#the goodwill is v far away

[mojogojocasahouse]

Just in Time Part I

Satoru Gojo x f!reader (Principal Gakuganji's daughter)

On the eve of a wedding of your father's arrangement, you call upon your reliable yet agitating old flame Satoru Gojo in an act of desperation and defiance

words: 4.7k content: infidelity (in an arranged marriage so does that even count?), smut, unprotected p in v, oral m-receiving, face fucking, rough sex, minor choking, spit kink, creampie, jealous!Gojo, protective!Gojo (moreso in part ii), minor degradation 18+ only

[9:37 pm] Are you busy?

[9:38 pm] Aw. Kamo family party not as lively as you’d hoped?

[9:38 pm] Just answer the question, Gojo.

[9:38 pm] Gojo is busy. Satoru on the other hand can be persuaded. 

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, scanning the room again for anyone who might be taking an interest. Of course, no one seems to even remember you’re here at all.. 

[9:45 pm] Yes or no

[9:45 pm] What’s in it for me?

[9:45 pm] You’re joking

[9:46 pm] With all my options, why do I choose the Kamo bride tonight? Hmm? 

[9:50 pm] You’re a piece of shit. 

[9:51 pm] HARSH!! You’ve convinced me. Send me the address. 

[9:52 pm] Oh and tell daddy hi for me!

“Fuck you!” you hiss under your breath, sighing as you toss your phone back into the small bag you were carrying. 

Your history with Satoru Gojo has always been…tumultuous. It started in high school, as the daughter of the principal of the Kyoto branch, you sought him to get back at your father, Principal Gakuganji, and he’d been more than happy to oblige for the same exact reason. Exchange events had been less about competition and more about the time stolen in dorm rooms and behind buildings, far more than goodwill being spread. 

It had all come crashing down the day you turned 18. 

Not that there had been an air of commitment between either of you, but whatever physically beneficial relationship that had sprung up and the hopes that it would be more frequent after graduation were wiped away with one sentence. 

“You’re getting married,” your father had said, the Kamo boy from a year ahead of you smiling at his side. 

That was the day you’d realized you’d been nothing but a pawn from the day you’d been born. Despite being a Jujutsu sorcerer, you’d begged to go to university, prolonging the inevitable for as long as you could. Gojo had frequented your dorm room there, too, arriving at your door with his cock already stiff, you barely made it inside before you were on your knees, pulling him into your throat. 

Those years were as close as you got to happy. 

The Kamo clan had taken possession of you two years ago, and while meetings with Gojo became less frequent, they also grew more hostile. Satoru Gojo wasn’t known for his kind, warm nature, and his frustration in losing his favorite toy was on full display whenever you’d been able to get away from lackluster events and days of learning customs you couldn’t care less about; you were too weak to end it entirely with him. He made you feel too good, it was a reprieve from the life you faced day in and day out. But maybe it was just a different breed of nightmare. 

As things continued, you realized it wasn’t actually you that got his cock throbbing. It had always been the satisfaction of how much your father would hate Gojo being in your presence, never mind your bed. You felt the same, being with a man your father loathed above all else was just as thrilling to you. And now, on the evening of your arranged wedding, you’re standing outside a small sushi cafe in a misting rain waiting for a ride to the lavish Tokyo apartment Gojo uses for one thing only. You can’t help but wonder how many others have seen those barren walls. 

Typically, he sends a taxi service, letting you know the details of the car to look out for, but it’s been twenty minutes and you’ve received no information. 

[10:19 pm] You better not have fucking bailed on me. 

You hate how the thought makes your cheeks burn and your chest hollow in what you try to convince yourself is anger, but you know the truth. 

“Why would I bail on you!?” The sound of his voice yelling from his downed window has the muscles in your shoulders loosening. “You look ridiculous. What is that makeup?”

“Fuck you,” you spit at him, rounding the car to slide into the passenger seat, “Just go.”

“Well, aren’t you tense? What’s a‘matter? Already hating marital bliss?”

The disregard he displays about your impending doom digs under your skin. Your bladed gaze shoots over to him, you’d just noticed he was wearing his white bandages over his eyes still, the high collar of his uniform unzipped just enough to reveal the stretch of his throat you’d be decorating soon. 

“Were you working?” you ask, the hour a little strange for a teacher to still be on the clock. 

“Uh-huh,” he practically purrs, flicking through the songs quietly humming from the radio.

Well, that explains why he was the one that rolled up to get you. However, more dangerously you consider that he’d dropped what he was doing for you. 

“Seriously, what are you wearing?” he asks again with a chuckle.

“Shut the fuck—“ your retort was cut short by a long, slender thumb pressing down on your tongue, your lips locking around the digit and sucking instinctively. 

“I’m gonna tear it to shreds.” The whisper is almost menacing, and your core throbs at the husky tone and malicious intent. 

When you’d texted him, you knew tonight would be different. Tomorrow you’ll be signed away. Not that it will change your arrangement, at least you had no intention for it to, but it won’t be the same. It couldn’t be. You’ll be princess to the Kamo clan, officially, and while you find pockets to escape now, soon there will be hurdles even Satoru Gojo can’t leap over. 

“Did you have any trouble?” he asks as the car comes to a smooth halt at a red light, your lips pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb before he can pull it away completely and check whatever alert had just pinged his phone. 

“No,” you answer, turning your attention out the window.

In fact, the lack of resistance had given you pause. When you’d told your father you wanted to head home, he hadn’t even asked why. You’d already prepped the excuse of a headache and buzzing nerves, but he’d waved you off and returned to his conversation with one of the many Jujutsu society higher-ups in attendance. You hadn’t even bothered to check in with the man you were set to marry in just over twelve hours. Instead, you took the easy way out and ran.

The apartment is pitch black when you arrive, Gojo forgetting to turn the lights on as he throws his things onto the kitchen counter and heads straight to his fridge, grabbing a glass bottle of soda and sending the metal top skipping across the floor. Your eyes can’t help but try and follow it, even in the dark, the thud of Gojo’s hands slamming against the door behind you echoing in each of your ears. He’s centimeters away, his sweet strawberry breath huffing out against your lips, and your lungs seize up, your chest shaking with traitorous little gasps. It’s been almost ten years of this, and still, he leaves you quivering.

“I know what you wanna do.” His voice is smoother than melted chocolate, sweet and rich.

“You don’t know shit.” Maintaining this ruse is futile when your voice is trembling, but you try anyway.

“Oh? I think I know you best of all.”

He’s right, and the fact that he knows that has your stomach knotting. As he flashes that cocky, toothy grin there’s no helping the relief that floods through your body. The night had been tense, you’d been nothing but a stranger in a strange land, sat down and expected to abide by customs and etiquette that made you sick. It was a hierarchy, and you were the very bottom rung of the ladder, only there to push the others around you up higher towards their goals.

“You called me, remember?” he croons, backing away enough to have your body following his on pure instinct, “So come and take what you want. I’m all yours.”

For one last night. The leather of his belt is smooth as you grip it with one hand, yanking him back into you. He has a significant height advantage, but when you seek his lips he’s already curled himself down, the kiss you find solace in waiting for you. It’s sugary and warm, the soft cloth of his eye-covering pressing against your forehead as his palms swallow your sides whole, he’s learned the intricacies of your preferences in ways no one else ever would. He knows to tease you until your fingers thread through his hair, a gentle tug the welcome invitation to swipe his tongue along your swelling lower lip, but he’s also well aware you won’t take that step, but it’s one he’s always happy to leap into.

Snowy, white strands fall over the back of your hand as the bandages around his eyes loosen and drape over your noses, your nails still raking through the buzzed hair of his undercut and you know if you dared open your eyes, the infinite blue that the sky itself envied would greet you. Both your fingers and his work to pull the troublesome fabric free, his succeeding before threading with yours and pinning your hand above your head, the fraying edges of the cloth dancing against your hair as his pace picks up. 

Every inch of your body burns, the tight material of your assigned outfit suffocating and the room growing seemingly smaller around the broad shoulders in front of you. All you can smell is him as you search for the zipper of his jacket with your free hand, pulling it open and making quick work of the buttons of his overpriced shirt. His skin is smooth and cool to the touch, the peaks and valleys of his defined torso solid beneath your brushing fingertips. It takes all your concentration to keep up with him, he’s almost frantic, pushing you further and further into the wood behind you as his chest heaves until suddenly he pulls away. 

You’re left cold and buzzing in anticipation, his predatory gaze burning through you from where he stands just out of reach. 

“I want that off,” he mutters, low and menacing, his teeth gnashed together, and you know he isn’t talking about your clothes.

He’s faster than you are, his pointer finger and thumb gripping the gold ring on your left hand and tugging, the ping of the metal skittering across the floor after his haphazard toss in sync with the speed at which he claims your mouth once again. You knew he could feel it catching in his hair and grazing over his chest. Typically, you remembered to take it off prior to even stepping foot in his building, but today the surprise of Gojo himself pulling up to get you had sent everything out of whack. 

“Satoru,” you sigh, his appreciative groan from hearing his given name falling from your lips hitting where he was currently mouthing at your throat, “Satoru…”

You sound pathetic and you can't care less, he’s eating your blatant need for him out of the palm of your hand. He always does, and you wonder if he’s like this with everyone else who gets to see these walls. 

When your hand shoots to his belt, undoing the buckle and finding the button and zipper that’s keeping him contained you can feel the stretch of his smile against your neck.

“I win,” he croons, tugging his arms free of his sleeves as you push his pants and boxers down to his ankles. 

“I volunteer,” you correct as you sink to your knees, his finger keeping your chin in place and eyes on him as you drop down. 

Satoru usually won this little tradition, his hand diving between your legs first and claiming himself the “loser” as he spread your thighs wide and worked you on his tongue until he’d had his fill. Tonight, however, belonged to you, his cock thick and long as you ran your tongue along the underside, greedily collecting the small pearls that had already begun to leak from the tip. 

“Lookit me,” he slurs, mouth already hanging open as you keep his flushed head sitting on your tongue, “Good girl.”

His thumb rubs reverent circles on your jaw as he spits along his ridge, your mouth immediately locking around him and sucking him clean. With each bob of your head you take him a little deeper, your lips loudly suctioning around him as his head falls back in bliss and his shoulders drop from their tensed state. He sighs in relief, his thighs flexing beneath your hands when your throat constricts around the intrusion, your hair quickly knotting in his grip as he takes two steps forward, pinning you against the door. 

“Come on, princess,” he urges, pinching your chin, “don’t be a tease. Gag it down. All of it.”

It’s times like these when you remember the man towering above you is just a few criteria short of being a monster. Spoiled rotten and all-powerful—there is nothing the world could offer that was out of his reach. His confidence is otherworldly and earned, there is no task he isn’t proficient in, and in turn, you’ve always worked hard to stand toe-to-toe with him in all things. Even this. 

A wicked grin stretches across his face as he watches your expression morph into one of ire and determination, he knows how to push every button and pluck every string and he’s well aware of it. With your head firmly in his grasp, his hips start to move, his cock sliding over your tongue like silk as you try to force back the urge to wretch it out. Your eyes burn, tears sliding down your cheeks and mingling with the drool coating the lower half of your face, and he doesn’t relent, nor do you ask him to. 

“There we go,” he praises, yet your nose still hasn’t touched the thin patch of white curls that’s still an inch away, “Fixed that hideous makeup.”

He can tell that you need air, and he pulls himself free while still keeping you pinned by the hair, a string of spit connecting your gasping, swollen lips to the shining tip of his dick. He’s chuckling to himself at your haggard state, your lungs burning as they pull in the air that tastes like him. He bends, forcing himself to your eye level, his free hand thumbing at your gaping mouth.

“You’re such a whore,” he whispers, and it sounds like a compliment in his tooth-rotting, sweet tone, and he spits once again straight onto your tongue. 

“Prick…” you cough after swallowing down what he’d left, his high-pitched giggle echoing in the room as he stands back to his full height. 

“Well, you don’t come here cause I’m nice to you. Do you? Open up.”

Your response is a swift obeying of his command. 

“You like this kind of attention,” his tone is lower now.

Once again, you have to resign to the fact that he’s right. There’s no warning now, no preparation, just his cock slamming into your throat, and your eyes snap shut as you breathe through your nose. He reaches down to feel the bulging of his thrusts, being careful to not pinch off whatever airflow you may have just yet, his hum of approval shooting straight to your throbbing core. 

“And only I give it to you,” he finishes, your tongue laving out against his sack drawing out a whine, “Stay still.”

He knows exactly what you can take, moving his hips at a speed he knows won’t be too much and stopping when your mewling turns frantic, kissing your lips as you suck in air before returning to fucking your throat hard enough the door rattles on its hinges. You want to reach between your legs to relieve the ache that’s becoming unbearable, but you know he’ll scold you, prolonging any relief indefinitely. 

“And what would daddy think of you now?” he snarls, pulling out and smacking the side of your face with his cock, “When are you gonna stop letting that old man run your life?”

The question comes out of nowhere, shocking you enough to give you pause. His nostrils are flared again, and his chest heaving; he looks furious. He takes full advantage, a firm grip around your upper arm pulling you to your feet before he does exactly as he’d threatened, tearing your outfit off in one effortless tug. The question of what you’ll be going home in flits across your mind, but it’s background noise, drowned out by the confusion at his sudden uncharacteristic question and the oceans swirling in his eyes staring down at you.

“I hate what you do to me.” Words you weren’t sure you were meant to hear push the air from your lungs as he tugs you towards the bedroom, your feet following until your back hits the soft down comforter stretched across his bed. 

You want to contemplate what he means by that, but he doesn’t give you time. He’s nudging your legs apart with his knees, his cock flushed practically purple in his grip as he finds you dripping wet and ready for him. There’s nothing slow or gentle about the way he fills you in one hard thrust, his arms immediately pulling you upright and flush to his chest, your thighs trembling from the burning stretch between your legs as he lifts you slightly and lets you sink down onto him.

“You know, out of everyone,” he purrs, all signs of his previous anger neatly tucked away, “your pussy is still my favorite.”

Whatever of his anger had quelled now coiled in your belly at his words, and you shove at his shoulders, his unsuspecting body toppling over with a clumsy “oof!” as your knees straddle his thin waist. 

“Ohoo, ha! That makes you mad doesn’t it?” he taunts as you do your best to pin his wrists above his head with two hands, “That you have to share.”

It’s a thought that shouldn’t irk you in the slightest, but it makes your eyes flash green with envy. He doesn’t even flinch as you hold him in place despite how easily he could overpower you in less than a second. Tufts of white hair fan out around his head like a halo for a man anything but angelic, his hands wriggling free just enough to entwine his fingers with yours. You go from feeling in control to once again at his mercy as he cradles your palms in his, the gentle press of his lips to the point of your chin waking the butterflies in your stomach. There’s no reason for him to be this reverent, this intimate, he was spitting in your mouth just minutes ago, but he continues his soft path, your head turning to allow him to trace your jaw and find the sensitive hollow behind your ear.

“Now you know how I feel,” he breathes, and you clench around him as a shiver shoots down your spine.

The sharp point of his nose grazes along your skin and you’re twitching on him now, but you’re too content like this to move. He’s so close, you feel hypnotized, almost serene as you breathe him in and just feel him. The worst part is that he gives in, letting you have this tease of a moment, a flickering and fleeting ruse of something that will be ripped away. You like holding his hand, as it turns out, his grip is strong and delicate all the same, his fingers practically at the bend of your wrist. You’re just breathing each other’s air now, noses bumping as your eyes flutter closed, and part of you just wants to collapse and fall asleep.

“Am I still a prick?” he asks with a devious lilt.

“Yeah,” you confirm, but for reasons that aren’t entirely his fault.

“Hmm. Want me to be nice to you?”

Life will be easier moving forward if you refuse his offer, but before your train of thought catches up with the autopilot currently in control, you’d already nodded. 

The pillow is soft under your head as he flips you onto your back, your bodies still connected while he situates himself comfortably between your legs. With the first slow roll of his hips, a kiss to your forehead sends your knees into his ribs, his smile stretching across your dewy skin before he repeats it all over again. It’s cruel, and immediately you loathe the woman who has seen this side of him before you have. 

“You need to relax,” he commands, flicking his tongue out against your pursed lips, “Before you drive me insane. How long d’you think I can make it with you clamped around me like this, huh?”

“Aren’t you the strongest?” you sass in reply, trying to distract yourself, and he laughs.

“Most of the time.”

He’s found the angle that drives you mad, every drive of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that inches you towards ecstasy. Your vision goes white around the edges, his lips still close enough to kiss but neither of you can focus enough to close the distance. At some point, your fingers had wound into his hair and his in yours, the muffled whines and gasping breaths escaping into the room more obscene than the guttural cries of his name of times past. This was raw, honest, desperate. He’s muttering obscenities as he tugs hard enough to have your scalp twinging, the sudden pressure of a hand clasping your throat dragging you up to the surface.

“I need you to…” He’s wrecked, sweat dripping down his temples, his hair stuck to his face, “I need you to come. I can’t…”

A reassurance that he can cut the act and do what he needs to is cut short by a blinding, white-hot wave surging from your middle outwards. Your nails seek to permanently indent their half-moon shapes into the marbled perfection of his back while your face buries in his neck. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your cheek until your senses begin to regulate, and it’s then you realize it’s a pleading whine of your name he’s been chanting like a prayer. 

Panic sets in, he looks like he’s in agony, his face twisting and eyes clamped shut but when your hands cup his jaw it melts away. A lazy kiss allows you both to settle, lips tugging and pulling, tongues brushing softly, and you can feel him softening inside of you as his cum and yours soaks your inner thighs and drips onto the bed. You want to know what he’s thinking, but his face is unreadable now, it’s almost as if he’s half asleep, opting to rest down on your chest for just a moment, his ear directly over your still-hammering heart.

There’s no time to decipher exactly what had just transpired. It’s better that way. He lifts you with ease and carries you to the shower, his fingers scrubbing your hair before he drops to his knees in front of you–a silent plea to return the favor. You take it slow, scraping over his scalp and combing through his thick locks until his head falls to your stomach. You stay until the water runs cold, not a word is said, and there’s no use in translating the silence. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

“Guess I didn’t think that through,” he chuckles as he passes you a t-shirt from his drawer, watching intently as you pull it over your head before focusing on the way the hem hits the middle of your thighs, “Maybe you’ll have to climb in through a window like the old days.”

The memory makes you smile. 

He’s in nothing but sweatpants when he walks out with a wink, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel in your hair. Once you leave this room he’ll call you a taxi, and then it’ll be tomorrow. So you sit there surrounded by everything that makes Satoru him. Empty soda bottles on the nightstand, mochi wrappers surrounding a half-empty trash can, his uniform for tomorrow folded and set neatly on a chair in the corner of the room beside the moonlit window, expensive watches he rarely wore, an array of sunglasses, and a single photo of him, Shoko, and Suguru Geto from their second year at Jujutsu High tucked back on the dresser like a relic he dares not move.

When you finally shake the lead from your feet and trudge into the kitchen, Satoru’s at the stove, music playing lightly from his phone on the counter, the symphony of the orchestral tune mixing with the sound of metal scraping on a pan. As you approach the table, he slides a plate across to you, your stomach rumbling at the sight.

“What’s this?” you squeak out, staring down at his offering.

“An omelet,” he states bluntly, flipping the one he’d started for himself.

It’s like an anvil has been dropped on your chest, the control on the tears that had been threatening to break free since he’d pressed worshipful kisses to your stomach in the shower waning. It’s insane that for a moment you consider he actually cares, the lack of common decency you’re shown in your daily life making every gesture grand, even something as simple as this.

“Do you…not like omelets anymore?” he asks, you hadn’t realized how long you’d been in a staring contest with your late-night snack.

“I do.” Your throat is closing in on itself and it’s becoming impossible to mask.

“Okay…”

Etiquette takes over, and you sit to take a bite of what he’s prepared for you, but the small piece you’ve cut off only makes it halfway to your trembling lips before it goes clattering down to the table. 

“What is–” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Why?” The question is much more harsh than you intend.

“Why what?”

“This.”

“Because your stomach has been gurgling since I picked you up. It’s annoying. And you said you wanted me to be nice to you.”

You can’t help the knowing laugh that snaps you both out of whatever daze you’d been trapped in. Your appetite ducks and runs once again and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. It’s all part of the act; he could be whatever it was you wanted, all you had to do was ask as long as the request wasn’t honesty. If he won’t call you a cab, you can get one yourself, and you find your discarded bag on the counter on the other side of him, but of course, he blocks your path.

“What is your problem?” The concerned furrow of his brow almost makes this all believable, like he can feel remorse.

Footsteps coming up the sidewalk catch not only your attention but his, and although he slips around you to separate you from whatever lies on the other side, his arm held out to keep you safely pressed behind him, your anger has already taken over.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” you snap, shoving at the barrier of infinity he’s activated.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Is your next visitor here? It is a Friday, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Tch. I was working before I dropped everything to come rescue you. Left poor Megumi to finish the job on his own.”

“As if you couldn’t have just done it yourself.” You mimic the way he unleashes that destructive purple technique, flicking against his invisible wall right behind his ear with your middle finger, “Just let me leave–”

“With no pants? Good luck.”

The color drains from your face when it isn’t a woman’s voice heard on the other side of the door, but a very familiar one. Three raps of a wooden cane echo through the palpable silence, your body going rigid in terror as the sound of your pulse turns deafening.

“What did you do…” you mutter under your breath, backing away from Satoru who’s playing the part of shocked exceptionally well, “What the fuck did you do?”

“What did I do?!” he responds in a hushed, frantic whisper.

“You called him.”

“Of all the stupid conclusions you’ve had in your life!”

“Gojo!” your father’s voice echoes through the room, “GOJO!”

Part II is almost done! Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs=love

{{Masterlist}}

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

So she didn’t “come down.” She was always at this level. It’s just that people didn’t realize it.

She was elevated beyond her level via Harry who in turn was elevated beyond his level via the brf's propping him up with all the cover ups and bigging him up beyond his abilities and what his position warranted. She was an unknown quantity -- people bought into her in large part bc they bought into Hero Harry. This is a case of water seeking its own level and this shitshow is essentially a crash happening in slow motion on a world stage bc two idiots who had been elevated far beyond their levels were stupid enough to buy into their own hypes and proceed to torch the very scaffoldings holding them up lol

Even nepo babies still need to have some abilities to succeed and Harry has none. Hero Harry worked bc he had some v powerful institutions propping him up: the brf, the UK government, the military, a cooperative press, and also an enormous goodwill from the public. But it only worked within the royal parameters, and even then it was only delaying the inevitable -- he was a ticking bomb who was always gonna blow up sooner or later. He has nothing to offer in the real world but he thought he was the shit and they were holding him back so he got out so he could unleash his star power outshining his brother and getting paid for it lmao

The brf shot themselves in the foot with their enabling and mishandling of this loose cannon. Meghan did them a solid by taking him outta their hands to implode away from them and also providing them with a fallguy for their mistakes.

Exactly, the big fake here was Harry.

I would add that Hero Harry worked because people wanted to believe that Diana’s son had reformed and found a role for himself. That’s also why the Harkle wedding worked. People wanted that happy ending, not realizing that they’d been sold a false image.

[aqricus]

SAY MY NAME ! feat. xiao

V SAYS . . . “who knew that giving you one little gift would open xiao’s eyes to how he feels about you? but, is it enough to convince him to act on it?”

+ WC . . . 3.6k

+ sfw material. female reader. angst. fluff.

!! this was supposed to be nsfw, but i made it into two parts for the sake of making the plot fit in a way that feels comfortable and fluid to me. the NEXT part will contain nsfw material !!

“if you ever find yourself in danger, or if you cannot bring yourself to do what is necessary, speak my name, and i will appear to you.”

in xiao’s mind, it was but a trivial blessing, a privilege well within his sphere of work and achieved without significant effort. but, as appealing as it may seem to be deemed worthy of wielding his name like a baleful curse, he believes that it is all he can give you. he is clumsy and unversed in matters of human relationships, and he does not serve much benefit in the way of offering applicable advice or the types of elegant, lyrical compliments he occasionally hears pour from the lips of poets and performers entertaining audiences near the boundaries of the city. 

it doesn’t help that you hardly ever find yourself in sticky situations or toeing the line between safety and peril; because, although he is grateful for your security and the lack of harm you face, he simply wishes that he could offer you more. when he first relinquished such a power to you, it was nothing more than a precaution. you’ve never been one to gamble with your life or plunge headlong into potential danger on a whim, instead avoiding trouble within the walls of your picturesque cottage.

in fact, the only reason you even encountered him at all was due to the fact that a band of lawlichurls abandoned their usual routine and began chipping away at the outskirts of the city. you merely happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

he could tell you weren’t an adventurer with a single glance as you thanked him profusely for his intervention. you were frazzled and in clear disarray as you fluttered anxiously around him, hands gripped with a noticeable tremor as you awkwardly attempted to gather the collection of wildflowers and meticulously snipped mint plants that had been stripped from your grasp and scattered about the area during the mayhem. your explanation of the purpose of your whereabouts was linked together into one unbroken, jumbled stream of vowels and consonant. you were tense, movements rigid and tight like the string on a bow drawn taut.

however, it wasn’t until you finally began to mellow out and he dared to step closer, fist stuffed full of stems he managed to snag before the wind could whisk them away, that he noticed how captivating you appeared that night. despite your dress being rumpled and creased beyond simple adjustment, there was no mistaking the charming cascade of the violet fabric around your figure, loose enough for the hem to swirl around your ankles with each gust of wind yet tailored to inconspicuously highlight even the slightest curves embellishing your physique, right down to the gentle bend of your knee as you shifted your weight. 

it reminded him of a sculpture he’d once stumbled upon among the ruins of a forgotten town sunken into the earth—a woman seated upon a pedestal with her head lifted toward the cracked ceiling, draped in overgrown vines and stained with moss yet carved with such care that every smooth edge and shape appeared soft to the touch.

you stood tall, even as the material draped over your body rippled beneath the force of the breeze. you radiated goodwill—your profuse expressions of gratitude, the benevolence that twinkled in eyes far more unguarded than any he’s had the pleasure of meeting in a long time, and especially the kind voice that fussed over blood that didn’t even belong to him until the words of rejection brewing on his tongue withered. 

there he was, soaked in cerise and sharp gaze piercing you to your core as if your flesh were as delicate as gossamer, yet not once did the warmth in your gaze waver. you were afraid, of course you were, he could see it in your eyes, plain as day. but you approached him, regardless.

still to this day, he wonders why.

at the time, when you insisted that he allow you to repay him in some way, he became painstakingly aware of how rough—how calloused and hardened—his hands were compared to yours, which he was positive had never clutched anything sharper than a kitchen knife. he had half a mind to withdraw from your touch; but beneath the silver wash of moonlight, you appeared so serene that he wondered if such an action would be enough to upset you, so he stilled instead. he paid no heed to the figure veiled by your attire or really anything regarding your features. all he could focus on was the manner in which you gazed upon him without judgment, as if he hadn’t just effortlessly terminated an entire band of monsters within seconds, as if his awkward silence and uncertainty when speaking to you didn’t exist, as if his conspicuous appearance didn't deviate from the city's normalcy . . . 

as if he was just like you.

you weren’t keen on allowing him to slip away so easily, either—at least, not without learning his name, which evolved into his favorite treat, which then developed into an invitation to meet the following day so that you could give him said favorite treat as a proper show of your gratitude. he didn’t quite understand what prompted him to take you up on your offer. perhaps it was because of how swiftly the chill of loneliness sank back in as soon as you vanished down the hillside with a secretive grin. maybe it had something to do with how the prospect of being able to ascertain whether or not the uncritical sincerity he’d seen from you the day prior was actually real made the corners of his lips quirk upward.

he may not have accepted an outright wish to meet you, but you piqued his interest. and, if nothing else, he knew that he wouldn’t be entirely adverse to seeing you just one more time before your paths would diverge once more.

but, you clearly had no intention of allowing it to be just “one more time.” time and time again, you would either stumble across him in a stroke of fortune or scrape together a reason to cross paths with him. he could not understand why you were so adamant about being in his presence if not for the need for protection or guidance pertaining to the land. even for the most mundane activities, like filling wooden basins with water near the edge of the river or assisting you with carrying something you clearly could manage on your own, you found pleasure in simply having him by your side, undaunted by and comfortable in even the longest stretches of silence that would settle between you.

he didn’t find it troublesome by any means. rather, he quite enjoyed being in your company, even if his attempts at reciprocating were poor at best. there is no history between you—no bloodstained, fractured past where you’ve witnessed his behavior at his worst or the horrific extent of his capabilities as a warrior. he was simply xiao, an enchanting individual who’s never had the pleasure of tasting a strawberry tart or experiencing lantern decorating but also happens to be your knight in shining armor. 

you made him feel welcome, valued beyond his physical prowess, yearned for in his entirety. and in return, he’d grown to care for you deeply, craving a level of intimacy he’s had yet to explore.

even now, you don’t shy away from him, eyes wide and glimmering with excitement as the weight of his gift to you settles in. “really?” xiao remains rooted to his spot in the grass even as you step closer, close enough for him to count the individual fragments of rose quartz adorning the gold chain hooked around your throat—close enough to touch him, if you so pleased. “so, that means i’ll be able to call you whenever i want?”

he should have anticipated that you would completely bypass the fine details, your brain’s processing capacity reduced to nearly tunnel vision as you zero in on the overarching meaning instead: no more having to hope that you both are in the right place at the right time, no more wondering whether or not he’ll make the first move, and no more having to trek through the wilderness alone. 

he nods and loosely folds his arms over his chest. “correct, but—”

before he can finish speaking, a dazzling smile blooms on your features, and your hand darts toward him without warning. he falls silent at the sensation of your fingers clasping his, drawing his hand into the space between you and cradling it within your own. he can detect a floral fragrance wafting from your skin . . . wisteria. it envelops his senses, intertwining with the comforting presence of your touch to send a ticklish, tingling sensation dispersing through his stomach. he swallows.

“this is so cool!” you squeeze his hand. “thank you, xiao.” the corners of his lips tilt upward into a small smile, and his muscles relax.

but, just as quickly as your grin appeared, it vanishes, along with your touch as you release him without warning. wait. his widen a fraction as he witnesses the warm gleam in your eyes dim into a muted reluctance. you withdraw from him, and in one fell swoop, the candlelight flickering in his chest is extinguished, reduced to nothing more than a cold whisper of smoke. wait. he’s never witnessed this behavior—this uncertainty—from you before. did he accidentally squeeze your hand? did you see something?

“wait, so . . .” you begin hesitantly, and xiao’s hand sinks back down to his side. he feels . . . he doesn’t know. he can’t quite place it, but it leaves his stomach roiling with malaise all the same. “all i have to say is your name, right? just ‘xiao’ and that’s it?”

“uh . . . yeah.”

rejection. he recalls the sting of it in the pit of his stomach, not quite foreign and not quite familiar, but never rendering him as defenseless as he is now. he’s become used to the solitude, accustomed to most regarding him with suspicion or fear. but to be subjected to such kindness from the first encounter, only to then have such a luxury slip from his fingertips without as much as a hint—this is new.

the swelling of your chest beneath your blouse as you inhale is barely noticeable. “have you always been able to hear when i say your name?” you question.

that’s probably the issue, his shoulders square. from what he’s learned from observing humanity, disregard for an individual’s privacy has never been taken kindly. “no, no,” he rushes to placate you. “i can only hear it if i establish a link between our consciences, which would allow for minimal communication.”

“oh . . .” your eyebrows furrow as you mull over his explanation, only for your easy smile to return a moment later. “oh!”  the sight alleviates the coil of tension constricting around his chest, and he exhales slowly, with it expelling the besetting pessimism clouding his psyche. you laugh, and xiao relaxes. “sorry, that got a bit tense.” you dismiss with a breezy wave of your hand. “so, what about in conversation? can you hear that? like if i just mention your name.”

he shakes his head once more. “not quite. it’s more complicated than that. so far, i’ve only been able to hear it in times of desperation or fear . . . or, really just when you need me.” he explains. “let’s say you get attacked or get lost in the woods. you call me, and i’ll hear you. but, if you mention my name in conversation, i won’t.”

“oh, that’s a relief,” you shift your weight onto your right leg. a relief? does that mean she talks about me? xiao can’t help but search your eyes in question, seeking any kind of emotion to hint at the circumstances you may have mentioned his name in. why would you? do you speak highly of him? who do you speak about him to? how do you really feel about him?

almost as if his inquiries were spoken aloud, you shake your head. “i’ve mentioned you to ying’er in the past, but it’s only her, so you don’t have to worry—that is, if you don’t want people finding out about how much time we spend together. i told her all about how you saved me that one day, and ever since then, she’d ask about you whenever i came back late.” still not convinced by the hesitation shadowing his expression, you continue with a quiet chuckle. “it’s nothing bad, i promise. all good things.”

xiao’s chest warms at the confirmation. “oh . . . i see.” a tacit question lingers between the two of you; it rests on his tongue, cumbersome and thick, and manifests in your gaze as buoyant twinkles of anticipation as you await his next words. what do you tell her? it sears the tip of his tongue, dances behind twin rows of teeth welded together. you both feel it, he can tell. but, even as your gaze yields nothing but an earnest clarity, he pensively tucks his forefinger beneath his thumb and presses down, popping his knuckle. he never truly realized how easy it was to be deprived of the comfort of having you by his side. it could happen at any moment; one wrong word, one wrong move, and he could chase you off for good. he’s only just begun to find his place among the outskirts of society—to find his place with someone. perhaps at the moment, it’s better to play it safe and admire from a distance, he reasons, just as he has been up until this point.

“that’s . . . nice. i’m glad.” the delivery is awkward, as well as his words, but he figures it’s better than unnerving you. 

wrong choice. his lips part when you wilt subtly at his lackluster response, shoulders deflating the tiniest bit and smile now tinged with a twist of dry amusement. you don’t seem shocked by his decision to avoid the question, but your disappointment is palpable regardless. “oh, uh . . .”

but, before he can scrape together something else to say, you silence him with a gentle shake of your head. “you know, xiao,” despite your despondency, he can still sense the same warmth in your voice. “i like hearing your thoughts, even if they aren’t anything profound. i just like talking to you.” your eyes meet his. “i ask you questions all the time—far too many, probably,” you huff a small laugh, “and you answer them all. it’s not weird to have questions for me, too.”

but when will i know when i am toeing the line between acceptable and unacceptable? once again, his thoughts remain unspoken. “. . . you would be correct.”

“if you want something, xiao,” you finish, “then pursue it.”

“if you want something, then pursue it.”

at the time, xiao had received your words in stride; but at this moment, as he sits alone, perched upon a low-hanging branch with his back braced against the trunk and one knee drawn up against his chest, he can’t help but consider how ludicrous of a statement it really is. a short sigh is huffed from his lips as he absently twirls the stem of an apple blossom between the pads of his thumb and index finger. the ivory petals stained with blush-pink glow beneath the gentle caress of the moonlight, protruding from the shadowy, muted backdrop of the surrounding vegetation like a sore thumb. he ghosts the tip of his middle finger over the velvety canvas of the petals.

“hey, check it out,” xiao’s eyes bounced from your face to the freshly plucked flower cradled in your palms. “the apple blossoms are blooming early this year! they smell lovely, don’t they?”

you were right. they do.

“pursuing something simply because you desire it . . . what a foolish way to live.” xiao reflects with a wry smile. no one can have everything they wish for; to believe otherwise is not only idiotic, but it also promotes greed. during his lifetime, he’s witnessed his fair share of avarice and power grabs, all spawned from people’s ideas that they were capable of achieving it all; and, just like clockwork, it would bait them into a downward spiral that would result in their own destruction. everyone is dealt their own hand of cards and is born to fulfill a certain purpose, himself serving as a prime example. to crave or demand something other than that would be . . . 

but, then again, isn’t that exactly what he’s doing now? what he’s been doing?

his encounter with you that day was only supposed to be a one-time occurrence. neither of you had any business being involved in each other’s lives; he was slated to remain a finely honed weapon of mass obliteration, and you were to maintain a peaceful life separated from combat. your kind nature was in danger of being tainted by and desensitized to his misdeeds, just as your compassion threatened to dismantle his brutal, black-and-white mentality surrounding the protection of liyue that had been established within his mind longer than you have been alive.

even so, you became a staple in his life in an effort that was not one-sided. you dared to pursue him, and he returned the favor. 

his forehead creases thoughtfully. pursue what you want.

what exactly do i want?

your face flickers through his mind, and his brows twitch. he wants you, he’s come to terms with that. but, what does that mean? what does he want from you? what does he want with you?

if it were as simple as he wished it was, he would find a way to keep you closer, find a way to have access to your voice first thing in the morning and last thing at night. he wants the freedom to dispose of the hesitance that restrains his fingers from brushing leaves from your clothes or from snaking around your waist to steady you whenever you trip. he wants to be able to comfortably ask you for more of that almond tofu you made him two weeks ago. he wants you to call him to accompany you whenever the sun begins to set.

he just wants . . . you. he wants more of you—all of you in your entirety.

however. . . the apple blossom slips from his fingertips, drifting to rest among the grass below. what i want does not matter. to dare to hope for a companion . . . such a desire is far too audacious for someone whose pedestal is composed of severed limbs and lifeless bodies--for a being whose soul is bound to solitude and tongue bound to silence by his karmic debt. perhaps he deserves it, perhaps he doesn’t. he doesn’t really think about it anymore.

but you certainly do not. it would only make way for misery and discontent to bleed into your soul, and he would shoulder the guilt for the remainder of his life.

he swings his legs over the side of the branch and allows himself to plummet through the air before landing nimbly upon the earth below. but none of that matters, anyway, if you do not reciprocate his feelings. without your tolerance of him being further interwoven in your life, he would never be able to completely fulfill his goal of being embraced with wholehearted acceptance. his hands seek anchorage in the fabric of his pants, porcelain fingers twisted into royal purple as he tethers himself back to reality. there are one hundred reasons for you to reject him and one hundred more that prove you deserve someone else, more familiar with affection and expressiveness, someone who isn’t only confident and willing to take charge of the situation when ensuring your safety.

the apple blossom catches his eye from its place nestled among the grass, and he picks it back up. it’s undamaged, still radiant and pure despite the thin, sanguine crescents lodged beneath his fingernails and the papery film of dirt layering his fingertips. 

i’ll leave it here. he twirls the stem between his fingers. there is no reason to risk soiling it.

your smile appears in the back of his mind, nothing more than a brief flicker of a memory.

he stills, and after a moment of silence, he tucks the flower into his pocket.

#genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #xiao x y/n #xiao x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #xiao

[sassyfrassboss]

I do think Harry is a much more involved parent...

Sorry but based on what tho? He stays in hotels hours away and admitted it himself in Waaagh that he was an absent parent. Whenever he mentioned the kids he came across as not knowing anything about kids like when he said that a 6 month old Archie was admiring the scenery in Vancouver lol Kids are a lot of work and he's lazy and probably gets bored after spending 15 min with them.

So I don't get why it's assumed that he's a more involved parent and frankly why people even want him to be. This is a guy who fantasized about blowing up his father and seemed to be high all the time in his book and you just know that in reality his drug use is likely to be much worse. He beat up his bodyguards and abused animals and allegedly sex workers. He's filled with so much resentment and hate for his family that it's pretty much guaranteed that he'd poison those kids too with it. He didn't care about their safety when he boasted about killing the Talibans. This guy is an unstable, violent, hateful and reckless drug addict. He's utterly unfit to be a parent. She could v well be worse but so far there's nothing factually to assume that he's a better and more involved parent.

The better scenario for the kids in the circumstances would probably be a benign neglect by their parents with a loving nanny raising them instead.

On that note, and generally speaking, I see it all the time - people assuming that he's somehow better than her just because - and it frankly amazes me at this point. He's not and is arguably worse since it's his family that they've been abusing and trying to destroy and the way he had treated his grandparents in their final years is just unconscionable and frankly unforgivable imo. But people can't seem to get away from his old PR-created persona even when it has since been revealed to be a mirage and make the assumption based on that. But it just shows how much better and more successful a con man he is than her for whom it takes all 5 min for most people to see thru. Remember how he smirked when he said that people didn't know the real him in an interview years ago? Yeah. Even now many seem willing to get conned yet again and think that somehow the good lad Harry will be back after deprogramming once she's gone.

And that's one of the reasons why I don't want them to divorce. I have no doubt that most of the now anti Sussex crowd (and the media ofc) will turn around and be back to babying this asshole and blaming it all on her. And I believe he knew that he could always count on that when he married her and that's why he's the worst. He's weaponized her against those who had done nothing but cared for him while also using her as a shield and to whitewash himself and will use her as a scapegoat in the end cos it's what he always does. He never takes responsibility for anything in his life and that's why he's unredeemable. He doesn't deserve all that goodwill and it's utterly wasted on him since he will undoubtedly squander it all again after a while like he always had cos the problem is and has always been him. And the problem with him is that he's a viscious asshole who doesn't a damn about anyone other than himself. And his problem -- the main reason for this saga -- is his deep-seated envy and futile desire to best his brother, the outcome of which had already been decided the moment they were born.

SORRY for the long rant lol

Don’t be sorry!

I do see all of your very valid points.

I just think that he is more likely to be more involved because of how little she is involved.

Harry has so so so many faults and issues. Between his jealousy and stupidity…

[nalyra-dreaming]

i grew up in an abusive home myself (not as extreme as the show tho!) and claudia taunting lestat was weird to me. obvs she's got nerves of steel, but baiting your abuser & turning your back when they're yelling goes against every instinct. she seemed v confident he wasn't going to hurt her, but why? was her cowering in fear on the train an embellishment of louis' or smth? i'm not criticizing her or saying there's a right or wrong way to handle abuse, but these scenes felt contradictory?

First off - sending you a big, big hug (if you'll have it) 🥺

In regards to your ask.

I hope it's okay that I took a moment, because this is a touchy subject.

But... I agree. And I have had comments and reblogs to this effect on other posts as well, and having also some experience with abuse as a child (not sexual... just... well. physical.) I also felt the scenes off.

There are a few contradictions. IMHO.

In. The. Tale.

(Not the implementation, or meaning behind it. I'm not touching "why" they chose to give us the tale as it is here, that's a whole different subject.)

For one, both Louis and Claudia could have moved away after Louis was well again - Louis' mother was dead, Grace was gone, Claudia was back... there was nothing holding them there, was there. (I got the hell out of dodge as soon as I could, I literally put an ocean between myself and my family, and I can tell you I cackled rather humorlessly at that phrase Lestat used in ep1, and knowing his backstory.)

And they are not afraid of Lestat, even though he shows up regularly, as the car scene makes very clear. I always found that weird, given the (by then) very clear power discrepancy and they must have been aware that Lestat could have forced them... and that he didn't. And they trusted that... goodwill? After that "fight"? Mhhh. Claudia later tells Lestat that they don't repair the mantle piece because the damage stays... but that in and by itself is already an aggravation once more, as are the rules she puts up with Louis. The demands she puts up.

Claudia is not afraid of Lestat.

She is furious at Lestat on Louis' behalf. She is furious because Lestat is the cheating, "bad" parent, and she is protecting Louis. Who has been hurt by Lestat, emotionally, and physically (no matter the extent of the fight). But she is not afraid. As you also noted, turning your back on your abuser goes against every instinct, and you'd be careful not to rile them up. Which she does. Regularly and pointedly, and on purpose. She is not afraid.

Louis on the other hand... Louis exhibits signs of trauma in regards to the abuse, imho. He very carefully tries not to rock the boat after Lestat is back, he concedes, tries to negotiate between them. Gives into Lestat's whims and demands. (He also lowers his eyes in said car scene, and has his hands in his pockets, and his whole body language is withdrawn. Totally different to Claudia there, who even goes so far as to damage the gift in front of Lestat.)

And this is especially important in regards to the train scene, imho.

Because... that was not read from a diary. It was narrated by Louis. Who, of course, colored what he either got told by her or what she let him pick from her mind by his own interpretations.

And his own compassion and feelings.

What did he think Claudia would feel when Lestat showed up? What did he think Claudia would do when Lestat showed up. Would she cry? Be desperate? What did he expect Lestat to do when he went after Claudia...

And, of course, if his tale is to be trusted there, he didn't know Lestat went after her, so he... imagined it after?! When a furious Claudia would relate the encounter? Or when she talked to him in his mind?

*sighs*

Given the statement that everything we have seen will change in meaning with season 2 I think it is somewhat fair to say that this whole thing... is likely not as it seems.

Not yet at least.

And ... totally apart from Armand being Armand and being Armand (and there, in Dubai, and obviously involved in it all) there is also the aspect that canonically... Claudia manipulated Louis into killing Lestat. And she notes that in her diaries... and that she hated them both.

And it might be that we will get a change of the tale bc of that as well.

#Anonymous #asks #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #tw abuse #tw trauma #lestat de lioncourt #the brat prince #iwtv lestat #iwtv louis #louis de pointe du lac #beautiful one #iwtv claudia #claudia de lioncourt #iwtv armand #armand #iwtv meta #ask nalyra

[kewltie]

winter au where bkdk lives in a mostly secluded village where everyone's worth is judge by what they can provide for the community but izuku is magicless and isn't particularly strong either so when the village needed a sacrificial bride to their god, izuku went up the mountains.

izuku didn't fight it despite knowing his fate, to live and die alone, bc inko was gone and he has been living off the village's goodwill. this time he can repay them for letting him live among them for so long. when they discards him at the shrine it's cold and lonely existence. technically izuku doesnt believe in a god but his ppl are superstitious, believing the god had kept their village safe and protected for hundred of yrs so they send one of their ppl up there to just tend to the shrine, usually it's one of the elderly or sickly who about to die. since those ppl dont really offer much to the community and their life is short anyway so they would bound to die eventually. izuku tho is only 18yrs old and is v healthy but he's orphan, has no magic and strength so to the village he's just leeching off their resources.

the place they live in is a very cold and brutal climate and food and shelter are very limited so everyone must contribute and pull their weight. nobody can be dead weight. tho izuku tries so hard to prove his worth and help out the village but his outcast status make it unwanted.

so when the last person who watched over the shrine, died some asshole offered izuku's name among the candidates to be the next 'bride'. izuku shown no hesitation in agreeing on it even the village's chief, mitsuki, a long time friends of his mom had asked if HE TRULY WANTED this.

izuku nodded his head and smiled, saying at least this is something he can do for their village and ppl. so he went up the mountains, never meant to be stepping back to the home he once knew till the day he die and it's so cold and dark up here. he's so terribly, achingly alone. even in the village when ppl dismissed his existence at least it been his home for 18yrs and there's comfort and familiarity but now he left it all to live in this place where the sun only comes out 2-3hrs a day and it's so isolated.

"are you just going to wait here and die?"

izuku snaps his head toward the voice and sees the familiar face of his estranged childhood friend. "kacchan?" katsuki wasnt among his escort up the mountain but then izuku didn't expect that either bc they havent been friends in a very long time since izuku was deemed useless.

“what are you doing here?" he presses, confused.

"im taking you away from here," katsuki answers with the same surefire confident that made him a leader among the kids when they were younger; a future chief in the making. "get up and let's go."

izuku doesnt rise to his feet.

"i can't," he says quietly. "it's my duty to stay here. and if you try to take me away there will be severe punishment for both us."

katsuki sneers. "scare?" he says. "who care what those old fucks say. you're not staying here." he reaches out and grabs izuku's wrist.

but izuku shaken him off, refusing to comply. "i'm not leaving. i have to stay here. im promised to the god."

"you don't believe in that shit," katsuki points out, knowing izuku still despite the chasm between them now. "so why are staying? if you want to be fucking stupid and stay here, fine i'll leave you to die," katsuki says intently. his words are as cold and unforgiving as this snowy landscape. "but if you truly want to leave then i'll take you from here. we'll go far, far away where nobody would find us."

and just like this landscape where the sun shines only a few hours a day, katsuki would offer a sliver of salvation.

"I-" izuku looks down at his lap, refusal hung on his tongue, but what came out is: "I dont want die alone," he sobs. the first selfish wish he had uttered.

and that's all katsuki needed, an almost sigh of relieve escaping him. he takes izuku's hand and this time he doesn't resist, stumbling his feet as he follows katsuki out of the shrine. out of his tomb.

in there with only a few lit candles and windows, the outside feels fresh.

"where are you taking me?" he asks. he knows he cant go back home. or wherever home is now for him. the moment he step a foot back in their village, he'll be kill for breaking centuries old tradition, not to mention katsuki would also get in trouble for helping him escape. but that's assuming izuku will expose that it's katsuki who'd helped him escape from here. no, he'll keep this secret deep in his chest. he'll die with it. if katsuki drop him off somewhere and he'll go back to their village alone, no one will ever know what happened today.

katsuki can continue to live on and be the next chief after his mother and izuku will be somewhere. not here, but somewhere far from all that he had ever known just because he didn't want to fulfill his duty. for a second, he wonders if that was a right choice in the end.

"i know a place," is all that katsuki says. he hands over a fur sack to izuku. "i got whatever i could from your house."

the sack isn't big, holding a few items from his mother and a misshapen dagger that katsuki had made for his 8th birthday. it was so long ago but he held on.

"let's go," katsuki says, hauling another and bigger sack over his shoulder.

"what's that?" he asks. "I dont think i have anymore stuff."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "it's for me, dumbass."

and this shock him, because he's the only one leaving so why katsuki brought his stuff.

he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "i already told /we/ are leaving. together."

izuku blinks. "w-wait, what? why are you going with me?! im the only who has to leave! if you go back now, they wont know it's you who'd helped me."

"are you done being dumb?" he scoffs.

"who else is crazy enough to risk their life to get you out of here?"

izuku's eyes widen. "y-you, you're coming with me?!"

"otherwise you won't survive a day without me," he says, as though the reason could be that simple. not like katsuki is giving up everything for him.

izuku has no family, friends, and though the bakugou has been kind to him but they're are bound by their duty to the village and who would ever choose an orphan boy over the fate of hundreds? yet katsuki would be willing to walk away from all of that just to leave with him.

he wants to ask more, but he knows if he push the more katsuki refuse to answer. katsuki has his reasons and maybe one day, he'll tell izuku. so together, they leave their village and everything they ever known.

it's just bkdk finding a place and building a home for themselves.

katsuki using his hunting skill to bring back food and furs so they can trade and earn some money, izuku picking up farm and foraging for their food supply. when they finally save enough money, katsuki buy izuku a herd of sheeps and izuku makes katsuki a coat from the furs. they havent been friends in a long time, but living and working together in a close space where they're miles away from next town over and having to rely on each other to survive, they're NOT FRIENDS but they're also more than friends. it's being partners. it's being home to e/o.

they dont talk about that day when katsuki went up the mountains and saved izuku. katsuki never explain himself and izuku is afraid to ask. was it guilt for ignoring him all these years? was he doing it out some of duty? izuku doesn't know and those questions linger in his heart.

anyway, bkdk being domestic and setting a life for themselves in a far away place. whenever they visit a town to trade, the ppl think bkdk had eloped and are like madly in love esp when katsuki takes off his furcoat and puts it around izuku, scolding him for freezing his ass off. idk how's it going to end but i love the idea of bkdk living off the land, having to rely only on each other, and there's this strange nebulous thing b/t them that neither one want to address for fear of losing each other but everyone else can see how deeply they love each other.

#bakudeku #not!fic

[italeteller]

Miorine Rembran is naive. You wouldn't think it from the daughter of Delling Rembran, raised in the middle of political machinations, but she is

She steals Aerial to fight Guel, even though she knows fuck all about piloting and Guel was the Holder, and immediately gets her ass handed to her. Had Suletta not managed to get to her, Miorine would not only have lost someone else's Gundam, she would also have lost the goodwill of the only person in the school willing to stick her neck out for her without asking anything in return, just out of sheer goodness, and also forced her to leave the school on the day she arrived

She makes an impassionate speech to convince businesspeople to support a Gundam company, and it bombs so hard she has to resort to swallowing her pride and asking her father for help

She suggests having GUND-ARM make weapons of war and causes a fight in Earth House, then doubles down by saying it doesn't matter if they sell weapons 'cause it's her company, and everybody who doesn't like it can leave, and gets everybody immediately mad at her

She bets everything on a 5-v-5 mech fight against Shaddiq even though Earth House only has 2 pilots against his experienced 5, and it very nearly goes horribly wrong for all of them

She replaces Suletta on greenhouse duty and gets her a piloting partner without asking her, all under the assumption that Suletta would understand she's doing it as a favor to her, and it shatters Suletta's self-confidence, and almost breaks their relationship

And then she makes a deal with the devil. She accepts Prospera's offer to take charge of Quiet Zero in exchange for her leaving Suletta alone and away from her machinations

She assumes Prospera will keep her word. And maybe she will. After all, she values Eri above all, certainly above Suletta, and she needs Miorine to keep the project alive. Maybe she truly needed only one more duel to get her plan in motion. Maybe she doesn't have any more use for Suletta

But even then, why would she give up a pawn? Especially one that has just lost her love, her sister and her purpose? One that's primed and ready to be consoled by the only family she has left, the only person who has constantly been at her side to support her, the person who, when Suletta called her the last time she was sad about her social life, told her "I am close by, come and meet me"?

Yes, she's far away now, but Prospera can still call Suletta on the phone. How would Miorine know? I don't think she's hacked her phone, and Earth house is definitely not gonna spy for her. By allying herself with the Jeturk company and taking Aerial away, Miorine might have made GUND-ARM part of the Jeturk company. And since she'll try to keep Suletta as far away from Aerial as possible, she might have to cut Earth house off from GUND-ARM

So. Miorine has not only taken Suletta's bride, her purpose and her sister, but also her job, the jobs of all Earth house, and the only way Suletta had of protecting her earthian friends. And Suletta is gonna believe this is all her fault for losing, for not being good enough for Miorine. What else does she have but Prospera? What else but the mother who also lost love, colleagues and career in a day because of the father of the one who's taken it all from Suletta?

The only time Miorine 100% solved the problems she caused herself was when she went back on making weapons with GUND-ARM. Yes, she exploited Shaddiq's ego in the fight, but it was Chuchu that dealt the winning blow. Yes, she chased Suletta all over to force her to talk and make things right, but she wouldn't have noticed something was wrong if Nika hadn't told her. Too often she relies on someone else to fix the problems she gets herself and others into, because she seems to operate under the bizarre idea that if she proposes something then the universe will work itself out around it and everybody will understand

And ok, to be fair to her, her heart is almost always in the right place. She overreaches but it's almost always for a good cause, almost always to protect someone. Plus, she's not even 17, and at that age you're full of logical failings, and that's even before considering she's playing a game that adults regularly fail and die at

But all the same, this time she went too far. She might have delivered Suletta ever deeper into Prospera's hands while cutting almost all her support systems, and she's gonna have one hell of a time trying to make it right

#Das Op #gundam the witch from mercury #spoilers #miorine rembran

[prosegalaxy]

"Stellaris: Encounter with the Ophionians" This is the summary of my work so far: The human asked for a brief story outline about alien encounters, interstellar travel, and extraterrestrial life involving significant decisions with consequences, sacrifices for the greater good, and ambiguous endings. I provided a detailed outline, then expanded it into a 250-word story. In the story, the crew of the "Stellaris" approach a mysterious planet and encounter an advanced alien civilization called the Ophionians. They face a moral dilemma as they struggle with trusting the aliens. Dr. Lira makes a selfless sacrifice to prove their intentions are peaceful. The crew must decide whether to trust the aliens or defend themselves when an enemy ship approaches. In the end, they choose to trust and witness an ambiguous display of power, leaving the future uncertain.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the alien landscape, the crew of the interstellar vessel "Stellaris" marveled at the sight. They had come to this uncharted planet in search of new life and new civilizations, and it seemed they had found both. Captain Aria turned to her first officer, Lieutenant Kael, and said, "We must tread carefully. These beings are clearly advanced, and we cannot assume their intentions." Kael nodded, his eyes fixed on the distant figure that seemed to be observing them from atop a nearby hill. Suddenly, the figure raised its arms, and a blinding flash of light erupted from its palms. The crew members shielded their eyes as they felt an inexplicable connection to one another's thoughts. It was a telepathic plea for peace, and the crew understood it instantly. "We cannot harm them," Aria declared. "They mean us no harm." But some of her crew were skeptical, their training and instincts urging them toward caution. Tensions rose as they struggled with the moral dilemma at hand: to trust or not to trust these mysterious beings. In that moment of crisis, the ship's biologist, Dr. Lira, made a selfless sacrifice. She stepped forward, her hands raised in imitation of the alien figure. "We mean you no harm," she projected telepathically. "We seek only to learn and explore." The alien, intrigued by the humans' determination, decided to test them further. It sent out a distress signal, luring a nearby enemy ship towards their location. With time running out, the crew had to make their decision: trust the aliens or defend themselves. As the enemy ship approached, the captain's voice crackled over the comm system. "We trust them." And with that, they watched as the alien figure raised its hands once more, bathing the sky in a brilliant display of energy. The enemy ship shuddered and vanished, leaving the crew to wonder if they had just witnessed the power of the greater good or the beginning of an ambiguous future. The crew of the "Stellaris" landed on the mysterious planet, its surface shrouded in an eerie mist. Captain Harris led the away team, which included the skilled pilot Liam, the cunning scientist Dr. Lira, and the empathic medic, Dr. Naveen. As they ventured deeper into the forest, they stumbled upon an advanced alien civilization. The beings were tall, slender, with glowing orbs in place of eyes. Their language was unlike anything the crew had ever encountered, but Dr. Lira's extensive knowledge allowed her to decipher it quickly. "They seem peaceful," said Liam, observing the aliens. "But what if they're trying to deceive us?" Dr. Naveen, sensing the tension among the crew members, tried to reassure them: "Trust is essential for any meaningful interaction." Suddenly, a member of the alien civilization appeared and handed Dr. Lira a device that emitted an energy field. The scientist hesitated but accepted it, realizing that it was a gesture of goodwill. As they explored further, Dr. Lira discovered the device had the power to heal wounds instantly. She used it to save the life of a crew member injured by a strange plant's venomous spores. When an enemy ship approached, the away team struggled with their newfound trust in the aliens. The captain ordered them to prepare for battle. But Dr. Lira, understanding the importance of their relationship with the aliens, made the selfless decision to confront the enemy ship alone. She stepped into the energy field created by the alien device and vanished. The crew watched as the enemy ship retreated. In its wake, a strange display of power unfolded: the mist dissipated, revealing an enormous, beautiful tree at the center of the forest. The future of the "Stellaris" remained uncertain, but the crew had made a choice that would forever change their destiny. The crew of the "Stellaris" found themselves in an uncharted corner of the galaxy, far from any known civilization. Their mission was simple: explore and document. Little did they know that they were about to stumble upon something extraordinary. As their spacecraft hovered above the planet's surface, a shimmering energy field enveloped it, halting all movement. Captain Nolan looked at his crew with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Alright everyone, stay alert. We don't know what we're dealing with here." The tension in the room was palpable as they all held their breaths. Suddenly, a voice echoed throughout the ship. "Greetings, travelers. We are the Ophionians, an ancient and advanced civilization. You have entered our protected territory. We mean no harm, but we must ensure that you pose no threat to us." The crew exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of this situation. Dr. Lira stepped forward, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the anxiety that filled the room. "We come in peace, and only seek to learn. We are explorers, not conquerors." The Ophionian voice responded, "We understand, but we must be cautious. To prove our intentions, you must make a sacrifice. One of you must turn off your life support systems for an hour, allowing us to examine the effects on your body." The crew members looked at each other, hesitant to make such a dangerous choice. But Dr. Lira volunteered without hesitation. "I'll do it. For science, and for peace." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned off her life support systems. As the hour passed, the Ophionians studied Dr. Lira intently, their advanced technology monitoring her vital signs. When the hour was up, they reinstated her life support systems, and she opened her eyes, weak but alive. The crew watched in awe as the energy field around their ship dissipated, replaced by a warm embrace from the Ophionian civilization. Captain Nolan surveyed the horizon, now filled with an approaching enemy fleet. "We must decide," he said. "Do we trust these aliens or defend ourselves?" The crew stood united, choosing to trust the Ophionians. As the enemy ships closed in, they watched in amazement as the planet's atmosphere burst into a brilliant display of energy, repelling the invaders. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: trust had been tested, and sacrifices made for the greater good. The crew of the "Stellaris" ventured deeper into the uncharted planet, eager to uncover its secrets and establish a connection with the Ophionians. As they continued their exploration, they stumbled upon an alien structure that seemed to be the heart of the civilization. They hesitantly approached, not knowing what to expect. Dr. Lira, the ship's chief medical officer, took the lead. Her empathetic nature and experience with other cultures made her the perfect diplomat for this delicate situation. As they entered the structure, they were greeted by a holographic projection of an Ophionian elder. The creature's voice was soothing and reassuring, easing their initial fears. "We have been observing your kind for some time now," it said. "We come in peace, and we wish to establish a relationship with you." The crew exchanged glances, unsure if they should trust this new ally or defend themselves against potential threats. The Ophionian elder continued, "Our technology is vastly superior to yours, but we have no desire for conquest. We seek only understanding and cooperation." Dr. Lira, sensing the sincerity in the creature's words, made a selfless decision. She would offer herself as proof of their peaceful intentions. The Ophionian elder's eyes glowed with gratitude, and it accepted her sacrifice. The crew watched in amazement as the elder absorbed Dr. Lira's energy, revitalizing her body and imparting a wealth of knowledge. In that moment, they knew they had made the right decision. As they prepared to welcome the Ophionians into their lives, a sudden alarm sounded. An enemy ship approached, its weapons locked on the "Stellaris." The crew was faced with a difficult choice: trust the aliens and risk potential danger, or defend themselves and sever the newfound relationship. In the end, they chose to trust. The enemy ship hesitated, as if considering its options. Then, without warning, it vanished, leaving the future uncertain but filled with hope. The crew of the "Stellaris" had been traveling through uncharted space for weeks, searching for signs of intelligent life beyond Earth. Captain Harris and his team were on high alert, knowing that any encounter with an extraterrestrial civilization could mean the difference between survival and obliteration. One day, as they explored a distant planet, they discovered an advanced alien civilization called the Ophionians. The crew was cautious, unsure if these beings meant them harm or were allies. Dr. Lira, a skilled xenobiologist, was eager to make contact and learn from the aliens. As they approached the Ophionian city, they noticed an enormous structure in the center. It seemed to be a source of power for the entire civilization. The crew hesitated before entering, knowing that this could be a trap or a sign of trust. They decided to take a leap of faith and venture forward. Inside, they met Dr. Ophionia, an elder of the Ophionians. He welcomed them warmly and offered to share his knowledge with them. The crew was torn between their instincts for self-preservation and their desire for cooperation. After much debate, they decided to trust the aliens and accept Dr. Ophionia's offer. As the days passed, the crew learned that the Ophionians were a peaceful race who relied on the mysterious structure for energy. They also discovered that another alien species was approaching their planet, intending to conquer it. The Ophionians had been unable to defend themselves due to the structure's limitations. Captain Harris and his crew faced a difficult decision: trust the Ophionians and help them protect their planet or defend themselves against an unknown enemy. In a moment of selflessness, Dr. Lira offered herself as a sacrifice, proving that the Ophionians meant them no harm. As the enemy ship approached, the crew was left to decide whether to trust the aliens or defend themselves. In a dazzling display of power, the structure emitted a beam that repelled the invaders. The future remained uncertain, leaving the crew with a sense of wonder and anticipation for what lay ahead in their interstellar journey. The crew of the "Stellaris" approached the uncharted planet with a mix of excitement and trepidation. As they descended through the atmosphere, their eyes were drawn to a massive, shimmering crystal formation that seemed to pulse with an ethereal energy. As they explored further, they came across a group of beings they had never seen before. These creatures, known as Ophionians, appeared both alien and familiar. They communicated telepathically, sharing their knowledge and history with the crew. The Ophionians told stories of a time when the universe was ruled by a single entity, but it had been shattered into countless pieces, each containing a fragment of its power. These fragments were scattered across the galaxy, creating an imbalance in the cosmos that only the Ophionians could restore. The crew of the "Stellaris" found themselves torn between trusting these newfound allies or defending themselves against potential danger. Dr. Lira, a seasoned scientist and compassionate individual, advocated for cooperation with the Ophionians. She believed their mission was one of unity and healing. As the crew debated, a hostile ship approached, threatening to disrupt the fragile peace. With tensions running high, the captain made a difficult decision: they would trust the Ophionians and face the oncoming enemy together. The battle that ensued was unlike anything the crew had ever experienced. The Ophionians unleashed an ambiguous display of power, leaving the invaders in ruin while barely causing a ripple to their new friends. In that moment, the future seemed both uncertain and filled with possibility. And as the "Stellaris" continued its journey through the stars, the crew knew they had made the right choice – for now, at least. The crew of the "Stellaris" approached the alien planet with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, unsure of what they would discover. As they descended through the atmosphere, their hearts pounded in anticipation. Captain Nolan surveyed his team, a group of diverse individuals from different corners of the galaxy. "We've come a long way to uncover the secrets of this uncharted world," he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that lingered in the air. Dr. Lira nodded solemnly, her eyes fixed on the planet's surface below them. As they set foot on the alien terrain, they were met with a sight unlike any they had seen before - a lush, vibrant landscape that seemed to pulsate with life. It was then that they first encountered the Ophionians, an advanced alien civilization that lived in harmony with their surroundings. "We come in peace," Captain Nolan announced, his voice carried by a device that translated his words into the language of the Ophionians. To their surprise, the aliens welcomed them warmly and invited them to learn about their culture and way of life. However, there was something about them that made the crew uneasy - a subtle sense of unease that they couldn't quite put their fingers on. Dr. Lira, sensing the tension among her colleagues, decided to forge a connection with the Ophionians. She engaged in conversations with their leaders, learning about their history and values. As days turned into weeks, she grew more and more convinced that these beings were not a threat. One fateful day, an enemy ship approached the planet, threatening the delicate peace that had been established. The crew of the "Stellaris" found themselves in a moral dilemma - trust the Ophionians or defend themselves against the approaching vessel. Dr. Lira made the difficult decision to reveal a secret to the Ophionian leaders: the location of their hidden weapon, capable of destroying the enemy ship and all on board. She believed that trusting in their newfound allies was the only way to preserve the fragile balance between them. As the enemy ship drew nearer, the crew watched with bated breath as the Ophionians made a choice of their own - one that would forever change the course of history. They raised their hands in a gesture of peace, and an ambiguous display of power erupted before their eyes. The ship disappeared into the distance, leaving the future uncertain but filled with hope for a brighter tomorrow. The crew of the "Stellaris" found themselves in an unparalleled situation. As they descended onto the alien planet's surface, the air was thick with anticipation. The captain, Captain Soren, took a deep breath and looked at his crew, a mix of seasoned veterans and rookie scientists. Dr. Lira stepped out of the ship first, her curiosity getting the better of her. She scanned the surroundings with her advanced equipment, searching for signs of life. As she walked further from the ship, she discovered an ancient structure buried beneath the planet's soil. "Captain, I think we've found something," she called back. Captain Soren, intrigued by Dr. Lira's discovery, ordered a full exploration of the site. The crew, armed and ready, cautiously entered the structure. They were met with an advanced civilization's remnants - a city that had been frozen in time. It was then that they encountered the Ophionians, who introduced themselves as the creators of this ancient world. The Ophionians shared their knowledge and technology with the crew of the "Stellaris." They seemed friendly and peaceful, but the crew couldn't shake the feeling of unease. A moral dilemma arose when an enemy ship approached, intent on destroying the Ophionian city. The crew had to decide if they could trust the seemingly benevolent aliens or defend themselves from potential harm. Dr. Lira, understanding the gravity of the situation, made a selfless decision. She revealed a secret she'd been holding onto - a weapon capable of destroying the enemy ship. "Trust them," she said, handing over the weapon. "They're not our enemies." The Ophionians used the weapon to save their city, but the crew was left with an ambiguous display of power. The future remained uncertain, leaving them to question if they had made the right choice. As the crew of the "Stellaris" descended onto the surface of the uncharted planet, they marveled at its lush, vibrant landscape. The air was breathable, and they could already sense an air of intelligence lurking among the trees. Their mission was to explore and document any signs of extraterrestrial life, but they never expected to encounter such advanced beings as the Ophionians. Captain Aria led the exploration team, her gaze fixed on the horizon, searching for signs of the alien civilization. Suddenly, a figure appeared before them, tall and ethereal, its form shimmering like a mirage. It introduced itself as Dr. Lira, an ambassador from the Ophionians. The crew exchanged glances, wondering if they should trust this mysterious being. Dr. Lira offered to share their advanced technology with the "Stellaris" crew, claiming it could greatly aid in interstellar travel and communication. But there was a catch: the crew had to reveal their own secrets and cooperate fully with the Ophionians. Dr. Lira explained that this collaboration would lead to a better understanding of the universe and peace between their species. As the crew debated whether to trust the alien or defend themselves, they noticed Dr. Lira's form beginning to glow. The ambassador stepped forward, offering a selfless sacrifice. In a brilliant display of energy, Dr. Lira transformed into a being of pure light, proving its peaceful intentions. The crew had made their choice, and now faced an approaching enemy ship, hostile and determined to conquer the planet. They scrambled to defend themselves, but the Ophionians appeared, protecting the "Stellaris" with unseen forces. The enemy ship was repelled, leaving the crew in awe of their newfound allies. In the end, they witnessed an ambiguous display of power, the Ophionians' true nature shrouded in mystery. As the "Stellaris" prepared to leave the planet, the crew knew that the future held both wonder and uncertainty, but they were grateful for the sacrifices made and the friendships formed with the enigmatic beings they had come to trust. As the crew of the "Stellaris" descended onto the surface of the mysterious uncharted planet, they marveled at the lush green landscape stretching out before them. The air was thick with a scent that was both familiar and alien, a blend of earthly flora mixed with something wholly unknown. As they trekked further into the heart of the planet, the crew members began to notice strange markings etched into the trees and rocks around them. Deciphering these markings would prove crucial to understanding the nature of this world, and more importantly, its inhabitants. "These symbols... I've never seen anything like them," Dr. Lira whispered as she studied the intricate designs. "They must be from an advanced civilization." Captain Aiden looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "We can't just trust these markings. We don't know who or what made them." Suddenly, the air around them crackled with energy as a towering being materialized before them. It introduced itself as an Ophionian, an emissary sent to establish communication and cooperation between their civilizations. "We come in peace," it said, its voice echoing through the dense foliage. "But we need your help." A moral dilemma presented itself: trust this alien civilization or defend themselves against potential threats. The crew members huddled together, discussing the implications of their decision. In the end, they chose to trust the Ophionians, believing in the power of interstellar cooperation. As they did so, an enemy ship approached, its weapons aimed at their newfound allies. The Ophionian emissary raised a hand, and a brilliant light erupted from it, enveloping the enemy vessel. In that moment, the fate of both civilizations hung in the balance. The crew watched with bated breath as they witnessed an ambiguous display of power, leaving the future uncertain. The crew of the "Stellaris" approached the uncharted planet with mixed emotions. They were excited by the prospect of discovering new life, but cautious after hearing stories of hostile encounters in the past. Captain Aria scanned the planet's surface and reported, "There it is. The Ophionians have established a base on the northern hemisphere." The crew exited their ship, their hearts pounding. They were greeted by Dr. Lira, an Ophionian ambassador sent to establish communication. As they conversed, Dr. Lira shared their advanced technology and culture, and offered help in improving the "Stellaris"'s capabilities. However, a voice in the back of their minds whispered doubts about the aliens' true intentions. Captain Aria hesitated, "I don't know if we can trust them. What if they're planning something?" Dr. Lira sensed the crew's apprehension and said, "We understand your concerns. In order to prove our peaceful intent, I will offer a significant sacrifice." Without hesitation, Dr. Lira disintegrated a part of their advanced technology, displaying a piece of their most powerful weapon. The crew watched in amazement as the Ophionian ambassador demonstrated their commitment to peace. Touched by the gesture, they decided to trust the aliens when an enemy ship approached. In the end, the crew chose to stand alongside the Ophionians, and together they faced the approaching threat. As the enemy ship neared, a dazzling display of power filled the sky. The crew witnessed a show of force that left them uncertain about the true nature of the Ophionians – whether their intentions were entirely benevolent or if they had hidden motives. And with that, the story remained ambiguous, leaving the future shrouded in mystery. The crew of the Stellaris, a state-of-the-art interstellar vessel, had been exploring the far reaches of space for years in search of extraterrestrial life. One day, they discovered an uncharted planet teeming with life - an advanced alien civilization called the Ophionians. As they cautiously approached the alien world, Captain Drake and his crew were awestruck by the beauty of the planet. They communicated with the Ophionians using their universal translator, attempting to establish peaceful relations. Dr. Lira, the ship's chief scientist, was initially skeptical but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. "We come in peace," Captain Drake said, trying to convey his intentions through the translator. The Ophionians seemed to understand and welcomed the crew aboard their city. As they toured the advanced metropolis, Dr. Lira noticed something peculiar about the aliens - they appeared to be emitting a faint energy field around themselves. "I think we should be careful," Dr. Lira warned Captain Drake. "Their energy fields might be some sort of defense mechanism." The captain agreed but decided to remain open-minded, hoping that their peaceful intentions would prevail. As they continued exploring, an enemy ship approached the planet. Tensions rose as the Stellaris crew debated whether to trust the Ophionians or defend themselves. In a moment of desperation, Dr. Lira made a selfless sacrifice, stepping into the energy field created by one of the aliens. The energy field enveloped her, and she vanished from sight. Captain Drake, shocked by her bravery, decided to trust the Ophionians. He ordered the crew to lower their weapons, and they prepared to face the enemy together. As the hostile ship drew nearer, a powerful display of energy erupted from the Ophionian city, repelling the attackers with ease. The future remained uncertain as the crew gazed into the mysterious energy field, wondering what it signified for their newfound alliance. As they ventured deeper into uncharted territory, the crew of the Stellaris came across an extraordinary planet, teeming with life. The air was thick with anticipation as they disembarked, eager to explore and make contact with this newfound world. Little did they know that their lives would never be the same again. Upon landing, they stumbled upon a magnificent city, its architecture unlike anything ever seen before. The crew was astounded by the advanced technology that surrounded them, and they could feel a palpable energy radiating from the ground beneath their feet. As they wandered through the streets, they came across an Ophionian, one of the alien inhabitants. "Greetings," said the Ophionian, its voice melodic and soothing. "We have been waiting for your arrival." Dr. Lira, a seasoned scientist, approached the alien cautiously. "What is it you want from us?" The Ophionian smiled, revealing sharp, metallic teeth. "We are here to help. We can provide you with knowledge and technology that will elevate your civilization to unimaginable heights." Captain Harris was skeptical. "Why would you offer such a gift? What do you want in return?" The Ophionian paused, its eyes flickering with an unsettling intensity. "There is no catch," it assured them. "We merely seek to share our wisdom and forge a bond between our people." As the crew pondered the alien's proposition, they noticed a sleek, menacing vessel approaching at breakneck speed. They knew in that moment that their decision would have consequences far beyond anything they could have ever imagined. With time running out, Captain Harris turned to Dr. Lira. "Trust them," he whispered. "For the greater good." Dr. Lira hesitated, but then nodded in agreement. As the enemy ship bore down on them, they braced for impact, knowing that their fates were in the hands of a mysterious and powerful force. And as the enemy ship exploded into shards of metal and debris, they witnessed an ambiguous display of power that left them wondering if they had made the right choice. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: their lives would never be the same again. As the crew of the "Stellaris" approached the mysterious planet, they couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. The planet's surface was an enchanting sight, with swirling clouds of iridescent colors that danced in the atmosphere above. The captain, Commander Yara, gathered her crew together for a briefing. "We have detected signs of advanced life on this planet," she began, her voice steady and resolute. "Our mission is to make first contact and establish communication with these beings. We must proceed with caution, as we don't know what we might encounter." The crew nodded, their hearts pounding in anticipation. They descended onto the planet's surface, where they found the Ophionians - a highly advanced alien civilization. The Ophionians greeted them warmly and offered to share their knowledge. However, there was an underlying tension that couldn't be ignored. Dr. Lira, the ship's biologist, felt it most keenly. "I don't trust them," she whispered to Commander Yara. "Something isn't right." As the days passed, the crew grew more uneasy. Dr. Lira's suspicions seemed justified when they discovered a hidden room filled with advanced weaponry. It was then that the Ophionians revealed their true intentions: they needed the Stellaris to help them wage war against an enemy species approaching the planet. The crew was faced with a difficult decision - trust the Ophionians and potentially destroy another civilization, or defend themselves and risk being seen as aggressors. In the end, they chose to trust, believing that the Ophionians had learned their lesson about violence. As the enemy ship neared, the Ophionians prepared for battle. Dr. Lira, realizing the gravity of her initial distrust, made a selfless sacrifice: she detonated a device that incapacitated the enemy ship, saving both the Stellaris and the Ophionians from destruction. The crew watched in amazement as an ambiguous display of power unfolded before their eyes - a testament to the unknown future that lay ahead. The crew of the "Stellaris" approached the mysterious planet with trepidation, their hearts pounding in anticipation of what they might find. As they descended into the atmosphere, they marveled at the beauty and vastness of the unknown world before them. Upon landing, they were greeted by a delegation of advanced aliens known as the Ophionians. The aliens, with their ethereal appearance, extended a hand of friendship to the human crew. However, skepticism lingered in the minds of the astronauts. The captain, Captain Nara, expressed her concerns to Dr. Lira. "Dr. Lira, do you think we can trust them?" Captain Nara asked nervously. Dr. Lira, always the optimist, replied, "They seem to be offering peace, Captain. We must consider the greater good of all life in the universe." As they spent time with the Ophionians, Dr. Lira observed their technology and wisdom closely. She noticed a unique power source that could revolutionize interstellar travel, but it came at a great personal cost to the aliens. Moved by their sacrifice, she decided to reveal this information to the crew. "Captain, I have discovered something incredible," Dr. Lira confided in her. "The Ophionians have shared a technology that could change everything for us, but it requires a significant sacrifice from them." Captain Nara's eyes widened with shock and admiration. She knew they had to make a decision - trust the aliens or defend themselves when an enemy ship approached. As the crew deliberated, they watched in awe as the Ophionians demonstrated their power, leaving their fate uncertain and the future of interstellar travel forever changed.

#ebook #alien #encounters #interstellar #travel #extraterrestrial #life #moral #dilemmas #selfless #sacrifice #trust #ambiguous #ending

[nightcall99]

Dream from 16.9.23

It was the last day of the year. New Year's Eve. Midnight was itching closer and closer and it was time for me to go and get ready now. I was with AL in the city. We had just finished work and were about to part ways, in mutual agreement that we were to go home, get ready, and meet up again here for the festivities. After she left, I realised it was only a couple of hours before midnight and I wouldn't have enough time to go home and come back again.

I entered a clothing shop, and perused the aisles, surveying all the garments available. I had a thorough look and wasn't too interested in most of it, although I did select a white knit blouse that I didn't particularly love but wanted to try on. The shop assistant approached me and said that she would hang the blouse up in the change room. I thanked her and continued to browse. When I couldn't find anything else to my fancy, I headed in the direction of the change rooms. It seemed that a lot of people were also trying to find something last minute to wear, because all the change rooms were engaged. Only one was left. I wandered into it, wondering if the blouse I had picked earlier would be in there. It was. I tried it on, surveying myself in the mirror. Short sleeves and a V-neck. It looked okay. Not bad, not that great.

And then I saw something through the gaps in the walls of the change room, the shop's store room. There were rows and rows, piles and piles of evening gowns, fancy dresses. Formal attire, completely different to the more casual garments that were for sale in the shop. So many colours, mostly pastel, and so many ruffles. Stacked together so thickly, I could barely make out the silhouettes of the dresses. What if I wandered in there, chose something and tried it on? I know I shouldn't be behind there, since it's out of bounds for customers. But it's only a few feet away. And those dresses, far more appropriate... I stared and stared, finding myself on the fence of impropriety but eventually the thought came, no. It is not necessary.

I don’t think I ended up getting the blouse since I didn’t love it. I decided it made me look frumpy. And AL ended up finding me in the shop. She hadn't bothered to go home to change either and the same idea had risen in her, as it had in me; find an outfit and get ready in the city to save time. As I looked at her, it seemed also that we had come to another twin conclusion; just stay in the clothes that we were already in.

We were still in the clothing store when I noticed a girl who was choosing an outfit. I said something to her, some words of encouragement. Then I walked back to the shelf of trinkets on display, busying myself with the tiny vials and jars for fun. And then her repeat prescription for a medication appeared in my hands. My brief encounter with her moments before, had indeed, left me feeling like she were a customer I was giving advice and support to. But I had not said anything out of obligation, the goodwill I had expressed was genuine. I saw that she was waiting in line to pay now, so I walked over to give the prescription back to her.

Finally, AL and I left the shop, and decided we should go get something to eat. It was an hour before midnight now, I don't think we were going to have enough time. The streets were incredibly crowded and I thought about the fireworks that were about to begin, how they would burst open the darkness of the sky. Which at this moment, merely existed as a back drop against our feelings of mild anxiety and anticipation. The air continued to ripen, whispering a sweet promise. We walked on and suddenly it was about 20 minutes before midnight.

We entered another establishment, some kind of bar. AF texted me. I was surprised since I hadn’t thought of him in a long time. It must have been 5 years since he'd left our workplace. I read the words. He said, I understand why you did it. He said more, in short bursts, telling me about myself. Just another person who thinks they have something figured out. I didn't care, I didn't even know what situation he was referring to. What he had harboured for so long and now deemed necessary to reach out, to smooth out the lines. I showed AL, I said, look, all these NPCs keep reaching out, as always. As usual. How annoying.

[phantomthiefjeanne]

I’m reading posts of nctzens suggesting that all WayV have left after the long hiatus is the core nct fanbase supporting them bc they’re a part of the brand, but I feel like international nct fans—esp those focused on the Korean units—don’t understand how wayv’s association with the main brand can be as detrimental for them in certain contexts as advantageous as it is for them in others?

Like there’s a reason why they were sorta separated to begin with that goes beyond high-level policies (like the hallyu “ban”)….In wayv’s supposed target market, for every mando kpop/nct fan down to now also stan this subunit that mostly sings in their language, there’s gunna also be another potential fan passing by that’s turned off by this very connection (maybe not rightfully so—there’s probably some xenophobia or weird nationalism mixed in there too tbh) or has seen enough of SJ-M or Exo-M to feel like giving support at all is a lost cause, because who wants to invest in a group that’s divided between markets and seems poised to always get the short end of the stick? So the pitch for stanning WayV in Chinese layperson spaces there has largely been to present Label V as a separate, proper taxpaying Chinese company nevermind that they have like 5 staff members on paper and their office in the mainland is literally empty. Mentioning NCT can get confusing, or just plain sour the deal rather than sweeten it. Like you’re scaring the normies away!! And you can’t afford doing that when other, xenophobic normies have already been scared off to the extent that they’re forced to perform English versions of songs to ward off sinophobic backlash.

No matter their background, anyone fond of the SM or NCT connection has probably already decided whether or not they’re here in the long-run to stay for WayV. And yeah, having the baseline support that’s offered by that demographic withdrawn would hurt at such an uncertain point in the group’s run, but it’s sorta…overestimating your own impact to assume that such a loss couldn’t be matched by a recuperative net gain of new fans from the overall lucrative, larger Chinese market? As in, new fans that are here for this specific group or specific members, rather than as an add-on to the pre-existing units wherein WayV-specific support is usually v conditional, built on reciprocal goodwill, and second to their fav unit’s priorities (like “sure I’ll buy their new album because Taro shared it,” or “I’ll only support them if they don’t take others’ resources or pose any threat to surpassing others’ charts or records”) Atp, to grow, they’d either have to reroute which market they’re targeting, OR seize the chances they currently have in the Chinese market with the opportune shutdown of domestic survival shows (what with the remaining Produce-type groups about to disband), the country reopening post-COVID, the hallyu ban supposedly loosening, and the momentum that individual members like Ten and Winwin have built with solo activities there. In comparison, brand-related support only goes so far, so there’s no use in prioritizing the pleasing of brand fans.

#I’m sorry I’m talking about this again pls ignore and listen to phantom #Wayv #fsc speaks

[hertzwritings]

When tomorrow appears

A/N: liiiiisten, I have found a horrible lack of smut – and general stories – with this character and I literally cannot stand it. We need some more love for him. Anyway, I am a whore for anything Henry Cavill, so I’m writing all of it. If I singlehandedly need to full this godforsaken website with copious amounts of copulation, I WILL. Anyhow, enjoy some good ole smut, straight from my brain to yours! I’m going for the big, burly bear-man-Clark – just so you can prepare your loins. I’m kind of changing the story up a little from where he appears out of the water, looking like an absolute SNACK because I can.

Feedback feeds the soul, my loves, and requests are always open – there are no limits, because I have none, because I am me.

Love y’all!

MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Clark Kent/Superman x female reader

Warnings: language, mentions of wounds, mentions of blood, smut (18+ MINORS DNI), p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, sexual tension as fuck

Wordcount: 3.844

  When tomorrow appears

See, it wasn’t all that often that anything special or fun happened around your small town. Point blank period.

It was a small fishing town, barely hanging on by broken fingernails and fishing rods, a little on the outs of Oak Harbor – nobody really knew the place existed.

It was here, during a heavy rainfall, you saw a very big man emerge from the ice-cold waters, grab clothes from an open truck and moving on. His clothes were tattered, like he had been through hell and back, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

You had followed him with your eyes, hands on a large bucket of bait, and watched him disappear behind a small shack. You hadn’t seen him before, and he looked like he wasn’t from here.

“Pa! I’m going into town, need anything?” You yelled to your father, who was somewhere behind the car. “Nah, you go on ahead.” You set down the bucket of bait and half-jogged after the burly man; he was intriguing. You saw him pull the stolen clothes on, the shirt tight over his chest, and pull the thick jacket closer around his body. He looked sort of shell-shocked. “Hey.” You whisper-yelled at him before he got too far into the town, and he whipped around with wild eyes. You held your hands up in a gesture of goodwill. “Are you okay?” You asked softly. He narrowed his eyes. He was handsome as hell, blue eyes and dark hair, a wild beard covering the lower part of his face; you had already seen the level of muscle under the clothes, and the layer of dark hair that covered his chest. He was surveying you. “I’m… Fine.” He said hesitantly. “Where am I?” You doubted he was fine. “Small fishing town outside of Oak Harbor. Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked again and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “How do I get away from here?” You stepped closer to him and nodded towards a small shack to your left, where he, although hesitantly, followed you inside. “Buddy, I’m gonna be honest here. I just saw you step out of icy waters without a shiver, steal clothes and discard whatever strings of fabric you had left on your own body, you have no idea where you are… I don’t think you have money on you, nor the wherewithal to travel right now.” He looked at you. “I can’t stay.” He didn’t offer any explanations to the things, you’d mentioned, but you hadn’t expected him to. “Listen… Uh…?” “Clark.” “Clark. I get that you might not want to tell a complete stranger what the hell’s going on, but I can tell you right now, you are not in a state to travel anywhere.” He sighed. “I’m not saying stay forever, I’m saying…” You sucked in a sharp breath as his blue eyes pierced you. It was like he could see right through you.

“I am saying that I have a small cabin a little up the mountains, where you can stay for a while to get yourself together. I’ll pay you if you can chop wood for me. Then you can get out.” He thought it over, hands shaking a little, as he searched your face for any malice. “I, uh… Yeah, I can chop wood.” You nodded. “Good. Wait here, please. You’re going to have a hell of a time if you go into town, it’s trout-season and the seasoned fishermen are insane today.” You said carefully. “I’ll grab my car and we can go, okay?” He nodded once and sat down on a small barrel. “I’ll wait.”

You ran to your dad’s house and grabbed the keys, shouting a goodbye to him as you got inside of the car and started it, the roar of the engine louder than you had expected. You drove as quickly as you could to the shack and to your surprise, he was still there when you came. You had halfway expected him to leave the moment you had. He got in the car in silence, and you drove to your cabin. He was quiet, barely blinking as you came to the small, log-cabin, you called home.

“Come on in.” You opened the door and toed your boots off, throwing your thick jacket over a chair in the kitchen, before you went to the fireplace and started a fire, slowly heating your hands back up. The cold had been penetrating the last two days, and it was hard to get yourself heated back up. Clark stood in in the doorway, clearly hesitant about stepping inside. “Seriously, come on in. You’re letting the cold in.” he smiled ruefully and closed the door behind him, took his shoes off and hung up the stolen jacket – you didn’t want to question him about it.

“Cozy.” You heard him mutter as he looked around. You smiled. “I built it myself.” He hummed at that. It was a cozy place – one big room, where kitchen, bedroom and living room was in one, the fireplace the centerpiece of the room. The bathroom was hidden next to the kitchen, and the kitchen was built from old cabinets from abandoned houses. You loved it. It was so you. Especially after your large collection of books had found a home in the floor to ceiling bookshelf, you built from discarded oak-tree.

“Come on, sit by the fire and get some warmth back into those muscles.” You said, gesturing for him to sit on the couch as you went to the kitchen and started boiling water for a hot toddy. If there was something to get your nerves calmed and body relaxed, it was that; so why wouldn’t it work for the big man in your living room?

“Here.” You said, handing him a cup and sitting down next to him. “I know this sin’t much, but…” You smiled a little and he returned the smile, his hands dwarfing your cup completely. “It’s great. Pretty neat that you built it yourself.” He said. It was probably the closest to a compliment you’d get, so you nodded thankfully. “Uhm, I have a question.” He said, placing the cup on the small table in front of the couch. “Yeah?” You turned slightly to him, his blue eyes swallowing you whole. “Why would you help me? I stole. You should’ve turned me in.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. You seemed like you needed it more than a stint in the local lockup.” You said with a grin. “And I needed strong arms for my firewood.” “I think you’ve been doing fine without it.” He said with half a smile ghosting over his features. “Well, I’m pretty strong myself, but I recently hurt my wrist and can’t hold on to the axe tightly enough.” You hadn’t. You were more than capable of splitting wood. He nodded. “Another question.” “Sure.” You said, sipping the toddy. “Well, this isn’t exactly built for a roommate.” He challenged. “Oh, no issue. I’ll sleep on the couch. You’re bigger and with how you looked as you came out of the water… I think you need it more than I do.” “No, I can’t…” “It’s not really a question, Clark.”   “We’ll switch. I can’t take the bed from you.” He finally said and you didn’t argue.

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

A week later, a somewhat strange, but normal rhythm had settled between the two of you. You got up before him and made coffee. He woke at the smell of it, and you sat quietly at the small table, drinking your coffee before he made breakfast and you started a new fire. Then, as the morning fog had lifted, he went to chop wood, the slow and steady thunk filling your ears as you began your routine – make bread, read a book and get snares ready along with fixing lines on rods. It was your work, and it was amazing how much you could decide your own days.

You had also started to watch Clark a little more intently. He was – objectively – a handsome man, but after his walls came down a little, you found out he was kind, funny and soft, much different from what he looked like. A slow, dull ache had settled somewhere between your legs, and it made you feel flushed, every time he looked at you; you had been tossing and turning each night, your thoughts on the man in the bed (or couch, depending on the day) who had taken up sleeping shirtless, the bastard. A part of you couldn’t help but think that he knew how you felt. You weren’t the best actor and you had always had a hard time hiding feelings away.

The steady sound of the axe hitting wood had stopped as you were tying ends together of a fishing net, your fingers dancing over the thin strings. He walked in, sweat dropping from his brow and arms full of logs. He winked at you as he set them down and you felt your cheeks flush. It was strange how quickly he worked the logs – he could empty the waiting pile within an hour, perfectly cleaved and you had sometimes wondered if he had superhuman powers just by the sheer force and volume of the wood, he got through. “I’m taking a shower.” He said in a husky voice, still panting a little. You nodded and squeaked out a small okay as he closed the door to the bathroom – a few seconds later, you heard the water run.

You slumped back in your chair and ran a hand over your face. You needed to get it together. At any rate, he probably was going to leave sooner rather than later, so it would be to literally no one’s favor if you fell for him now.

“Hey, Y/N?” You heard his voice mingle with the cascading of water. “Yeah?” You yelled back. “I forgot a towel, can you…?” “Sure thing, hang on.” You walked to the small dresser next to the front door and grabbed a towel from it. You hadn’t really considered what you’d be met with when you opened the door, but the sight of his bare ass and muscular back was not it; you sucked in a sharp breath, saliva pooling in your mouth at the sight. “Ah, thanks.” He said, turning his torso towards you. You could almost see the outline of his cock, and you had to physically hold on to the sink to steady yourself. “Yep. Good. Cool. Imma…” You pointed to the door and quickly left, screwing your eyes shut – the mental image of his very sculpted body made your knees buckle.

God-fucking-damnit.

He stepped out, a barely concealed grin on his face, and starting helping you with dinner – there was a tense atmosphere between you, loaded with something as he chopped tomatoes and you stirred in various pots. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but it was something new. “You okay?” He asked huskily after a while. “Hm?” You stopped stirring the pot and found his eyes. “Oh, yeah, just fine. Splendid.” “Splendid, huh?” he grinned at you. You nodded. “Great, really. Let’s eat.”

The evening dragged on for far too long for your liking, a few glances from his piercing eyes, that made you feel weak and a little woozy, also made the slow setting of the sun seem like it took forever. You groaned as the embers of the fireplace glowed and stretched a little. He looked up from the book, he was occupying himself with. “Tired?” You nodded and rubbed your eyes. “I’ll leave you to it. You’re on couch-duty tonight?” He asked softly. You nodded again. He smiled at you and closed the book, leaving it on the table, before he got up and pulled his shirt off. You had to look away from the way his muscles rolled under his skin and you swore, you could hear him chuckle as he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your heartbeat a little, so you had a chance to get some sleep. The man was going to be the death of you.

“Bathroom’s free.” You nodded at him as he scooted into bed, and you quickly finished your night-routine before turning off the lights and adding a thick log to the fireplace and laying down. Hours ticked by, and you couldn’t sleep. The darkness was only interrupted by the glowing, orange flames of the fireplace, and you realized that Clark’s breathing was a little bit too steady and even for him to be sleeping as well. You sighed.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was deep with sleepiness. “Not at all.” You whispered back. “I can’t get comfortable, I think.” You heard the rustling of the duvet. “Come on.” You looked up and saw him in the soft dimness of the orange flames – he had scooted to the side, holding the duvet up for you. “Uh…” “It’s your bed.” He simply said as an explanation. You didn’t think further of it, simply standing and trotting to the bed, settling in on the small mattress next to him. Heat radiated from him as he laid down next to you, and a moment too late, you realized how small your bed was, when he was in it. He wrapped his arm around you – the only place it could be – and you held your breath as he spooned you, holding you tightly.

You couldn’t control your body at all. Your heart was pumping wildly in your chest, heat and wetness was pooling in you and you had to restrain yourself form rolling your hips just a little against him. He cleared his throat as you accidentally moved a little, your ass gliding against his lower half, and you felt his hand tense a little over you. “Y/N…” he whispered your name. “Sorry.” A shuddering breath came from behind you and you felt his hand move a little closer to your chest. “Clark…” You exhaled his name as his hand came to rest just under your breast. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound like he meant it at all.

You had an even harder time falling asleep now with his chest warm against your back. He didn’t seem like he was closer to sleep either, his fingers twitching a little against you. You threw cation to the wind – you were burning under his hand and if you didn’t get some type of release, you’d explode, so you rolled your hips, gently moving your ass closer against him – he hissed as you made contact and you bit back a moan, when you felt how fucking long and thick he was.

“Y/N…” He tried again. You smiled. “Sorry.” It felt like a repeat of before. “No, you’re not.” He whispered against your neck. His fingers slowly moved up your chest, and you sucked in a sharp breath as his thick fingers came to rest, cupping your breast and kneading it slightly. “Do you mind?” He asked, his lips touching the back of your neck. You exhaled a shaky breath as you rolled your hips again, snaking your hand behind you and grabbed his waist, pulling him closer.

He moaned against your neck, finally turning you around as you rolled against him, and you were face to face, his nose touching yours. “I’m leaving soon.” He whispered, a touch of anguish in his voice.   “I know.” There it was, as simply put as one could; you knew, and he knew. His arm circled you, hand under your shirt on your back. Your hand snaked down between your bodies, gently running your hand over his hard, clothed length. He sighed against your touch, his hand running from your back to your breasts, under your shirt, and rolled your nipple between his fingers. Your noses were still touching as you moaned at his touch and you found your way down his pants, grabbing your hard, thick and warm length in your hand, slowly moving it up and down as he moved his body closer to yours.

It was wildly intimate. You hadn’t kissed, but you were breathing each other, his hand slowly inching down from your chest to your pants. He hovered there for a moment, as if he was doubting if you wanted it. You found his eyes and removed your hand from him, covering his hand with yours and slowly led him down. He closed his eyes as he felt your wetness and you mewled as he dipped a finger in you, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on your clit. You couldn’t look away from him as you found his length again and dragged your hand against him. He moaned, his breath fanning over you; it was a mix of peppermint and his particular scent, that reminded you of wet moss. He added another finger and you moaned as he filled you and began pumping, this time a little faster.

It was so intimate and close, you barely noticed that you were hurling towards the edge before you tipped over it. A strangled cry erupted from your throat as his fingers fucked you through on of the most intense orgasms you had ever had – your eyes never left his as you rode through the wave of pleasure. You felt him twitch in your grip, and you slowly, but surely, removed your hand from him to pull his pants down.

No words were exchanged as you helped each other remove the bottom half of your clothes, and he slowly got on top of you, his hand guiding himself to your wet, throbbing hole. “Fuck, you want this?” He asked, his voice strained and husky with self-control. “Yes, please… I just need you, please…” He hummed and shot you a confident smile before he slowly sunk into you. You mewled at the stretch. He was enormous in length and girth, and he stretched you to a point where it almost hurt. He bottomed out with a deep growl and buried his face in the crook of your neck as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. You were panting at him just being in you and you wanted him to fucking move. “Move, for the love of…” you let out a strangled moan as his cock dragged against your walls as he began to fuck you, his wide cock moving perfectly against you. His breathing was hard and hot on your neck, and your hands found purpose on his back, dragging lines down his skin with your nails. He groaned and snapped his hips, moving fast and faster as you both surrendered completely to the feeling of him in you.

You were both sweating and clinging to each other as he fucked you deeply, the head of him moving against your cervix every time he bottomed out, and you wanted to stay right here forever. You rolled your hips under him and angled up, the new position making both of you moan in synchronicity, and he sped up as a familiar warmth bloomed in your lower abdomen. You felt your walls tighten around him and he moaned. “Fuck, Y/N… You feel fucking amazing.” He kissed your shoulder, his teeth dragging against your collarbone as he fucked you hard, his hips snapping and the sound of your wet heat and your skin colliding against each other filled the room. “Y/N, you’re so fucking wet for me…” He moaned against and followed his words with another bite to your neck. “You want to come, don’t you?” he asked you in a husky voice. It was the hottest thing you had ever heard, and you moaned his name as a prayer. “Fuck, yes, please, I want to come…” he chuckled against your heated skin and sped up, the speed nearing humanly impossible. It was humanly impossible for him to be moving this fast, but you didn’t care. Not right now.

His hand snaked under you and grabbed your ass harshly, kneading the soft skin under his calloused fingers. You were moaning and sweating, your peak rapidly approaching. “Come for me, baby…” His words sent flames through your body, and you couldn’t hold back, even if you wanted. It was as if your body obeyed his voice, and you came in an explosion of pleasure, your body tight and legs shaking, as you came undone over him. Your walls tightened and throbbed around him, and you could feel the swell of him as he neared his own high as well. You were screaming his name as he fucked you relentlessly through your orgasm, barely letting you come down from that before another followed; he roared as he felt your pussy tighten around him and dragging him in, trying desperately to milk him for all he had. “Can I…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence. “Fill me, Clark.” You whispered your wish to him, hanging on to him for dear life as he pistoned in and out of you, pounding your pussy hard as he chased his release.

He roared as you came around him and he released himself, his spend painting your walls white as thick ropes of cum filled you completely. You moaned at the warmth of it, and your arms fell limply to your side.

He pulled out of you slowly, both of you hissing at the sensation, and neither of you wanted to leave the bed – he pulled you to him, letting your head rest on his broad chest and your arm around his waist. You felt how sticky and wet you were, and it sent another round of pleasure through your body as you fell asleep next to him, his soft breathing lulling you to sleep.

When you woke up, he was putting on his shoes and jacket. You rubbed sleep from your eyes and sat up, still a little sore.

“Leaving?” You asked with a tinge of sadness. He smiled sadly at you. “Yeah.” He walked to your side, kneeling next to the bed and held your face in his giant hands. “I’ll come back. I promise. I’m coming back for you.” He said softly. “I know.” You ran a hand through his hair, trying to memorize the feeling of it under your hand. “I’m coming back, Y/N.” he said again before leaning in and capturing your lips with his. It was the first time you had kissed, and it felt like you had come home; his lips were perfect against yours, and you sighed against him before he pulled away slowly and walked out of the door.

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

Three weeks later, a random day at the local bar, you had glanced up at the TV and saw a flying man with a cape whizzing through the air. You had instantly recognized the face, even though he was shaved, and his hair was slicked back. You grinned at the image on screen, seeing a familiar smile cross the screen and the blue eyes, you’d come to know so well, pierce yours.

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[writefightandflightclub]

Return to Sender: (Richard Alonso Muñoz x GN reader)

What is this? This is 4/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. I’m not gonna share the prompt as it’s spoilery, but it was requested by @sergeantkane​ who is a genius for picking this combo! It’s a prompt about LOVE LETTERS! Omg! And thus, it matches perfectly with Richard (trust me, I had NOT made that connection when I made the prompt list :P). Thank you so much for requesting, Clarke, and I hope you enjoy it. I’m excited about this one!

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Oh, I really quite like this one. Hope it makes you feel as soft as I did for Richard while writing it! Also- it’s my first bash at writing him, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who helped with film details too: those not already tagged in the post- @prurientpuddlejumper​ @witchyavenger​ @veuliee2​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @pascal-isaac​

Word count: 4.5 k. So not a blurb, then? :P

Rating: Mature, for light steam (not explicit, but 18+ or out, please!)

Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Mild angst (but it ends well), Steamy. Kissing, brief non-explicit mention of erection. Implied coitus (cut scene). Richard works in a “correctional facility”. Small mention of attempted break-in. If I missed any let me know.

Tagging: @anetteaneta​ @isvvc-pvscvl​ @nowritingonthewall​ @supernovafeather​ (ONLY READ IF 18+)

GIF by @nathan-bateman​

“Have you ever received a love letter?” Richard wonders shyly, without looking up from his crossword puzzle, his long eyelashes fanned out as his gaze dances over the monochrome squares.

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up immediately from your magazine, which you are idly leafing through, a breath catching in your chest.

You bristle at the question, and yet Richard seems either entirely oblivious, or entirely determined not to look-up at you. Perhaps both. So, instead of looking, he simply slurps the dregs of his milkshake, and pushes his plate of waffle remnants further toward the far end of the diner booth.

When he finally raises his gaze – a gentle prompt for you to answer him- his eyes are large and shining under the fluorescent lights as he peers at you over his glass, dabbing at his thick moustache with a paper napkin shortly after.

“No, never,” you state sadly, heeding his prompt with a small smile and a shake of your head. Not even a love e-mail.

“I’m surprised,” he flatters with a cautious smile. And, if you’re not mistaken, his eyes light-up with the faintest trace of desire. The barest undercurrent of passion, which is enough to have your heart beating like a drum. You notice it sometimes; this dull heat emanating off of him. It is a spark which never ignites, however - to your endless disappointment; you would fan that flame if only you knew how.

You swallow. He’s surprised? He can’t be that surprised, you think, a stone sinking through your stomach as you dwell too long on the topic of love letters, and meanwhile, Richard’s attention seamlessly diverts back to 3 across.

“You deserve one,” he says, still looking at the page, but a smile animating his wiry moustache. “A letter.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a spiralling sadness catching hold of you. Does he not understand what this is doing to you? This painful reminder? “Can we drop it, Richard?” you say tensely, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are even more soft and cautious than usual, causing you to admonish yourself for the bite in your tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course,” he smiles thinly, apologetically.

It’s simply the new job, you think. Director of Communications. The man has letters on the brain. Richard is so considerate, that you realise he must not intend to hurt you in dredging up the past; he would never. In a way though, you think, it’s even worse that he brings it up so… casually. You can only conclude he has forgotten that you sent your letter to him at all. Had your heartfelt words, declaring your love, had so little impact on him?

Maybe that’s it. After all, they seemed to have so little impact upon him at the time. What could you expect years later? On the other hand, you -apparently- remain rather sore about the topic, all this time later. It’s natural to be sensitive though, isn’t it? You’d written him a love letter and he didn’t write you back. He didn’t say it back. Didn’t feel it back.

And, perhaps it still stings so much, even all these years later, because you never did stop loving him, even if he never started loving you.

Feeling a sudden, overwhelming haste to leave, you thumb through the pages of your magazine so furiously that the next table turn their heads to look at you, until you find what you were searching for.

“Here, Richard. The article I mentioned. Dramatherapy for people who are incarcerated.”

You fold the magazine back on itself, fobbing it off on him with an unprecedented urgency, hurriedly signalling to the waitress that you’d like the check. The roomy diner booth suddenly feels suffocating, and you want to get out. Meanwhile, oblivious, Richard chuckles at the title of the article -some kind of pun, you recall- as you try to push down the unpleasant emotions surfacing within you.

“Thank you for this,” he smiles, looking up at you earnestly. Looking concerned as he reads the expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes fix on the table, where his fingertips inch hesitantly across the surface, hovering moments from yours as he debates whether to extend comfort. You make the decision for him, snatching your hand back from his reach.

“Yes. I’m Fine,” you say, unconvincingly. “Can we please go? I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Richard agrees gently. He looks a little flustered, but, now sensing your urgency, he begins to sweep up his papers and to shrug on his jacket. He pulls out a small comb to fix his neat curls in place, and offers you a soft smile. “Maybe we can go to the park next?” he suggests.  

As much as you want to run, you nod, some of your agitation dissipating now that the prior topic seems to be forgotten. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” You school your expression into something calm, and you offer him a reassuring smile as his soulful eyes dance over you, a lingering but unobtrusive concern there.

As you split the check, you tell yourself for the millionth time that being his friend is enough; but even after the millionth time, you can’t quite believe it.

Still, today -Sunday- is your one day with him this week. And, no matter what you can’t have; you’ll take anything you can get.

He’s too dear to you to settle for anything less.

************

One month later:

You crouch in amongst the boxes on Richard’s front lawn. He is having a clear-out, setting out some items for goodwill, and some for a neighbourhood yard sale happening next weekend.

You are having fun assisting him in sifting through various items, occasionally bursting into a fit of laughter when he reveals yet another ill-informed, late night shopping channel “bargain” – usually some new-fangled, scarcely-used exercise contraption, which he proceeds to demonstrate in good-humour, making you fold over clutching your stomach in mirth. Occasionally, as you rifle through the boxes, you’ll be overcome by a pang of sentimentality when he uncovers an item with a memory attached; and -no matter how useless- he usually sneaks said item into his ever-growing “to-keep” pile.

“But this is the picnic hamper we took to Bound Beach Island! For your birthday, remember?”  

“Yeah, Richard, but it’s battered! It has holes! It needs to go.”

“It was a beautiful day. The light and the dunes were beautiful… and… and y-“

“-Oh my goodness, what is this?! Please for the love of God tell me you never actually wore this!”

You work through the midday sun until you come to a tired, dead halt on the grass, finally parking your ass down and wiping your brow. Richard looks warm too, a “v” of sweat soaking his old, oversized “Save the Turtles” t-shirt. No - he really doesn’t throw anything away. You smile fondly, though, remembering his sea turtle phase. Of course, he’d read some article. He always was looking for a cause.

“I’ll make us some iced tea,” Richard announces with a tired puff of breath, looking more spent than he probably wants to admit after shuttling the various boxes. Still, the way his grizzled curls have fallen away from his harsh side-part appeals to you, sitting disobedient and undone on his forehead.

Thinking of him undone, you hear a faint beating of drums sound in your chest.

You ignore the music though, like always, instead smiling gratefully as he heads inside, and you take a second to collect yourself before dragging the nearest box towards you, deciding you may as well continue. This next box is taped securely shut, and you chuckle quietly to yourself when you notice it’s labelled “workout-gear”.

You peel the packing tape away and open it up, scooping out the pile of miscellaneous papers sitting right on top. Beginning to leaf through, you surmise it’s mainly unopened junk mail; mainly garishly printed promotional flyers - from a pizzeria which closed down years ago, you recognise. Probably hastily stuffed in before his last move and never dealt with. Absent-mindedly, you begin to bundle it up for the recycling pile, when a smaller, more humble envelope drops out on to your lap, a hand-scrawled address on the front. The stationary is resoundingly familiar.

In fact, everything about it is familiar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as it immediately dawns on you.

It’s your letter.

The letter you sent him, all those years ago. You’d needed to be apart from him- needed to go away to take care of family, and you simply couldn’t go without letting him know. Letting him know you were in love with him.

The memory is like a slow knife sinking into your chest as you idly turn it over in your hands.

But… It can’t be…?

It’s… unopened.

All the air leaves you lungs.

No. No. It doesn’t make a shred of sense.

You’d spoken to him right afterward, on the phone. The first time he’d called after you left town he’d almost pleaded with you, giving you an unequivocally clear, and endlessly painful answer that he didn’t want what you wanted. What you’d written about. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he simply wanted to be friends. “I- I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay exactly like it is between us – please? Can we still talk every day?”

But if he didn’t read it…?

You heart pounds so hard that you hear blood rushing in your ears.

He doesn’t know.

His words didn’t mean what you…

Oh my god. All this time.  

You shoot abruptly to standing when you see him approach, as if you’ve been caught red-handed, guiltily stuffing the letter into your back pocket before he can ask you what it is, an abundance of thoughts screaming in your head.

He hands you the glass of tea, ice tinkling gently, and you take it from him, the coolness shocking your palms.

Assessing what you’ve been up to in his absence, and noting the carcass of another box, Richard glances down at the pile of papers strewn at your feet. He looks suddenly worried for a moment, as if you might have found an old porn stash or something – and he looks just as suddenly relieved when he sees they are more innocent papers, scooping them up from the grass.

“Richard?” you say, your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and the letter burning a hole in your pocket as he drops the items into the recycling. He hums for you to go on. “Do you... You know when I moved away...?” your voice is strained, and you gulp hard. “Just before, do you remember getting any unusual letters or... weird post from me?”

“Like what kind of thing?” he asks curiously, turning back to you.

“I don’t know exactly,” you lie, nervously. “I have a feeling I sent you something? A sappy goodbye thing?”

You see him mull it over, combing his impressive moustache with his fingers. “I don’t remember, sorry. But apparently I was drowning in junk mail at that apartment. Maybe it got lost, or returned to sender?”

Despite everything, you exhale a small laugh. In a roundabout way, you suppose it had been returned to sender after all. You look at the ground.

“Was it important?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looks at you.

Biding time, you take a sip of your tea while you search for an answer. It’s refreshing.

“It… Uh. It was a long, long time ago. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” you muse, masking your sadness, and he nods, looking at least half-satisfied with your answer.

Except, it does matter. It matters more than anything. And, with a sudden, overwhelming need to grab on to the past, you track to the “to go” box, rescuing the battered picnic basket from the pile of junk.

“You shouldn’t get rid of this,” you state, your back to Richard, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice falters. You tense as you feel him settle by your side, his hand hovering tentatively at the small of your back but never quite touching. “It was a beautiful day.”

“No,” he insists. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hang on to it.”

His words are like a punch in the gut. You turn your head to your side, where Richard is, your eyes and heart almost overflowing.

Noting your sadness, and connecting it to the picnic basket, he does everything he can to smooth things over, like always. “We can get a new one,” he says, his brown eyes sweet and hopeful and bright.

You love him. You love him still and you can’t help but turn towards him and reach out your arms, dragging him in for a hug.

“No! No, I’m sweaty,” he protests self-consciously, but you don’t care. You just need to hold him, even only for a moment – and, for a moment he stills as you loop around him, never quite clutching you back.

When you pull away though, you could swear that dim spark of passion is present in his eyes again. That spark that never catches, no matter how much or how often or how hard you wish it would. Oh, how you wish.

“Don’t ever change, Richard,” you say sincerely, your voice imbued with fondness. “Okay? You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”

His eyes are immediately soft and bashful again, the colour of his cheeks deepening a little, a crimson undertone blooming under his brown skin.

“Yes. Okay,” he offers, with a nod, his eyes creasing at the corners, and his posture even bolstered by the compliment, you could swear, his chest puffing out proudly.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ignore the unread words in the back of your pocket; but for the life of you, you can’t ignore those drums.

************

One month later:

You bundle the yapping, happy little white dog into your arms, relieved that she’s okay as her little tail happily beats against your arm.

“Are you okay, Lady?” you coo as she nuzzles her snoot into your face, eagerly lapping little kisses on to your cheek. “Thanks goodness, sweet little floof,” you baby-talk as your eyes quickly scan around Richard’s place, setting his spare key down on the kitchen counter.

You’d barrelled across town to get here, after receiving a call about an attempted break-in. His neighbour to the left had your contact details in case of an emergency -it’s not very easy to reach him at work, of course- so here you are. You came to give things a quick checking over, assured that no-one suspicious had continued to loiter. Richard won’t be much longer -his shift has nearly ended, and you’d left him a voicemail so you’re sure he’ll hurry- but you still thought you’d go on ahead of him, especially so that he wouldn’t worry about Lady.

Looking around, thankfully all seems well, and you don’t think anyone made it inside after all. Slowly then, you allow your nerves to calm and your heart to settle, bouncing the little bundle of fur in your arms, and feeding her a treat from the packet on top of the microwave, just in case she’d been stressed out.

Calming, you can’t help but smile as you look around, absorbing all the little details of Richard. You do hang out in his apartment a fair amount, but most often you will meet or sit outdoors, when the weather allows. After all, he loves to feel the sun and fresh air on his face, especially after spending all day cooped-up in windowless rooms. To you though, this Richard-ness is like a breath of fresh air, and you let it all wash over you, drinking in the details of his simple daily routine. The discarded half-plate of frijoles and rice by the sink. The ironing-board piled with identical uniform-issue shirts, pants, and plain white t-shirts. The photos on the fridge door – some of you and him too.

Doing a lap of the living space, you further note the dining-for-one TV table, evidence of his relatively solitary existence, and you can almost see him sitting there. Can almost hear his soft voice relating the far-fetched storylines of his favourite telenovelas. You imagine him chuckling warmly - perhaps shedding a tear sometimes too.

You decide you should pop your head into the bedroom and bathroom to check there too, for good measure, and you set Lady down, the dog trotting along at your heels. Once you’ve done a loop, you sigh, seeking out a fresh task, and you circle back to the sink, scraping his discarded plate and rinsing it, stacking it in the dishrack. Then, you move towards the TV chair, intending simply to sit yourself down and wait for Richard to come home. After all, you’re here now - you may as well say hello; or, maybe you can even prepare him dinner after his long shift, you muse.

As you revisit the small, rickety table, however, your eyes more keenly notice that a bunch of papers are strewn over it, all identical- a series of pastel pink leaves of paper and envelopes.

Letters.

Handwritten, in his familiar scrawl.

Letters addressed to you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, as you wonder what they could be. You don’t want to invade his privacy, of course, but perhaps this is something that’s meant for you? After all, sometimes he leaves you notes when you come over to feed or walk Lady.  

Still, this feels different, and, with a lump in your throat that you don’t quite understand, you pick up one of the leaves at random, skimming the first line, yet feeling only more confused than you did before.  

You see your name at the head of the paper, followed by the words “my dearest love,”, and underneath, some other half-formed paragraphs, scribbled over and crossed out.

No, you shake your head, your stomach flipping over. That can’t be right, you think, even as your fingers scramble for another leaf - for leaf upon leaf, until you piece together what’s going on. Until, with every line you read, fragments of both English and Spanish, you feel as though you are piecing together his heart.

Could it be true? Is this really true?

Your fingers dive for a sheet more developed that the rest, where you see paragraphs of writing, and you devour the words like you are starved of love; for you are, aren’t you? Starved? And yet, you suddenly feel so full. Brimming.

My darling,

There are infinite ways to fall in love. Some are elemental, like a raging fire. A shock of lightning on first sight. Some are slow-burning and constant, the heat of friendship warming your hearth, defrosting your iced fingertips when you come in from the cold.

There are infinite ways to fall in love, and I should know, my heart, as I have experienced every one of them with you.

You can barely read the rest as tears blur your eyes, and your hand comes to clamp over your mouth as realisation sinks through to the pit of you, the page quaking -like a leaf- in your fingers.

You make my heart beat like a drum. When I look at you, I am music, without being played. When you’re with me I am dancing, without movement. If only you would touch my skin, I feel like I would sing. If only you would-

“-Are you safe? Are you alright?” Richard asks from behind you, and you tear your eyes away from the page with a start. You were so absorbed by this swell of beating music that you didn’t hear the scrape of his key in the lock. You didn’t hear his hurried footsteps coming up behind you.  

“Richard,” you suspire, and for once his touch is on you without hesitation, his hands clasped around each of your shoulders, slowly running down your arms, and you nod quickly to reassure him, your mouth opening wordlessly. You’re safe.

His touch is warm through your clothes, and you think he is right- your skin would sing for him too if he touched you. Your love rattles you, like drums beating musically in your chest, pulsing through your body.

Then, Richard clocks your sideward, guilty glance at the pile of letters, and you see his panic instantly surface at the thought of all his unsent and unspoken words laid bare before you. All the pieces of his heart exposed.

At first, he looks apologetic, but then you step forwards a little more, into the circle of his arms. Arms which suddenly fall, unsure, at his sides once again. And, achingly slow, endlessly sure, you lift up you hand and you place it on his chest, over his heart, smoothing over his shirt and over the cool metal of the shield he wears there. You feel his heart really is beating like a drum. His chest is rising and falling beneath your hand, his breath quickened – eyes nervous.

You step a little closer, and your fingers continue their slow crawl, dancing up around his collar, inching further up until your fingers finally brush the bare skin at the nape of his neck, pushing up into the curls behind his ears, your thumb skimming his sideburn. You touch him, with your fingertips, and he does sing for you, a half-choked moan leaving his mouth at your tender caress.

“Richard,” you say breathily, searching his face, eyes openly appraising his beauty. “Don’t worry, sweet man. I love you too.” And, when you next meet his eyes there is no nervousness there. Not any longer. Instead, you find his dark, expressive eyes brewing with adoration, and that gentle but ever ascending note of passion.

“Darling, can I kiss you?” he pleads, his voice dogged by desire, his brow knitting together and his hands slipping bravely to your waist, circling you as you arch into him.

“Yes. Yes,” you say, and his mouth meets yours in a desperate, tumultuous crush. You sing too, your skin thrumming as you finally know the feeling of his thick moustache brushing against you. As you taste the sweet flavour of cherry sucker on his kiss. As you finally feel the texture of his slicked curls beneath your fingertips.

You kiss, urgently, until you are each smiling too broadly to continue, and instead Richard beams and presses sweet, intermittent kisses all over – your cheeks, your forehead, your hair, your neck- his moustache tickling wherever it touches. His hands are everywhere they can be politely, roaming over your back and your arms and your hair, and it feels so good to finally be held like this.

Eventually, he pulls back, his smile no longer tugging at his lips so keenly -lips now kiss flushed with deep colour- but shining in his liquid eyes. “How long have you loved me back?” he asks in a still choked, disbelieving voice.

You bite your lip, but then allow your face to split in a radiant, unrestrained grin.

Always. Always. I loved you first, you think.

You reach for your bag, reluctant to break from him so trailing your love’s hand in yours- and you fish out the letter. The one you’ve carried around since it was returned to you. “Take a look, Richard,” you encourage.

He looks from you to the small envelope, turning it in his spare hand as you pass it to him. “What is this?”

His brows rise in confusion as you tap the stamped postmark with your index finger. Years. Years ago.

“I sent you a letter,” you explain. “Telling you I loved you. That I love you,” you correct, squeezing his hand tightly in yours, amazed at how natural it feels already, to touch him.

He audibly gasps in air, looking pained. Devastated. “I never got it. I would’ve-“, he fumbles for words, but he can’t finish them, the magnitude of all those years lost to yearning too big to wrap his lips around. “I never got it,” he repeats sorrowfully.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about that now,” you soothe. “I got your letter.” And, as you engulf him with your arms a soft smile takes over his features once again. He can’t help it.

“I’m so glad you did,” he beams, drawing you to him for another kiss, which you eagerly accept, opening your mouth to him.

God, he’s a good kisser, his tongue in you deep and eager, and the heat generated is quick to catch, a fire lit in the pit of you. That moustache is a divine thing too, his lips soft and full beneath, his mild-mannered tongue positively sinful as it works against yours.

Letting the kiss grow, you grab hold of him by the belt to draw his body closer to yours, arching your hips into his, and you feel an impressive bulge greet you as you do so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bashfully, angling his hips away from you, in case you’re not ready for… that yet. “You’re perfection. So perfect, I… I’m a little bit, uh, excited.”

You don’t blame him. You’re a little bit excited too. There’s a drum beating in your chest. Music in your heart. A song everywhere. A dance in your body.

“W-would you like to take me to the bedroom, Richard?” you purr, softly. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You wish you could capture the bliss which sparks in his eyes then, and keep stoking it forever more. His whole being glows as if you are the sun shining down on him. He loves the sun on his face. He loves you.

He loves you.

*******

Later that night:

At some point after round three, Richard is ravenous, and so you head to the kitchen to grab some snacks. One of Richard’s plaid shirts wards off the slight chill, settled over your otherwise naked body. As you microwave something quick, you can barely keep the smile from your face – even more so as you glance over at the table full of half-finished letters. As the microwave pings and you grab out the plate, another idea occurs to you, and you simply can’t help yourself.

So, you pad mysteriously back towards the bedroom, where Richard is waiting. The blanket is slung low over his hips, skimming the dark trail of hair which draws your gaze down beyond his abdomen. He is covered, and yet you bloom blissfully with heat at your new-found knowledge of what lays beneath. He’s laying with one hand folded behind his head, and one hand rested on the soft, roundness of his stomach, which you had laid your head on only moments ago.

Richard’s eyes shine with unadulterated admiration as you enter, and you flash him a mischievous smile as you transfer the plate to his hands, and subsequently tip a cascade of his letters into the middle of the bed.

“What’s all this?” he asks, with a contented laugh as you bounce eagerly into bed by his side, humming in equal contentment as you slot yourself under his arm.  

“I want you to read them to me. Will you?” you ask, sweetly, and he looks bashful all over again. “No-one has ever sent me a love letter.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles. “Or I thought so…”

He hesitates, perhaps feeling shy, but he wraps his arm around you securely, nuzzling you into his side as he picks up the closest leaf of paper.

He hums gratefully as you begin to stroke his smooth chest. He really does sing whenever you touch him.

“They’re not finished,” he caveats. “I wanted to find the perfect words and I… I couldn’t.”

“The words don’t have to be perfect. It’s more important that they’re delivered,” you say, your voice soft as you sink into him, and so, he gently clears his throat and he begins to read, his words and his rich, soothing voice filtering over you like warm sunshine.

After a moment listening, and letting his love and his letters envelop you, you interrupt him gently. “My sweet man. Promise me you’ll never write me another love letter?”

“Are they that awful?!” Richard exclaims.

“No!” you laugh, into his chest, tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just… I think I hate love letters, Richard. They’ve only ever kept me from you.”

His expression becomes wistful, lost in thought until a smile finally captures him. Then, with a finger curling gently under your chin, he dips down to plant a small kiss to the very tip of your nose.

“No more letters then,” he promises softly. “Let’s always promise to say it out loud from now on. Let’s talk every day.”

You heart full, you bring your hand up to caress his cheek, before planting a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips; and, despite what you’d just suggested, you plead for him to keep reading to you, his voice and his love lulling you to sleep in his arms.

With the love letters as kindling, your dim spark finally catches, your fire now blazing. You set it in a hearth in your chest, and you vow to keep it stoked for always.

THE END

Bonus:

#richard alonso muñoz x reader #Richard Alonso Muñoz #the letter room #richard alonso munoz x reader #oscar isaac #richard alonso-munoz x reader #luna's tumblrversary

[failedintsave]

Help I've contracted terminal one-shot brainrot. I ventured out from my usual writing playlists and suddenly I have 5 WIPS instead of 1. Someone send coffee.

Acts of Service

The door to Twinkletits' office shut behind Toki with a click of finality, leaving him in the empty hallway with only his thoughts, muddled as they were. Normally he left a session with the therapist with at least some sense of clarity as they unwound his tangled emotions and experiences, but lately he'd felt as though he'd been haunting the corridors of Mordhaus in a fog.

Twinkletits called it seasonal affective, said some things about lack of daylight bringing it on, but Toki had his doubts. He'd grown up where winters were much darker and bleaker. He was well acquainted with the weighty oppression of the darkness. This felt different. It wasn't the sun he missed. He felt adrift, disconnected.

Even in his earliest memories Toki had always loved the holiday season. It was one of the rare times of the year that his father's church services had seemed less funerary, the inside of the chapel adorned with candles and pine boughs. When he'd gotten older and left home he'd been further enamored by the commotion and color of the season's celebration. Sparkling lights and brightly colored wrapping papers dazzled him, but his favorite part of it all was the effect the holidays seemed to have on people. They were kinder; gestures of affection and goodwill between friends and strangers alike woke a need within him. He wanted more than anything to share that kind of joyful connection with someone.

The fact that the rest of Dethklok didn't share his passion for the season of giving hadn't mattered. Every year he joyfully showered his bandmates with extravagant purchases and tried to convey his love without outright stating it and being called out on the band's strict "no caring" rule. Even though his efforts were usually received with disinterest or ignored entirely, it hardly fazed him.

But since his captivity Toki had struggled to feel connected to anyone. After the fiasco that was the Murderface/Knubbler Christmas Special last year, everyone was content to let the holiday slip by unnoticed, without even the distraction of a visit from their mothers, off on some booze drenched Christmas cruise. The holidays came and went without fanfare and time continued to slip by unmarked until Toki wasn't sure what day it was. Was it still even January, or had he drifted through an entire month?

He trudged past the doorway leading to the rec room, glancing in to where Pickles and Murderface sat watching tv, Nathan on the far end of the couch with his reading glasses and a newspaper. His movement must have caught the drummer's eye, Pickles turned his head to face the door, tipping his chin up in acknowledgment but saying nothing before returning his gaze to the screen ahead of him. Toki floated away down the hall in silence, an aimless spectre.

For a little while after his recovery the band had made real efforts to welcome him home. Murderface toned down the art of being a dick, instead offering frequent encouragement as Toki reacclimated to normal life. Pickles accompanied him to most of his physical therapy sessions, giving some excuse that he wasn't getting any younger himself and could probably use some mobility coaching. And Nathan, ever conservative with his words, had been a near constant presence, always finding a reason to pat Toki on the back or put a hand on his shoulder. But as time dragged on their day-to-day routines gradually faded back to the casual indifference of yesterday, and Toki felt himself begin to slide.

Twinkletits had made some suggestions today, mostly the usual things, exercise, light therapy, working on a hobby. He hadn't really had any desire to work on his modeling kits in months but maybe it was worth a shot. Toki pushed open the door to his bedroom and was surprised to find it occupied. 

Skwisgaar looked up from where he was seated on Toki's mattress, Flying V cradled in his lap. An opened pack of Dunlop strings and a pair of wire cutters lay next to him.

Stepping into the room, Toki tilted his head to the side. "What ams you doing?"

Skwisgaar's mouth quirked into a wry grin. "I believes you ams at least partially familiars wif dis inskruments." He twisted one of the tuning pegs, down-tuning another string for removal. "I'ms just restringings it, don't worries, nots here to sabotage you."

"But dats my guitar."

"Ja, I dids mine earlier and den I t'oughts yours ams probably dues for a fresh set too so…" he shrugged, turning his attention back to the instrument.

Toki watched as nimble fingers threaded stainless steel filaments through the bridge of his guitar with practiced ease, stepping closer as he struggled to swallow around a lump rising in his throat. He reached out to grasp the neck of the instrument, gently lifting it out of Skwisgaar's hands and setting it aside on the floor.

"I wasn't dones wif dat!" Skwisgaar's eyes tracked the guitar to it's stand, empty hands splayed open.

"It can waits."

Toki climbed onto the bed, arms snaking around the other man's middle. He buried his face between the bony ridges of Skwisgaar's collarbones, practically crawling into his lap to claim the now vacated space. The blonde made a quiet sound of surprise and wrapped slender arms behind Toki's shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Concern laced the murmured question, Skwisgaar's breath warming the crown of Toki's head. "Ams you okej?"

Toki nodded, pressing closer as Skwisgaar angled them to lean back against the pillows, palm rubbing comforting circles on his back.

"You shores?"

"Ja." And he was. Maybe not entirely, but at least for now. The darkness would recede eventually, the sun would return, but for now he could be content in the illumination of the golden heartbeat beneath his cheek.

It was enough.

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #dethklok #metalocalypse #ive gotta get these out of my head so i can get back to regularly scheduled Rejoin chapters #hopefully this weekend but if not its probably because another 1k word distraction is brewing #im not just lazy im v. distracted with Ideas

[shinsouskitten]

Hola mis amiga (I’m a French student what am I doing) I saw that your ass class requests were non existant so I’m here with a request. Can u do karma and Nagisa with a blind s/o who’s a pro assassin at 15 (is that how old they are??) and also v smart and they were sent by the government to 3-e to help with the Assassination? Bonus points if they’re low key a reaper level assassin like they have a good chance of winning if they went against the reaper 1 on 1. It’s chill if u don’t get to this 💖

Yo! I am no language student cause I can’t even english correctly half the time

Also this is what happens when I finally get requests for a character I love… I go a little ott

Warnings: reference to violence and assassination (uhh… yk, it’s called assassination classroom for a reason), Karma

---

Important info: 

💬 To have the reader be a pro assassin at 15, my friend (@grapefantaenby the beautiful Sammy whom I love dearly but is also a bitch sometimes) and I decided it might be a good idea for them to be basically the next gen Irina - not as a femme fatale, but just the next gen of pro trained assassins

💬 So for this request I am writing the reader as if they were chosen to be trained (possibly by Irina herself) and sent to e-class after Irina’s original attempt failed. Only Irina and Karasuma knows the reader is an assassin

💬 If you wish to read it from another perspective that’s fine too, but that was the idea I was writing from, so I hope that’s okay

---

Karma Akabane:

🔫😈 When he first meets you Karma barely bats an eye. You’re just another kid stuck in e-class for some reason or another. Midterms are coming up, he has a weird yellow octopus to kill, a new student doesn’t really matter to him

🔫😈 It’s only when you all get your tests results that he first notices you. You didn’t take the tests with them, instead in a lone room with braille substituted for the usual test papers, and a scribe to write down your answers, but it was the results that Karma noticed. You scored as high as him, though perhaps in different areas. None of your scores were below 95%, but you weren’t nearly as showy as he was. If he hadn’t heard Korosensei praising you he wouldn’t have even realized

🔫😈 You didn’t travel on the school trip with them, which kind of disappointed Karma (not that he’d admit it). He wanted to find out more about you, but even so, he wasn’t too bothered. He’s Karma after all

🔫😈 As mean as it sounds, he highly doubts your ability to be an assassin - at least, when he first meets you. Sight is one of the most important senses, and if you’re trying to kill an inhuman yellow… thing, you’re going to need everything you have

🔫😈 The first occasion is in science class, where you trip seemingly on nothing while making your way to your desk. Karma moves to catch you, surprising himself for a moment, but Korosensei is there first. The second he offers a tentacle to help you up, it explodes. Your hand had been covered in antisensei pellets you’d powdered so that they were invisible if someone wasn’t paying enough attention. In his surprise he doesn’t move fast enough as you fling your other arm out, catching the edge of another tentacle and slicing through it halfway. You’re unable to make another attack, as this time Korosensei moves too far away, but for a moment the whole class is silent

🔫😈 You’d gotten further than anyone, destroyed 1 (and a half) tentacles and no one had even suspected it was an attempt. Korosensei is surprised, while Irina watches her protege from the sidelines, secretly incredibly proud of your attempt

🔫😈 And Karma… Karma doesn’t know what to think. Your first trick was similar to his original attempt on Korosensei; a hand covered in antisensei material and a seemingly innocent gesture of assistance/goodwill. Did you know he’d attempted something similar? Of course not. You weren’t even there when he arrived, and besides, it’s not like you could’ve seen what he did (okay is this mean I have rlly bad social cues)

🔫😈 He doesn’t know what to think. Had he really doubted you that much?

🔫😈 With AIFA’s introduction some of the attention is steered away from you, which Karma takes as an opportunity to steal you away for a moment. It’s during gym class, he slips away easily, leading you by the elbow until you’re out of sight of the others (sneaky boi)

🔫😈 He asks question after question, at one point even joking that the two of you together would be an unstoppable force. Of course, he doesn’t mean dating, but it slowly starts to become less and less of a joke the more time you spend together. Plotting assassination slowly turns into study dates, then just regular dates

🔫😈 It’s only when some jerkwads from another class try picking on you that you and Karma are forced to decide; is it something more? I say that, because when he sees this amateur bullying attempt, he quickly slides up next to you, curling an arm around your waist and warning the kids to stay away from his s/o. It leads to one of the worst questions a person can hear… “what are we?”

🔫😈 It all works out happily though, and when he finds out about your profession he’s only intrigued (I was gonna say he’d kill to be a pro assassin then I realized the irony of my sentence)

🔫😈 He was right, the two of you do make a great team, and although you’re unable to kill Korosensei, you’re grateful for him allowing you to meet the one and only Karma Akabane

---

Nagisa Shiota:

🐍🔪 Nagisa notices you almost instantly, a complete reversal of Karma’s first reaction. He’s attentive, and so he realises there’s something different about you (not the blind things tho, I mean the assassin thing), even if he can’t quite put his finger on it

🐍🔪 He’s amazed when you score as high as Karma in the midterms, but doesn’t bring it up to you immediately. He doesn’t want you to feel singled out, so instead he waits until the day is over. It’s the first time he gets to talk to you, and even though the conversation flows smoothly, there’s still something in the back of his mind that he can’t quite place

🐍🔪 Much like Karma he’s disappointed that you don’t join them for the school trip, but he can’t really blame you. You’ve only just joined e-class, you likely don’t feel comfortable trusting them to lead you around an unfamiliar city

🐍🔪 When he returns, Nagisa can tell you’re planning something, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it is. Eventually your plan reveals itself to him. You’d changed your walking stick, something no one else had really noticed. It was the same colour, in fact it was almost exactly the same, save for the slight sheen of plastic

🐍🔪 It happens the next day, just before the bell rings when you’re sitting on the steps to your class building. You frown as your hands trace across the floor, unable to reach the stick a few feet from you. Korosensei sees, and ever the helpful teacher, speeds over to hand it to you, not realising until it’s too late the new material covering the surface. And just like that two tentacles are destroyed. You attempt to finish the job with a knife, jumping towards where you heard Korosensei’s surprised gasp, but he dodges quickly

🐍🔪 You smile, murmerming out loud that it was a good plan. Korosensei agrees, after the initial shock wears off, but notes that you should’ve made your final attack just slightly quicker. If he hadn’t recovered so fast, you likely would've had him

🐍🔪 Against his better judgement, Nagisa decides to ask you where you learnt to do that. You brush him off easily at first, but it quickly becomes clear he doesn’t believe you, so eventually you give in and tell him the truth

🐍🔪 He’s surprised, but also, he’s not. Okay that sounds confusing. He could tell something was different about you, the way you act seemed too mature for a 15 year old at the bottom of the school. But at the same time he almost expected it. I mean, you had no disciplinaries and your grades were superb. Why else would you be in e-class? Karasuma, Irina, you, AIFA, all of you were there for another reason. It wasn’t to teach, or to learn, it was to kill

🐍🔪 There’s a lot of things that draw Nagisa to you, and it’s only a matter of time before he realises he’s big fat crushing on you. Karma noticed Nagia’s crush before the boy did himself, and you can imagine the teasing that took place

🐍🔪 I was gonna say you couldn’t see him to think he’s a girl which gave you bonus points but I feel like it might be in bad taste

🐍🔪 He studies you almost obsessively, attempting to learn some of your professional tricks as a way to boost e-class’s assassination attempts. It’s not creepy, he’s just genuinely amazed by your abilities, and well… you

🐍🔪 No matter what you do Nagisa is always in awe of it (simp), and your relationship (hard as it is to get Nagisa to finally admit to you) is a good one

#assassination classroom #assclass #karma akabane #karma akabane x reader #karma akabane headcanons #nagisa shiota #nagisa shiota x reader #nagisa shiota headcanons #assassination classroom x reader #assclass x reader #assassination classroom headcanons #assclass headcanons

[casually-inlove]

do u believe ht pours money in mo, like my fam uses money for bad stuff, i use it for good purpose?

Well, it took me ages to get to this! More than a week, no less. Sorry for the wait. 

Truthfully, your ask spurred me to have a refresher, because for the life of mine I couldn't remember THAT many instances of He Tian pouring his resources into MGS in a significant and profound way. 

Paying the hospital bills and buying the black studs aside, I can't think of any other examples where He Tian's money was used for a “greater cause”. The first time he offered Guanshan money for cooking and cleaning his apartment, he did so without a profound ulterior motive — maybe to discipline the foul-mouthed delinquent, but not much else. Back then He Tian did not even know the other boy well enough to attempt any gestures of goodwill. Buying MGS the first — the extravagant — set of earrings doesn't count because, firstly, He Tian had no idea about the story behind MGS piercings, and, secondly, it was done on a whim. 

Apart from that, He Tian was shown buying Guanshan a sandwich and treating him to a spa parlour visit in the V-day special (in all fairness he paid for other boys too), yet it's not exactly the case of "using the money for a good cause". Treating another human being to a lunch or a salon visit — while nice — is fairly inconsequential. It doesn't help Guanshan get on with his life, nor does it tackle any hurdles he faces; it is not that kind of help that makes the difference. The very idea of HT pouring his financial resources into MGS is tricky because of the latter's attitude. MGS is prideful and hates when someone looks at him with charity or pity; in fact, he refused financial help many times. 

So He Tian's most prominent aid had also been an indirect one: he helped Guanshan land a job at the studio and get paid for his labour. He steered him away from getting expelled due to She Li's meddling, but then he also left the boy to his very own devices. 

That said, the assumption that He Tian harbours some kind of an altruistic plan, such as purposefully using his family's income to do some good and make a difference, seems a little far-fetched to me. I don't doubt that He Tian resents his family in many ways and wants to have nothing to do with them, yet I don't believe he has concocted some kind of grand plan to atone for whatever "bad stuff" his family is doing or has done, vicariously using MGS as a medium for repentance. Let us keep in mind that we are dealing with a teenager, 14-15 y.o. Teen minds do not operate on a scale like that. Most teens would have trouble making choices for their life path for the nearest future, so having He Tian supposedly come up with some long-term commitment to using his family's wealth to ensure MGS leads a good life sounds implausible to me. Implausible, in a sense that an adult might come up with this idea, not a teenager. 

If anything, I believe He Tian is being portrayed as a bit of a spoiled, bratty, spendthrift kid. He is inclined to buy extravagant stuff, dine at fancy places, order VIP services, etc. Upon closer inspection, you might find that OX frequently draws him wearing expensive brand clothing, like Armani underwear or Burberry scarves. I don't know about you, but buying Armani undies certainly does not appear to be an example of "using the money for a good cause" to me xD. It is an extravaganza. Buying fancy stuff one does not need is a scene a teen might throw at their parents, purposefully blowing money on something expensive yet ultimately irrelevant.  

To sum up: no, I do not believe that He Tian has any kind of complicated plan regarding his family’s wealth. 

#yup still answering old asks #19 days #tianshan #he tian #Anonymous #long post #q&a time

[lisinfleur]

Þunglyndi

The Request:

Author’s Notes | I don’t know why, but it came a little lighter and fluffier than I was expecting. I hope you like this as well and I’m sorry for taking so long to post this one, babe!

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader x Ivar

Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @notyouraveragegirl17 for 5CW7 | Þunglyndi means “Depression” in Icelandic

Words | 1549

⁑ Warnings: Some ANGST, mentions of deep depression and internal darkness, past abuse. Caution is recommended: the following content may be triggering.

The popular wisdom uses to say that "one man's nightmare may be another man's dream". Sometimes, men can dream together. Sometimes, their nightmares can be the same as well. And it was like this for Ivar and Hvitserk. Their dreams were the same, all towards Y/N. Both of them loved her with such deepness that they agreed in putting their pride aside and share the position by her side with each other, marrying Y/N in a polygamist relationship that was the light of her life.

Maybe the only spot of light her whole life had for her. Maybe the only light that was able to cut its way inside Y/N's life through the thick darkness that was always all around her mind and heart.  

Their dreams were the same and so were their nightmares, all around that intense sadness that none of them was able to fully destroy into her heart. Maybe this sadness was also a part of their decision to share her side - Both of them knew none of them would be able to face this dark and strong enemy all alone. Together, they could maybe be able to save her from herself as they saved her from that bastard she called a father.

For a long time, neither Ivar or Hvitserk were able to understand why was she so scared of men that she could jump beside Hvitserk just by Ubbe's sudden approaching or squeal beside Ivar if Sigurd was coming without a warning. Neither of them was able to understand why any middle tone up in their voices would make her shrink and accept almost anything that she was ordered to do as if she was always afraid of something they could never determine.

Until they knew her family.

Until they found out the terrible way her father had raised her; the horrible punishments she was exposed through her whole childhood; the way she was less than a slave for him.

What person wouldn't have her self-confidence destroyed by a man like him? Her skin was marked by his abuses but more than this, her mind was deeply forged to obey his screams or see itself crushed under his fist and it was enough for the brothers to decide it was time to put an end to it.

They sat to talk and settled a plan. And together, they went to her house and forced her father to accept in goodwill her marriage to them and their rule to never - ever! - put himself close to her once again. In exchange, they gifted him lands in the northernmost, far away from Kattegat's hall, where she would never need to see him again - even thou their will was to kill him in the worst way they could think.

None of them wanted to scare her even more, so they ensured everything would be perfect for her to understand that whole thing as her father's decision and forced him into a chariot that took him away once and for all from her life.

Yet, it wasn't enough.

Y/N was slowly getting better, they had to admit. But whenever Ivar was angry or yelling for something, she would almost disappear into herself in fear - the reason why even Sigurd had to agree that Ivar was controlling himself pretty more not to show his anger or keep himself calmer than he was usually.

Drunken Hvitserk? She would run from him like a Christian woman from a bunch of Vikings! - and that was why he was stopping drinking so much nowadays.

All his brothers had to admit they were doing the best they could and Y/N became something like a glue that stuck the two of them together: Ivar and Hvitserk would always find a way to calm her down or rescue her from her own mind. Whether in Ivar's lap, talking about his stories so she could forget hers; or walking around with Hvitserk to see the nature around and beautiful places instead of the dark rooms of her mind; one way or another, they were always trying to find a way to make her feel better.

So, in days like that, it wasn't unusual to see both of them smiling at each other with happy expressions and accomplice glares. Y/N was happy that day and both of them knew it was their fault she was still able to smile.

This time it was a full table she made by her own hands: loaves of bread, meat, vegetables, and mead. Cereals and everything they liked the most.

It wasn't any special day, they knew it! Both of them were always remembering themselves of the special dates of their marriage to keep Y/N always aware of how important she was in their lives, but this time, they were sure, it wasn't any kind of special day. Yet, she was preparing that whole beautiful table, with places even for their brothers they were sure she would ask them to invite for that meal she was preparing with so much dedication.

"Smukke?" Hvitserk asked first, before entering the kitchen along with his brother-husband.

They would love to be able to embrace her from behind and surprise her with neck kisses, but both of them knew it would be too scary for her. So, it was enough to have her smiling back at them with that sweet nickname they had in common to call her.

"Why are we deserving such a delicious and big dinner, may I ask?" Ivar asked, smiling back at her as she was slowly cleaning her hands from the rests of the paste she was using to decorate Hvitserk's favorite pie she just placed in the oven.

"It's a surprise," she said, smiling at them, touching Ivar's nose with her warm fingers and gently caressing Hvitserk's cheek with the other hand. "I have something to tell you both, but I want it to be a surprise. Could you please call Ubbe and Sigurd to have dinner with us?" she asked, confirming their suspicions. "I know Björn won't be around for a while because of his raid, but I wanted to have the family altogether tonight."

The brothers exchanged a satisfied smile and Hvitserk bounced in his heels - a clear sign of his happiness with her progress.

"I'll bring them," he said, smiling.

"I'll help you with the table so, my love," Ivar offered himself and she smiled, kissing Hvitserk's cheek and letting him go before bringing the plates for Ivar to place properly at the table.

With everything ready, she took the pie out of the oven, placing it gently at the table to get cold as the brothers would be eating and the sound of Ubbe's laugh along with Hvitserk's and Sigurd's voice woke them up for the door where they were arriving - always making some noise to avoid scaring Y/N up.

She smiled and so did Ivar. Her happiness, for minimum it was, would always make them happy.

Everyone took its places at the table and she gently served them all, sitting beside Ivar - at the headboard - and Hvitserk - closer to the middle of the table where he could serve himself with more.

"So," Hvitserk said, smiling as they all looked at her. "We're all curious about what is bringing this sweet smile to your face today, smukke."

She became slightly brushed before looking from Ivar to Hvitserk, smiling.

"I wanted to say thank you for all the efforts the two of you have been putting on making me feel better," she started, causing Ivar and Hvitserk to smile that accomplice way at each other.

Smiles that became large eyes and surprised expressions when the second part of her speech came, taking them unprepared for the news she was hiding from them all.

"And I also wanted to tell the family will grow bigger soon..."

Sigurd's smile became larger and Ubbe raised his horn with a salutation. But Hvitserk and Ivar looked at her with surprise and tenderness in their eyes. A slight line of tears in Ivar's blues as Hvitserk's hand gently landed in Y/N's belly trying to feel something in the almost invisible bump she had there.

"You're... With our child? Our first child?" Ivar asked, and Y/N touched his face, gently caressing his cheek with a smile, nodding as the smile in his face became bigger.

"We gonna be fathers, my brother!" Hvitserk celebrated.

"The gods have blessed us once again!" Ivar said, touching Y/N's forehead with his, gently kissing her lips before Hvitserk could do the same, kissing her mouth sweetly.

The two of them touched their foreheads on each other, holding their hands. That complicity between them both so strong and visible, smoothing the smile in their brothers' faces on the other side of their faces.

In their eyes, the victory of one more step towards Y/N's happiness and the dreams they were to build together with her. In their hearts, the gratitude for each other's help and efforts to conquer that step and the many others to come.

Hvitserk and Ivar would never stop fighting to have their precious Y/N out of that darkness. And now, they would have one more spot of light to enlighten her path by their side.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #ivar #hvitserk #ivar the boneless #hvitserk whiteshirt #ivar x reader #hvitserk x reader #ivar x reader x hvitserk #ivar's heathen army #hvitserk's heathen feast #sister wives #5CW #5CW Event #5CWIvar2 #shot