midoryia izuku #deku #reader insert #izuku x y/n #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #i have nothing against coffee #except that i hate it #😌#pure fluff #and a whole lotta awkwardness

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