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runningfrom2am · 6 months

Note

Hi, how’s your day been going? Hoping it was amazing. I just saw your post about needing inspo for Coriolanus fics! I’m not sure if you are taking requests but if you are Could you maybe do a touch-starved Coryo fic? Something fluffy/angsty where Coryo can finally fulfill those needs and be himself and vulnerable with the reader. Thanks!

as long as you need me - c.s

pairing: coryo x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, he just needs you and you just want to help.

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav / coriolanus snow masterlist

a/n: ahhh thank you for sending this in! it was so fun to write like stopppp i just want to give him a hug omg. also thought i'd post this to hold y'all off until i post the next part of LTPF. anyway, enjoy!

You had a very stable grasp of the limits of your relationship. What was appropriate, and what was not. You were quite shy, and Coryo always carried himself with a high level of decorum. You would eat together at lunch, and he would walk you home most days. The weekends, your study dates, were always your favourite. He was significantly more relaxed, but you could still tell he was just a little tightly wound. By now, you've just learned that's who he is. Not overly affectionate, but he cares for you and you care for him.

"I can't stay late today, I'm sorry." You said, genuinely feeling bad for having to turn down the request. In your junior year, you started tutoring for younger grades at the academy and it is something you thoroughly enjoyed.

"I have a test tomorrow! Why can't you stay? Just for a few minutes- I just have a couple of questions." The first year, Aelia whined.

"My boyfriend is supposed to walk me home and he has a tight schedule, but I'll tell you what, I can meet you in the library in the morning before class. That way it will still be fresh in your mind, yeah?" You grinned, and she seemed satisfied as you agreed on a time, not knowing that a few of the girls in your grade were listening in.

"Y/N," Clemensia decided to approach you as Aelia walked off, Arachne and Livia following close behind. "Did I catch you telling someone that you have a boyfriend? Did I hear that right?"

"Oh, well, yes." You answered sheepishly, gathering your things to put in your bag before your next class.

"Really?" Livia chimed in, and you just nodded. "Okay, well, spill. Who is it? Do I know him?"

"Um..." You looked around, deciding what to say. You weren't necessarily keeping it a secret, but you just hadn't felt the need to tell anyone you went to school with. "It's Coriolanus. Snow." You cleared your throat, unsure why you even added his last name. It's not like the name Coriolanus was abundantly common.

"Shut up." Clemensia laughed slightly, eyes widening at you. "You're joking, right?"

"No... We've been together for almost seven months now."

"I just... wow. We had no idea. Seven months! I feel like I've never seen the two of you get closer than two feet apart." You weren't sure whether to interpret this response as teasing or genuine shock- so you just gave them an awkward smile and a small nod before walking away.

At the time, you had never considered how your lack of affection in public could be confusing to people- not that it mattered. Rumors had spread quickly after that, which was to be expected when Livia and Arachne were involved. However, PDA just wasn't your thing. General displays of affection weren't really your thing, either. Both of you always had a lot going on, and having been together for almost a year by now, you knew that you loved him and he loved you. You didn't have to prove it to each other or to anyone, there was no pressure for anything to change. On your end, anyway.

Coryo, on the other hand, was feeling something shift. Leading up to the reaping and more importantly, to the prize. You both were in the running, being in the top twenty-four of your class, and you had no doubt that Coryo was a shoo-in, but you didn't know how extremely anxious it was making him. The now constant thrumming of his heartbeat in his chest and his shaky hands were always less around you, and he can only dream of how much better it would be if he could just hold you.

These days, he'd wake up expecting you in his arms due to a particularly calming dream only to be disappointed. He respected you a great amount and wouldn't want to push your boundaries, however unspoken. Still, he wasn't sure how much longer he could go about his day-to-day without testing his theory that holding you could cure his fears, or at least let him forget about them for only a moment. He would happily take just a second of peace.

Coriolanus usually greeted you outside of your unshared classes, seeing that you tended to stay a few minutes late to ask questions or polish off your notes. He couldn't wait to see you, he needed to.

"Coryo." You smile, walking out of your lecture hall to see him waiting.

"Hi, Love. How was class?" Your boyfriend greets you, joining you on your walk towards the exit of the school.

"It was good. Though, I find the topic of the rebellion kind of redundant at this point." You say, books tucked against your chest under folded arms. "Is it not too soon to discuss it in a history class? I mean, I literally remember what it was like to live in a bomb shelter."

Your joke seemingly lands on deaf ears as he just hums, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you out of the building. This wasn't totally unusual, but with the way he was pushing you, albeit gently, was telling you that something was wrong.

"Is everything okay?" You ask him, looking up at the boy next to you as you reach the bottom of the academy's front steps.

"Fine." Coryo nods, attempting a reassuring smile that he isn't aware falls short.

"Okay, well... If you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, you know. Always."

"I know. Thank you, Love." He drops his hand from your back to hold your free one, turning in the direction of your apartment.

The next afternoon, you're in the same class, one of the rare ones you don't share with Coryo, taking down notes from the lecture when there's a knock on the door, followed by it creaking open. You pay no mind, taking the opportunity to catch up on everything written on the board.

"May I borrow Y/N, please?" Your boyfriend's voice is scratchy and shakey in a way unfamiliar sounding to you, making your head snap up. You'd never seen him cry before. "Only for a moment."

Your teacher dismisses you, likely on account of your and Coriolanus's mutually spotless records and his red-rimmed eyes. Clearly, you were needed urgently. You leave your bag and your books, ignoring the whistles and heckling of some of your classmates as you rush to the door.

Coryo had reached his breaking point. He was writing his third paper of the week, unable to focus on that and get his mind off of how unlikely it was he would get the prize if the Dean had any say. Sitting in the library, the world had started turning around him. People were talking, laughing, even, and he couldn't take it anymore. The floodgates opened and he had rushed out of the room. He couldn't go home, his attendance would be affected and he'd be throwing away the prize most definitely. He had nowhere to go, except for to you.

You close the door behind yourself, thankful that the hallway is completely deserted during class time. "Hey, what's going on?" You ask, and before you can get a good look at him he's pulling you into a crushing hug, shaking around you.

You're shocked for a moment, pulling yourself out of your head to hug him back. Whatever is bothering him must be bad. He'd hugged you before, but never like this. "Hey, it's okay..." You whisper, rubbing his back. "Let's go outside for a second, yeah? Get some air?" You offer, gently prying yourself from his grasp to look at him.

Coryo can't speak, overtaken completely by the tears flowing down his cheeks and the anxiety flooding every inch of his body. He feels like he could be sick, all he knew that he needed was you. He just nods, trying to regain his composure, if only for the couple of minutes it takes to get outside.

"Okay. Let's go." You smile, trying not to show how worried you are as you wrap an arm around his back, still holding him close to you as if he has a broken ankle and you have to carry him. So far, his theory was proving to be correct. Just having you at his side was calming to him, and mentally he's cursing himself for not voicing his fears to you before they broke him.

As soon as the door of the rarely used back exit to the school is closed, he's essentially collapsing onto the ground, tucking his knees up to his chest and crying into his hands. You're quick to join him, draping an arm over his back and trying to grab one of his hands to hold. Your brow is knit with worry, rubbing his shoulder as he allows you to take one of his shaking hands. "Coryo..." You say softly, trying to get him to look at you but he won't. "What's happening? Talk to me, you can trust me. I just want to help."

He sniffles, looking up at you. "What is it?" You ask again, hoping to prompt any kind of information out of him. When he doesn't answer, you curve your approach to yes or no questions, hopefully, to make it easier on him. "Is someone hurt? Is it Grandma'am? Did something happen?"

He shakes his head slightly with every question, once again avoiding your eyes as he looks down at the ground, occasionally trying to cough out the knot in his throat.

"...Do you want to talk? Or do you just need a hug?" You realize, leaning in so he would look at you again.

He pulls you closer, wrapping both his arms around you awkwardly due to the way you are both sitting. "Just need you here." He mumbles, hardly audible as he buries his face in your shoulder and neck.

Relieved to hear his voice again, you place a hand on his hair and on his back, holding him tight. "I'm here, Coryo. As long as you need me."

taglist: @keziahcore, @soulessjourney, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @gloryekaterina, @andrewgarfieldsbitch, @queenofspades6, @pepperonipastas, @ladybug0095, @lunamothwrites, @sbrewer21, @mus-tbe-a-weasley, @splxtscreen, @unclecrunkle, @karmaswitch, @rororo06, @coconut-dreamz, @nekee-lilac02, @ooooglymoooogly, @slytherinholland, @riddlerloveb0t, @lovedbalances, @notyourwildestdream, @snowlandson-top, @too-lit-for-fanfic, @utopiakys, @deafeningballoonnacho, @darlingisntit, @roosterschanelslut, @chmpgneprblem, @cosmoetik, @lauravanderbooben20, @dry0campa, @luclue, @lokidala, @urvampgfsworld, @carolanns-world,

#tbosas #tbosas fic #thg series #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow #coryo x reader #snow lands on top #the hunger games #tom blyth

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ghouljams · 1 month

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Hello! Have you ever heard this song! When I heard it I gasped and whispered cowboy soap https://open.spotify.com/track/3uSuDgWfSBTTyaVqPxvbM9?si=et6b-jvmTTmTuzoV1hK34A

SCREAMING

We're jumping back to the 1870s babyyyyyyy

"You talk funny," You tell Johnny across the bar, "Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Only person ever tellin' me anythin' interestin' is you hen." Johnny smiles at his plate, dragging a thick slice of bread through the dredges of today's stew. You huff, and grab a cloth to start wiping out glasses. If he's going to hang around your bar all day he may as well rise to your bait. He never does and it only makes you like him more. Damn him.

"They got somethin' in the water in your country, makes you sweet on girls that want nothin' to do with ya?" You try again, raising your brows at him when his eyes dart to you. His smile is so much more devilish when he's looking at you from under his brows. You have to suppress the shiver it sends down your spine.

"Glasgow," He tells you, looking back at his plate.

"Not even speakin' English," You grumble to yourself, turning to set clean glasses on the shelf behind you.

"'S where ahm takin' ya when we're married."

You don't bother turning to face him, your own body rising to his bait with warmth in your cheeks. That's happening more and more these days. Must be summer getting to you. It's hotter than sin out there, and you've got a certified sinner breaking bread at your bar seven days a week. That's got to count for something.

"Where is that?" You ask, not because you're interested, but because you... Well you are interested but more in the geography of it. You've always considered yourself smart, you don't like not knowing things, especially when it's a man knowing something more than you.

"Scotland," Johnny says without a hint of smugness, "we'll have cows and sheep." He does this sometimes, meets your curiosity with answers, patience. He doesn't push his joke, doesn't take your question as a yes when it isn't one. Maybe you wish he would sometimes, just to know he isn't letting his joke drop so easily, but it's refreshing. You like being treated as something akin to an equal by him.

"So it'll be just like here then," you reply, it comes out more teasing than you really mean it to. You squeeze your fingers tight around your rag, turn to grab another glass. If you can keep yourself busy then those sorts of slips won't happen. You make the mistake of catching Johnny's eye when you turn. He's resting his cheek against his hand, watching you with a soft sort of smile that makes your stomach flip. You turn around without a glass and have to find something else to keep your hands busy with.

You settle on just touching the tops of bottles, fussing with the placement of glasses, wiping the shelf, whatever you can think of not to look at the man sat across from you.

"There's more grass, mountains with-" Johnny sighs, nostalgic, "-heather growin' on 'em, almost half as bonnie as you. You'll love it."

"I'm perfectly happy here," You tell him, tell yourself. You half expect him to ask if that's true, to push you towards what he wants, but you hear the rustle of his shirt as he shrugs.

"Then we stay here."

You settle your hands on the back bar, push all the feelings you have down through the palms of your hands, as you lean heavy against them. You could dig your nails into the wood, traces every grain and every swirl, and it would never be enough to stop the awful aching longing that this man conjures in you. You've seen him fight, you've seen him spit and swear as he's dragged off by the deputy, you've felt the hard lines of his body pressing you tight to the door as his lips find yours, and you've felt every sting of every proposal since then. You don't know what he's still fighting for. Hasn't he seen every awful facet of you?

"Why do you do that?" You feel the question in your chest more than actually hear it leave your lips. You're sure he'll need clarification, that he has no idea what he could possibly be doing. Men never know what they're doing, never see the hurt they cause, or they do and they keep at it for their own amusement.

"Ahm a good husband."

"I'm serious," You round on him, hope he can see it in your eyes. He raises his brows, sips his drink, pushes his plate your way.

"So am I."

You can see it in his eyes, he's serious.

It terrifies you.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap x reader #cowboy!soap #oc: moon #1870s!Cowboy au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Dirty Work 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: This week is killing me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday sees your second day in your new position. As you send off your letter of resignation to the agency, you can't help the coil that winds tight in your stomach. There's no going back now.

You close out of the several templates you Googled in your efforts. It's the one thing you know how to do. Willa, the friendly librarian who checked out the PC for you, always said, if you can Google, you can figure it out. Still, you feel like there's so much you don't know that you're not sure a search engine can answer.

You close the laptop and take both your phones with you into the hallway. You have to go check out that gazebo and figure out if you need to make a call about it. Oh, and the fridge was beeping when you filled your bottle, you have to call the maintenance number that flashed up too.

That makes you even more anxious. You've never really been the sort for phone calls. You never had anyone to talk to and everything else was easier done in person. Well, you'll have to muddle through. Work isn't supposed to be fun or easy.

As you near the staircase, your flip chimes. You juggle to answer the right phone. The slim touchscreen is set only to buzz, an option not available on the clumsy burner. You answer the call as you stop on the top stair.

The woman on the other end asks for you by name. You confirm your identity as you hear familiar noises in the background. She's a nurse from the downtown hospital.

“I'm calling to confirm your father's discharge tomorrow at noon,” she says over the rustle of paper and clack of keys, “we'll need the bed so if there is any delay, another day would be added to the invoice.”

“I understand, I'll be there, erm… noon. Tomorrow,” you don't have your notebook so you key a reminder into the other phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, miss, we would recommend you arrive earlier. We have some resources and counseling available on what you can expect getting the patient settled at home,” she continues, “nine would be ideal. I'll be able to add a note for the doctor to check in as well.”

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” you squeak, “thank you.”

“Alright then, I have all that logged. You have a good day.”

“You too,” you utter before the line dies.

Phone calls weren't too bad. You think you did okay with that one. Then again, you didn't think! You're supposed to work tomorrow. Mr. Laufeyson said you could take Wednesday off, and tomorrow is only Monday.

You close the flip phone and stare at it. Oh boy. You really don't want to spoil this. Just the mention of the coming invoice underlines your desperation. You need the money. Your dad needs it.

“Are you finished?” Mr. Laufeyson's timbre drawls from down the hall. You glance over as he stands just in the doorway of his study. You gulp.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I didn't mean to disturb–”

“Yet you did,” he insists.

“I was only going to check–”

“Not my concern so long as it's done,” he waves you off, “an important call, I assume, to make such a racket.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, um,” you shove the phones away, one in each of your pockets. “I… could I have the day tomorrow? Instead of Wednesday. My father is getting out of the hospital and–”

“The day? What time?” He snips as he approaches with decisive steps.

“Well, I'm supposed to go at nine,” you explain, “I'll come in Wednesday still.”

“You will come in tomorrow, after all that,” he says. “You can work later then.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, but my father will need help getting settled–”

“Figure it out. You agreed to this schedule–”

“I did but–” you stop yourself as his eyes flare, “I will be here in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“You will be. In the appropriate attire, I expect,” he snarls and spins to strut back to his office, swinging the door shut sharply.

You waver at the hard slam. You didn't mean to anger him. You can't help that your father needs you. You thought Mr. Laufeyson would be more understanding, after all, he's the one who pointed out how much you needed the money.

🧹

Your father shoos you away as you try to help him sit. He lets go of the walker and flops back with a grunt, his oxygen tank clinking against the aid’s metal leg. He coughs and snatches around blindly on the cushion for the remote. You retrieve it from the folding table beside him and put it in his hand.

That agitates him further as he growls and jams down the button to turn on the television. You yawn and back away. You still have a full day left ahead of you, and what feels like one behind you. You spent the night doing some last minute tidying to make sure everything is read for your father.

“Smokes,” he snaps his fingers and hacks.

“Er,” you hesitate. You go to find the half-crushed pack you found with him on the floor. You knew better than to throw it out. You return to him, clutching the package nervously, “Dr. Shearer said–”

“Give it to me,” he demands.

You relent and obey. He’s been doubly miserable than before. You feel like an annoying gnat buzzing around his head as he tries to swat you away.

“I made you meals for the weak. They’re all labeled in the fridge–”

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” he scowls and takes the lighter from the folding table.

“I know, but–”

“But I’m home. You probably hate that,” he sneers, “you’d be happy if I died in that hospital.”

You’re taken aback by the accusation. You gasp and shake your head, “of course not, I’m happy you’re here. That you’re alive–”

“Painfully,” he snorts darkly, “the fuck you keep me here for?”

You take a breath and frown. Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch, “because you're my dad… and I love you,” you croak.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls out a cigarette and moves the tube from below his nose. You watch him, waiting. He lights the smoke and sucks on it eagerly. You drop your head and give a shrug.

“I gotta go to work,” you say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be slamming around when you come in,” he dusts ash over the freshly vacuumed carpet, “doctor said I needa sleep.”

“I won’t,” you promise and back away.

As you leave the room, your chest plummets in dread. You think of coming home, of finding him like you did before, laying on the floor, lifeless. You sniff and swipe away the speckling of tears. More than you want him to love you, you want him to love himself. You don’t just want him to want you around, you want him to be around.

🧹

You hurry up to Mr. Laufeyson’s gate with your kit and water bottle jostling. You fumble around until you find the smartphone and bring up the digits to punch into the code box. You buzz through and shuffle inside. You set off on your usual path around the back.

You stop at the rear door and try to untangle the strap of the water bottle from your kit. Your hand lingers on the front of the ballooning shirt. You still haven’t gone to look for clothes so you did your best with what you had. One of your father’s forgotten button-ups and a pair of pants that could pass in an office. It’s ill-fitting and scratch but better than jeans.

You get inside and leave your kit in the closet. Today’s a cleaning day but you have a few things to check off the schedule first. With your water bottle bouncing on your hip, you go upstairs and scurry down to the library.

As you enter, you’re surprised to discover the space less than empty. You apologise aloud and choke on the word, ‘mister’. It isn’t the house’s single resident as you expect, no, this figure could not be more different than Mr. Laufeyson. You recognise them, from the dinner.

The blond man faces you as he stands by the window, the drapes open to add the peculiarity of the situation. Like the man, the space is golden with sunlight. You lean back on your heel as you clutch the door handle.

“Hello,” he grins as he greets you in a playful demeanour. You can’t answer. You don’t know if you should.

Is it rule one; don’t speak unless permitted; or the other rule, do not disturb my guests. You can’t figure out the riddle so you languish in perplexity.

“Aren’t you a sweet little lamb,” he muses as he steps away from the window, placing his hands on the back of the dimpled leather chair. His large hands. If you thought Mr. Laufeyson was tall, this man is even taller and twice as wide. “I remember you. The sweet maid.”

You blink. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? You can’t speak. You’re too terrified; not just of the strange man but of the one you know by name. Your employer would be unhappy to know you spoke out of turn.

“Have you seen my brother at all?” He prompts disregarding your stagnant silence. “Has he spoken of me? His brother? I'm Thor.”

You look down at your hand on the door handle.

“And what is your name?” He asks.

You don’t answer. You know it’s not right but you have no other choice. You pull the door shut and close the man in. You retreat in a half-sprint and barrel back down the stairs. You trip at the bottom and barely save yourself from stumbling to your knees.

You latch onto the banister post to keep your balance and catch your breath. You hear the door above. Oh no, would he follow you? Another door clicks and you look up to find a shadow on the other side of the frosted glass framed in the front entrance.

Mr. Laufeyson steps inside coolly, unbothered as swings the door shut and tugs on the lapel of his suit jacket. His eyes fall on you and he scuffs on his sole, tilting his head in curiosity. You didn’t realise he hadn’t even been there. You look at the ceiling with wide eyes; so how was the other man inside?

“Well, there you are,” he says matter-of-factly, “this place is sore in need of a dusting–”

Laufeyson is interrupted by a clamour of footsteps above. You let go of the banister and sidle away as his green eyes flick to the top to the staircase. You shy away and listen as the man descends in a series of thunder thumps. You turn to peek down the hall, wanting to hide in your chores.

“Stay,” Laufeyson commands. You turn back to him as he points at your feet. You stop in place and sway. He faces his visitor as he comes to the bottom stair, “brother, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Can I not come see my baby brother?” The other man; the stranger; his brother, called Thor, booms.

“You may, when you warn me of it,” Laufeyson rebuffs.

“Ah, don’t be so grim,” Thor claps his shoulders and is swiftly shrugged off, “this place is always so dark. I hope you don’t mind, I opened a few windows.”

“I do mind,” Laufeyson says, “you do always presume.”

“And you are always offer such a warm welcome,” he tries to tap Laufeyson’s cheek but is batted away. The dark of the brothers backs up with a scoff. “Ah, and there she is. I was only just coming to find the little maid. She rushed off so suddenly–”

“You don’t need to bother with her,” Laufeyson dismissed with a slice of his hand through the air, “maid,” he points at you again, “back to work.”

You lean back on your heel, ready to disappear.

“Ah, don’t be so rude, brother. She is sweet. You get more bees with honey–”

“Do not tell me how to run my house,” Laufeyson growls, an edge in his voice you’ve never heard before. Dangerous and dark.

“Is she not doing you a service? A please would be appropriate–”

“You are not mother. I don’t need you to mind my manners,” Laufeyson girds and nears his brother, unflinching even as he comes up a few inches short of chest to chest, “nor do you need to worry for my staff. She does not take orders from you.”

“And I suppose that’s all she gets from you,” Thor chuckles.

You furrow your brow, stunned by their spat. You’re not quite sure what that last bit meant. You work for Mr. Laufeyson so of course he would tell you what to do. And why are they so volatile? They’re brothers. You don’t have any siblings but you always wanted one. So that you had a friend. So you weren’t alone.

“Maid, go,” Laufeyson repeats, “now.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. You quickly turn and rush down the hall to the closet. You’re shaking as you try to sort out one phone from the other and find the old list of tasks. You can hardly steady your hands to get a pair of gloves on.

You take your time in the back of the house as you hear the men’s footfalls climb the staircase. You let your nerves settle just a little. You’re alone, for now, and your mission is simple. Clean and stay unseen.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #dirty work #maid au #au #series #avengers #thor #mcu #marvel

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unreliablesnake · 6 months

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Reunion (Simon Riley x reader)

Simon wasn’t a huge fan of the school reunions that some of his old friends organized every few years. Usually he wasn’t even around to attend them. But he kept track of some people on social media, although this was something he would have denied without hesitation.

His main target was you. He knew about everything you shared, he saw the photos, he saw the cheesy posts about your life. About your perfect husband.

Because that guy was perfect based on the photos, your posts, the comments from friends and family, and his own profile. Tall, handsome, successful, popular, coming from a good family, and apparently he was so madly in love with you that Simon felt like throwing up every time he saw one of his declarations of love.

Back in the day, during those terrible teenage years, he had wanted to ask you out on a date. But with his background, he always felt like he wasn’t enough for you. You talked to him, yes, but it usually felt like an empty, polite chat instead of a deep conversation.

So when he went grocery shopping one day, he was surprised to meet you in the parking lot. His first reaction was to look away and act like he didn’t recognize you. You wouldn’t remember him anyway, and since you were still a beautiful woman, men looking at you should be nothing new for you.

But his whole body froze when he heard you call after him. “Simon? Simon Riley? Is that you?” He slowly turned around and watched you without a word. Sure, he nodded, even smiled a little, but he didn’t want to look desperate to talk to you. “Oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Before he knew it, you were wrapping your arms around him in a warm hug. He didn’t even know what to do. You were a married woman in the middle of a crowded parking lot, anyone could see you hugging a man who wasn’t your husband.

“You never come to the reunions, you’re inactive on social media… I know nothing about what you do these days,” you said with a pout after you playfully punched his chest. “The last thing I heard is that you joined the SAS. Are you still there?”

Who the hell had told you that? Whoever it was, they deserved a punch in the face. But it was water under the bridge, you already knew the truth. “Yeah, that's my life now,” he replied with a nod. “And what about you? What do you do these days?”

He listened to you giving him the answer with wide, happy gestures, and he couldn't hold back the smile that crept on his lips. You were so nice, so alive, so different from the people he was surrounded by. Maybe it was nostalgia making him see you in such a way, but he didn't really care about the why.

Having you in his life again, even if for just a few minutes, made him happy, made him wish you would stick around. He wanted to spend more time with you, although he knew you weren't available. But you could be friends, right? There were no rules stating a man and a woman couldn't be friends.

You suddenly looked down at your phone and cursed under your breath. “I'm late. It was so nice to see you again, Simon,” you said with a wide smile as you unlocked the phone and gave it to him. “Can I get your number? I might check in every now and then. You know, just to know you're okay, even if you don't attend the reunions.”

Oh, he was more than happy to give you his number. Once he gave back the device, you quickly called him so he would have your number as well. “Don't get lost,” he told you with a smirk.

“I won't,” you promised.

Yet you disappeared. He expected you to call him, to send a text, but there was nothing in the following months.

Being deployed and being focused on the mission he was on made things a little easier. He didn't spend every moment of the day thinking about you, thinking about whether or not it was him who did something stupid that made you change your mind. Price noticed that something was wrong with him, but when Simon refused to explain, he gave up trying.

And then, just one week before he was supposed to go home, your name showed up on the screen. At first he thought it was a mistake and you would end the call right away. But it kept ringing, so he took a deep breath and picked up.

“Hey, Simon. You got a minute?” you asked cheerfully.

------

Note: Thanks for reading. I don't have a taglist. If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button.

#do you wanna reader more?#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #modern warfare #call of duty #mw2 #mw3 #the last question is from itsv #i needed that ending

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kutikuzushi · 4 months

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Hey! Can you please write a Dr. Ratio x male/gn clumsy reader? Headcannons or one-shot is fine- whatever is easier for you!!

dr. ratio x gn!reader

a/n: hello! my requests are closed atm but since i'm not busy and i love dr. ratio with all my heart i decided to do this anyway! but please make sure to check my request status before sending any ^^

Dr. Ratio would find your clumsiness a tad bit amusing. He would find himself watching you flail and fumble over mundane tasks when he had the time to, of course, not always. He's a busy man after all.

Dr. Ratio finds this flaw of yours annoying at times, especially when he needs your assistance with something and your clumsiness gets in the way of it. Though, he would never get mad at you, besides a passing comment on your clumsiness here and there.

Dr. Ratio scolds you if you end up hurting yourself due to your clumsiness, perhaps finding it a bit amusing too. He would tell you that it's your fault for being careless and that you should take care of yourself more. Though he'd still tend to your injuries besides all that.

Dr. Ratio doesn't get too mad at you when you break things, surprisingly, or not. He does show mild irritation but seeing how apologetic and sorry you are shows him that you didn't mean your actions. He wouldn't see the point in getting mad at someone who was already mad enough at themselves. So he would just stick to a slight warning and a scolding.

Dr Ratio looked down at you, then at the extremely expensive— priceless even, artefact that was broken on the ground beside you. It was an accident, he could tell, from the tears in your eyes and the shakiness of your breaths. Also, the rapid apologies that kept spilling from your lips like a mantra.

He would've been mad, he had every right to be. You'd both only broken something of high quality, extremely rare, but also crucial research material. However, he felt as if scolding you would be pointless, considering how upset you already were. He didn't want to deal with your tears any more than he had to.

"Hey, calm down..." Dr. Ratio wasn't the best at comforting... He was an Intelligentsia Guild member, not a babysitter after all. Nonetheless, he tried to soothe your cries with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"There's no point in crying about something you already did," He tells you, dismissing the mess you caused for the sake of your health. It would do him no good to have you an emotional mess.

"Yes, you broke something very important, but it was an accident, right?" He asks you, and in turn, you nod rapidly, rubbing your eyes with your hands as you attempt to recollect yourself, only half successful.

"I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot..." You say as you sniffle, looking down at the ground, to his feet, unable to make eye contact. You felt too ashamed to, your clumsiness had caused yet another issue you didn't know how to fix.

"You're not an idiot," Dr. Ratio states flatly, grabbing your chin between his fingers, and tilting your head up to look at him, "A clumsy fool? Yes. An idiot? Far from it."

It was a backhanded compliment, yes. But you'd learnt to take those comments from him with some pride.

"Just be more careful next time, you're lucky that it's only me scolding you," Dr. Ratio states firmly with a soft hit on top of your head, "If it were anyone else they would've been a lot more mad."

"Mhm... Okay, I'll try," You answer with a small nod, wiping away your tears with your hands, slowly calming yourself down. Dr. Ratio seemed pleased that you were no longer a shaking, crying mess.

"Great, now let's get your hands cleaned up..." Dr. Ratio's words seemed to trail off for a moment, causing you to pause and look up at him in slight confusion, "I don't want you getting any blood on anything."

You couldn't help but smile a little bit. He cares about you, though he doesn't show it often. He does.

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qqueenofhades · 3 months

Note

Last anon here -- I'm sorry for sending that message through. I don't know what is and isn't true anymore.

I deleted what I presume was your first ask (the one accusing me of not condemning the Gaza genocide and calling me a "DNC shill and a liar") because it was rude, uncalled for, and I couldn't see any good to come of engaging with it. However, because you've returned and apologized and sent this followup, I am willing to answer it, because I am aware that we can all do stupid things (especially on the internet) that we regret. So there is that.

Once again: I have strictly limited my posts/reblogs on this topic because it is so inflammatory, there are reams of people willing to attack you on every side, and none of it is actually constructive (this is the blue hellsite where we have two whole jokes about Ea-Nasir and color theory in children's hospitals. We are not doing important social justice work here and expecting this to be the main/only forum in which we post the Correct Opinions is not going to work out for anyone). But I would like, for the record, to point out that I have condemned the situation in Gaza and explicitly called it a genocide and Netanyahu and co. war criminals. Often and repeatedly:

Ask from October 28, 2023:

What’s happening to the Gazans right now is no qualification or equivocation, a genocide. It should rightfully be opposed and called what it is. But unfortunately, I have spent too much time around Western Online Leftists to believe they actually care a whit about stopping genocide as a fundamental principle, and only want to be seen to loudly care about what their Ideology has told them to care about. [...] To put it bluntly, those genocides are being committed by nation-states that Online Leftists like for being “anti-Western,” and therefore their activities are actually fine and should even need to be defended.

Another post from December 2023 explicitly calling out Netanyahu and his cabinet, while also pointing out that Tumblr's response now mostly consisted of antisemitic dogwhistles and rampant political misinformation:

[...] the way Netanyahu is personally a genocidal maniac with a far-right cabinet of war criminals and is bent on continuing the war in order to escape his own criminal prosecutions (and yes, he is HIGHLY affiliated with Trump and Putin) but this somehow still does not remotely justify or excuse the rampant frothingly mindless and generalized anti-Semitism seen everywhere on leftist spaces these days [....]

An ask from January 10th, 2024 (worth probably reading in full) where I once more say that nobody wants this to be happening, but that once again, the criticism in Western leftist forums (particularly Tumblr/Twitter) is not made equally or in good faith :

Nobody of basic good sense and decency wants to see Gaza leveled while the Israeli state continues to apply a number of violently cruel collective punishments even outside the actual daily bombing of civilians. But for the love of god, let’s get rid of the idea that the continued mindless violence doesn’t benefit Hamas (because it does; unsurprisingly, sympathy for their cause has soared in Gaza) as much as it does Israel, or that Hamas is some kind of benevolent peacemaker that is being thwarted by the cruel imperialist US/West.

This post, also from January 2024, explains why the kind of stunt-trick "pro Palestinian" activism that just relies on publicly hassling Jews is a) antisemitic and b) actively harming the people of Gaza, while once again pointing out whose fault this whole mess actually is:

If these people actually wanted to advocate constructively for Palestine in a good-faith way and not just punish random Jews or people who might have once met a Jew (which they don’t), they would take a look at that, go “hmm, this isn’t really getting the right result” and listen to the people who are telling them that by generating this bad publicity, they are doing far more harm to the cause than good. They are going to make the cause look foolish, they will drive away anyone who isn’t already radicalized, they will shut down any possibility of discussion and dialogue, and their efforts will be picked up in the Israeli nationalist right-wing media/Netanyahu and his war criminal advisors to insist to left-wing or anti-zionist Jews that (one of the, you know, big fucking reasons Israel was founded in the first place) they aren’t safe in any other country in the world, and they need to support the Israeli government’s actions, no matter how heinous.

A follow-up from January 31, 2024, discussing (again) the problems with insisting that Biden personally/the American power apparatus is just giving Israel a blank check and therefore Biden Iz Bad And This is All His Fault:

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn’t doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell.

I am a historian. This does not mean that I always know The Greatest Things Ever, but it does mean that I default toward long, cautious, and qualified responses where I try to consider multiple perspectives and nuances, rather than just posting pithy soundbites or black-and-white statements. (Yes, I know; I am doomed on social media.) Thus when I do discuss the situation, I tend toward trying to put it in broader context, to push back sharply against the idea that being "pro Palestine" is just being wildly antisemitic on social media and nothing else, and to call out those bad actors who are using this situation to continue to imperil American democracy and deliberately try to get Trump (who openly hankers to be a genocidal fascist dictator for everyone, not just Israel/Palestine) back into office.

I know that this is a situation which provokes (to say the least) strong emotions from everyone. I know that it's infuriating to feel totally helpless and just to have to watch it from afar. I know that we all wish we could stop it and that leads us to create meaning or assign importance to our own actions where there actually is none. But that does not mean that people have total liberty to spread antisemitic conspiracy theories, wild political misinformation, narratives designed whether unwittingly or deliberately to help Trump and other far-right fascists, and otherwise anonymously dogpile on people who haven't Posted The Correct Opinion on Tumblr (once again, Tumblr, where we get our news via Destiel meme). So I hope this has helped you, if this is what you wanted to get out of contacting me today, and hope also that you'll continue to think about what to do and how to act. It's hard, I know, and you have my sympathy. But so it is for us all.

#anonymous #ask #history #politics for ts #israel hamas war

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mrstraffy · 3 months

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Well i was playing character AI and suddenly boom...i feel like writing a fanfiction😭✌️as always, I'm so sorry if there's some grammar errors and I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story of mine😘.

DISCLAIMER: ONE PIECE IS NOT MINE AND THIS IS ONLY FOR FUN🫰

WARNING: SLIGHT AGE GAP. DON'T WORRY IT'S 6 YEARS ONLY<3 PLUS LAW IS A BIT OUT OF CHARACTER BUT...ITS FANFICTION SO....YEAHH🤣

History Teacher

Trafalgar Law x reader

It was the second week of September. The month you dreaded the most as it would also mean that the final exam are nearing. Yet you still can't seem to focus in your history classes that you're in right now. The teacher kept on talking about the world war and your country's history but all of that doesn't matter to you at all. Well, how can you pay attention to what he is saying when his existence alone make you fall into the state of a daze?

Mr. Trafalgar, or his full name Trafalgar D Water Law, the first time you lay your eyes on him you can't help but fell so hard for him. In your eyes he was stunning and perfect in every way despite his cold behaviour.

His name send shiver down to your spine and the way his voice sounded like a melody in your ears, or the way his eyes seemed to be your favourite mirror. Just looking at his hand make you knew that those arm gonna be your favourite places and you long for his love. Damn, you adore him too much. However, deep down you knew that it's impossible for the two of you. You know that he won't consider you as a partner. But a little bit of plot twists won't hurt right? Alas, its fate's nature to play with people.

"Does anyone have a question?" His voice makes you wake up from your daydream. You look around and no one seems to have a question. Either they understand the lesson well enough or they just don't know anything at all, who knows?. And it seems that you're the latter one. That's what you get when you don't pay attention in class. Despite this ,you don't know what possessed you when your raised you hand. "Yes Y/N?" Instantly you regretted your decision. " Sir I have a very important question." You said with determination. "Go ahead Y/N". As you gather all you courage, you ask, " what is the difference between history and you?" You know that your question is stupid but you wanted to take the opportunity to flirt with him✨. Well, you need to make the first move if you want to chase your dream, right?

"What an absurd question you've got there Y/N. Well, as far as I'm concerned, history is something that happened in the past. As for me, I'm a person, a living thing that need shelter,water, food, and air to breathe in order to survive." Law said, trying to answer your question the best that he could. "I can't say your answer is wrong sir, but there is a shorter and simpler answer to that question." You replied to him with a hint of mischievousness in your tone. "Why don't you lighten me up then, dear Y/N." He retorted. The moment you heard him call you dear, you swear that you felt like you're not touching the ground anymore. But you need to focus on the task in your hand. "History is in the past. But you sir, you are my future" you said with a small smile grazing you lips. Upon hearing your statement the whole class was turned into a chaos. Teasing both you and Law. You even hear some of your classmates saying things like, " brave girl" and " so, they're into older man huh?" But you could careless about what they're saying as your teacher's reaction is more important. If you don't look carefully you might not notice that there is a hint of blush on his cheek. But amusement is clear on his face that its surpassed the blush.

"Alright class, that's enough" hearing this, your classmates shut up almost in an instant. "As for you Y/N, I admit it that's a good answer. And i don't mind making it a dream come true for you." And once again the classroom erupted into another chaos. Unbeknownst to you, your teacher have always put you in a special place in his heart. The first time the both of you lock eyes, the cupid has played his part. Shooting the both of you with his arrow. However, the hesitation from both sides makes it hard for the two of you to unite. The role as a teacher and student makes it a challenge for the both of you as it is forbidden for a teacher to have relationship with their students to avoid unfairness between students.

Law could careless about that as he can quit being a teacher for you. Since you've made your first move, well he might as well work on his plan now that he know you're attracted to him. That's how the two of you started your journey together. How the two of you faces challenges and judgement from other people together. You guys would always have each other back no matter what the obstacles is. After all, what kind of future it is if one of you is not in the picture.

A.N: a little bit cringe but pls bare with me.

Also, I think law as our daddy...(you know what kind of daddy) is *cough* HOTT🥵

Btw that's all from me byeee👋

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece fanfiction #daddy law x reader #law x reader #one piece character #one piece character x reader #fluff #one piece fluff #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar one piece #Trafalgar D Water Law x reader #trafalgar law fluff

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sulumuns-dootah · 5 months

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27.12. Lucifer - Christmas cards (18+)

༺☆༻

A/N: So we've made it to the end ^^ Hope you had an awesome holidays! Thx for your support on this event and just a reminder: my requests are open for anybody! Oh and Happy New Year, guys! ^^

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

₊˚⊹.* The Yule festival of Hell *.⊹˚₊

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊‧

༺☆༻

Lucifer never liked celebrating Christmas for a rather obvious reason. Of course you want to respect that, but you just hate to see him be miserable while everyone around him is celebrating. Or worse yet, celebrate yourself while he's just hiding in his dark chambers.

So this year you've decided to help him take his mind off everything and just enjoy the cozy atmosphere of the season. Yes, you decorated, but you've made a point to exclude all religious imagery. That proved to be easier task than in the human world.

Currently you're sitting together and watching some movies about Santa Claus, since that's the only Christmas genre where religion isn't shoved down anyone's throat. There's a plate of cookies you've made together on the conference table in front of you. Finding out that Lucifer is an amazing baker was a welcomed surprise for the both of you.

Suddenly you're interrupted from your watching by Morax, knocking on the inside of the door leading to the living room. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've been asked to deliver you all these Christmas cards immediately.”

Lucifer seems annoyed, so you answer instead of him: “Sure! You can set them on the table, here. Oh, and take some cookies for you and Buer with Marbas.”

Morax courtly sets down the bag full of Christmas wishes and takes three gingerbread creatures from the plate you're holding up to him. You can tell he's cautious, not wanting to aggravate Lucifer.

“Happy holidays, Your Majesty.” he takes his leave with a bow.

“I... don't want these.” Lucifer sighs sadly once Morax is out of sight and earshot.

“Okay. I'll just go through them and write down the names of demons to which I'll then send a thank you note. You can just continue watching and I'll take care of everything.” you kiss his cheek and open the bag. The cards come flooding out of it and you're already starting to regret your decision.

Equipped with a pen and a notepad you tell yourself that you won't read any of those actual wishes or you'll be writing down names until the next year. That proves to be hard as many demons hide their names in the actual wishes or don't sign them at tall.

Yet still everything goes well, until you get to a Christmas card from the Red Lump family. It has a photo of almost every member on the front of it. Despite all the red lumps you're able to find Ppyong immediately. He's happily grinning while holding something that looks like a chocolate bar.

The sight itself puts a smile on your face too. You open the card to read its contents. This family deserves their holiday wishes read since they're the ones who helped you settle in after your initial arrival to Hell. The happy scribbling inside is so adorable and somehow every family member managed to write something on the rather small space of paper.

Smiling even wider, some tears swell in your eyes and you chuckle to yourself. This doesn't go without notice from Lucifer. His eyes are immediately trained on your face. You're tearing up. You might even cry from how cute the card is. Are you gonna cry?

Lucifer is now breathing heavily. The sight of your glossed over eyes makes him wish for more and rushes most of his blood south. If the card isn't gonna make you cry, he for sure will. Either with pleasure or pain, he doesn't care.

You notice his stare and quickly realise your mistake. His face is red and his chest is hevaing up and down. All of this only from tearing up.

In the blink of an eye you're pinned do the seat underneath you and Lucifer's face is so close to yours, you can feel his hot exhales and freezing inhales. He's looking you in the eyes, maybe for more tears to come out. His slender hands start travelling over your body and one of them grips you by your neck. The other hoists your leg around his hip.

“M-more tears... Give me more tears.” he demands and slowly grinds his growing boner onto your thigh, reminding you how huge he is.

“L-luci!” you mewl out and blink your eyes to allow the previous glossiness to turn into tears. Maybe he will go easier on you?

“More!” he starts tearing both of your clothes off.

With both your bodies naked, you realise what Lucifer intents to do and a slight panic takes over your body. More tears running down your cheeks only seem to rile him up more.

“Luci! You're way too big. There's no way it would fit!” you plea in your panicked state, which seems to hinder the demon above you. He stops for a moment and then quickly takes your leg off his hip, joining it with your other leg.

Holding your legs together he pushes himself between your thighs, making sure to at least slide along your pussy since he can't be inside. You're the only person he's let in since his fall and he doesn't want to injure you.

The sight you get is slightly awkward and yet still hot. Lucifer kneeling with your legs over his shoulder and the tip popping up between your thigh as he deliciously drags against your clit.

“Cry some more pretty tears for me, Y/N.” Lucifer asks, now slightly more composed than before and reaches down to stroke your cheeks, still sticky with the previous tears.

Still overcoming the initial panic, shedding a few more tears is an easy task and yo you allow yourself to cry a little bit. Seeing just a few more droplets makes Lucifer speed his grinding up as he's holding your legs together in a slightly painful hold.

You're getting close and accidentally let out few sobs, which seems to excite the demon above you even more and soon enough your thigh are getting pounded, bringing you faster to climax than you'd expect from this position.

And sure enough, you do come within a few moments which makes you tense your thighs up and in turn trigger Lucifer's orgasm.

“C-can I taste your tears?” the demon pulls out from between your thighs still hard and bends down to intently stare into your eyes, awaiting an answer.

༺☆༻

But wait, this demon also has a gift for you!

"You're the only light in my life since my fall. You deserve to wear a halo more than me."

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb lucifer #whb smut #the yule festival of hell

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aviationtothemax · 3 months

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What are You Trying to Teach Them?

Just needed a thing where Ice puts Cyclone in his place. ..sorta, because Ice chooses to have self control.

But no one messes with Iceman's wingman.

"How long until the mission?" Ice asks, piercing eyes flicking between the two.

"Two weeks, sir." They both say.

Ice taps his hand against his thigh once, looking past their shoulders at the door. He needed to get these two to work together if this mission had even the slightest chance of succeeding. So he asked, "What are you teaching them?"

Maverick remains stock still- that was kind of concerning to Ice. Cyclone speaks before him, probably assuming it was for him to answer, as he outranked the Captain. "Currently, we're showing them the course, sir. Studying the layouts and twists. They'll be in the air tomorrow, sir."

Ice gives him a curt nod. He already knew that, Simpson. "And what are you trying to teach them?"

Cyclone looks confused for a moment. "Sir..?"

Ice stares at him expectantly and feels a rush of satisfaction when he shifts uncomfortably. Maverick still hasn't moved.

"How to run this course, sir. How to complete the mission." Cyclone says, confusion clear in his eyes. Ice hums quietly and turns his piercing gaze to Mav expectantly.

Maverick doesn't meet his eyes and instead stares past his left ear.

And so it was a matter of who would bend first, as it had been from the moment they met at Top Gun in '86. And it sure as hell wasn't going to be Ice this time because he had a point to get across. But he also knew this could last a while, so he pushed because they didn't have the time to butt heads.

"Maverick?"

"Sir."

Ice's eyebrow raised ever so slightly, knowing very well that Mav knew what he wanted and could read him better than just about anyone. And Mav never actually called him sir unless it was he was in front of a crowd.

"Mitchell."

Maverick kept staring past Ice's left ear at the wall. Stubborn son of a bitch.

"I assigned you to this mission for a reason."

Maverick nodded ever so slightly. So, he wasn't going to talk.

"What are you trying to teach these kids, Captain?"

Mav was silent for a few more seconds before he finally said, "Just as Admiral Simpson said, sir."

Ice felt his blood boil at the slightly smug look on Simpson's face. He hated how Mav's rep made every single CO above him so prejudiced. Maverick had so much to give, but no one to see it and Ice hated it. That was why he fought so hard for the little shit. Life was so unfair to him.

"No, Mav. Why did I assign you?" Ice asked him, letting the formalities slip a bit.

Maverick started slowly shaking his head, and that's when Ice saw it: the glassy look in his eyes. Shit, he should've checked in sooner. He'd known this assignment would hurt. "I don't know, sir."

Ice sighed. "Maverick."

"I don't know." He repeated.

Ice let him collect himself before speaking again. "You're the only pilot in the last thirty years to shoot down three MiGs."

"I know that." Mav said. "And it seems to be about the only justification for me being here. You just can't find anyone else because this mission is impossible. Ice, why are you making me send these kids to their death?" Send Bradley to his death?

Cyclone looked a little taken aback at how the captain talked back to the COMPACFLT, but neither of them took any notice.

"I am not making you send them to their deaths, Maverick, you're their only hope. I want you to teach them, increase their chances of coming home. You've pulled so many impossible, crazy stunts, brought back so many pilots that the Navy was ready to give up on. They need you, Mav."

Mav shook his head again, darting a hand up to wipe his cheek as a tear escaped. "I'm not enough, Ice."

"Yes you are. You're the only person who can make this happen."

"Why can't you?" Mav asked quietly. It wasn't meant to be defensive, it was a simple question that implied, 'you're better than me, how can I possibly be more qualified?'

"Because I wasn't the one that saved all those pilots, even if it was against orders, pulled off all of those crazy-ass, reckless stunts that give me gray hair and a few more stacks of paperwork. I wasn't the one that saved our asses in the Layton mission and then every mission we flew together after. I've always hated to say it out loud, and you know it, but we do need more pilots like you. Ones that care. You care about those kids, don't you?"

He didn't answer, but the way he cast his eyes down was plenty affirmation. Ice gripped his shoulder and ducked his head to try to meet his friend's eyes.

"Then teach them how to come home, Mav."

"Okay." Mav said. He finally looked up into his eyes and Ice offered him a small smile. Mav nodded curtly, once. "Okay."

"That's my wingman."

"Bullshit." Mav said with a small smile of his own.

Ice chuckled.

#actually cyclone creates great drama situations #if he wasnt so biased he could be a good guy #top gun maverick fanfic #Top Gun: Maverick #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #beau cyclone simpson

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snickerdoodlles · 19 days

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WIP game

i was tagged by @doyou000me and @the-cookie-of-doom to do this, so let's gooo. please send in asks, i love these games, but i will also be answering these during breaks as i catch up on work, so it might take me a bit to respond (but i will respond to all of them!)

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

*as i said, i'm doing this as i catch up on work and so i will be breaking both rules myself, but for whoever else i tag that wants them! 😂 i will also be breaking the third unofficial rule because i have more WIPs than just kinnporsche, but. idk. i might put a few at the end, but some require a lot of context to explain and meh

ANYWAYS:

idiots & idioms (series): --[pot stirring] (vegas youtube) --[worms???] (series finale)

talk shit, get hit (series): --porsche coda --kimchay joongle --[king's knight]

fake omegaverse

heart burdened

Insatiable (*cw: incest)

Single Star Review

The Lives of Mr. Gold (*gone fishing fic off-shoot)

timeloop

Your Presence Surrounds

i also have more story ideas for Vampire Thrall (vampire!kim) and Hoarding for Beginners (dragon!chay). mostly horny stuff tho.

as for non-kp stuff uhh. jeff cinematic universe is like...too much to explain lol, but i have a WIP for wuju bakery (yes, the one that's STILL NOT OUT) you can ask about! i also have a lot of bad buddy stuff that's been haunting me, waiting for the right mood to strike. i dont want to list those out here, but you can ask about any incomplete fic/series from my AO3 or [grasshoppers and elephants] fic! ^^b

uhhh gonna tag some writing friends i recognize from my recent notifications. i am so sorry if i accidentally tag someone who isn't a writer here lol, but tagging: @iworshipsappho @faillen @semantics-error @moondal514 @kumeko @fawndlyvenus @lori0018 @alanblackthrone @sweet-william-writes @technicallyburninggarden @okaybutlikemakeitgay @vyther16 and anyone else who's been waiting for a tag to do this ❤

#you know what i should really start #a post for anyone who wants to be tagged in tag/ask games #one like = guarantee to get annoyed by me via tags and/or asks in the future lmao #ANYWAYS #partial wip list to save my brain during work! wheeeeee #(i promise i will catch up on my other asks while doing these too jhghjg sorry friends ive been v busy lately >.<)

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lionizingheathen · 2 years

Text

Take it Out on Me- G.W.

Ginny Weasley x Fem!Reader

Helping Ginny unwind from a stressful quidditch practice

Warnings: Smut, Dom!Ginny, Sub!Reader, Slightly Public Setting, Vaginal Fingering, Degredation

"You're so pretty like this love, you were made to take my fingers." Ginny murmured, biting down hard on your earlobe as she continued to thrust her fingers in quickly, making you whimper against the wall as you dug your fingers into the stone, feeling the cool of it pressed against your face.

"Fuck..." You whined, and Ginny chuckled darkly, biting down on your shoulder as she added a third finger to join the first two, curling inside of you. Your mouth dropped open as she continued her brutal pace, making you squeeze your eyes shut... God, you'd never recover from this. There couldn't be an after her.

"You've got such a fucking mouth on you, quiet the hell down." She snapped, and you shook your head, letting it fall back against the wall as she continued to fuck you hard. You reached down and rubbed at your own clit, groaning softly when you felt how swollen it was.

"Can't... Too good..." You moaned, and you heard her let out a full laugh, yanking your hair hard, pulling your head back with it. She licked up the side of your neck, making you shiver. Something about the way she did this, the way she fucked the life out of you while still in her practice clothes, you thought about it for days, waiting for the next time that someone pissed her off.

"Merlin, you're such a whore... you were practically begging for this, you know? Watching me from the stands, giving me those eyes... you know what you did. You always know what you did and yet you keep doing it. You know why?" She asked, and you swallowed heavily, pressing your hips and ass back against her, giving her a better angle to massage inside of you, making your head lull back against her shoulder before she shoved it foreward, pressing your face into the stone. It would be humiliating if anyone walked in and saw this, saw Ginny Weasley fucking you senseless against the wall of the lockerroom, but you couldn't help but love it.

"Why?" You gasped, and Ginny's fingers stopped moving as she responded to you. No. You whimpered, trying to force her to move, but she held strong, pressing you against the rock as she spoke.

"Because you like when I take it out on you. It makes you feel good, isn't that right?" Ginny asked, sounding almost like she was gloating. You pouted then, pouted at the way she'd stilled her fingers. You ground your hips down, swiveling them in an attempt to get the same pleasure that she had been giving you, but you couldn't replicate it. Fuck.

"Gin, please..." You gasped, but she didn't respond to that.

"I asked you a question, now answer it." Ginny growled, and you nodded on instinct, feeling her fingers start to move again. You let out a breath of relief, and decided to vocalize your answer to her question, lest she stop again.

"Yes! I love it, please fuck me harder! Faster!" You begged, and Ginny let out another breathless laugh, increasing her pace to the point of making you breathless, making your insides practically turn to fire.

"Merlin, everyone's gonna know what we're doing in here, love. Is that what you want?" Ginny asked, and you nodded frantically. Yes. Yes, you wanted that. You were hers, that was something that everyone needed to be aware of, otherwise you'd lose your mind.

"Want 'em to know I'm yours." You responded.

"Possessive, are we?" She asked, and you nodded. God, who wouldn't be? Ginny was amazing.

"Yes!" She loved hearing that. You knew she did, she told you as much.

"Good. I'm yours, babe. But more importantly, you're mine." She said, her tone boardering on dangerous. You nodded frantically. Yes. 100% yes, you were hers.

"All yours."

"That's right. You can take another finger, can't you?" Ginny asked, and your eyes widened. You'd only ever taken three from her like this, another one would surely send you right over the edge.

"That's... That's a lot." You said, and Ginny didn't seem bothered by that, leaning forward to your shoulder.

"Yeah." She bit you again. "But you can take it." She murmured, and she slipped another finger insde of you, making you gasp at the intrusion. Your cunt was burning at the stretch and you whimpered, feeling yourself get closer just by that. She was ruining you.

"Fuck! Oh my God." You whined, feeling her curl her fingers inside of you. You could hear how wet you were, and feel the way you were dripping onto her palm and it made your cheeks burn. That was only increased by Ginny's pleased sort of chuckle.

"You're soaking my hand, babe." Ginny murmured, and you gasped, your mouth dropping open as you spread your legs further, pressing your chest firmly against the wall, trying to give Ginny better access. She was so deep.

"Gonna cum... so close..." You whined, and Ginny hummed her approval, finally seeing your fingers working against your clit.

"Keep rubbing your clit, baby. You're gonna cum on my hand." Ginny murmured, and you nodded, rubbing harder at your clit, making your vision narrow into a slit as you felt yourself reaching the edge, felt pressure building like a band in your lower stomach. Ginny's pace only got more brutal, both harder and faster to a point where you wondered if she'd cast some kind of spell on her hand to keep herself from cramping... that was the only thing that made an iota of sense.

"I... I..." You felt the band snap in your stomach, making your legs buckle against the wall as you let out a high moan. Ginny's free hand clapped over your mouth as she continued her brutal pace, forcing you straight into another one as you clawed at the wall, only being held up by the fingers that were fucking it's way in and out of you. Once you came down from your second orgasm, Ginny removed her fingers, making you slump against the ground, your face pressed against the side of her leg. She ran her fingers through your hair, making you look up at her. Her smile was soft, and her expression was warm... your girlfriend was back.

"Merlin, you look godly doing that, you know?" She asked, and you licked your lips, getting up on shaky knees to press Ginny against the wall, yanking at the waistband of her pants.

"Wanna return the favor." You said, and she went to bat your hands away, taking your chin in her hand to look at you with concern, shaking her head.

"You don't have to do that-." That wasn't it. You didn't do anything because you had to, you did it because you wanted to.

"Let me."

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fluff #harry potter smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter self insert #ginny weasley #ginny weasley fanfiction #ginny weasley fanfic #ginny weasley smut #ginny weasely fluff #ginny weasley x reader #ginny weasley x you #ginny weasley x y/n #wlw #wlw smut

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light-of-the-two-trees · 1 month

Text

A draft scene from a long, daunting AU that I hope to one day fully write, in which Miriel survives to give birth to all five of Finwe's children (meaning they are full siblings), and Feanor is also the third of five children rather than the eldest, younger than Fingolfin.

(The happier timeline of two even for this AU, in which I don't make things play out just as they do in canon regardless of the changes as I want to in the sadder timeline. The birth order for the Finweans here is Findis (not so named), Fingolfin, Feanor, Lalwen and Finarfin, if anyone's curious). Scene features Feanor and Fingolfin reconciling after Fingolfin sails to Beleriand.

It was a shock seeing him standing there, despite expecting it fully. His brother was still dressed in all his royal finery like a stray piece of Aman that had neglected to blend into the grim darkness of Endórë. He looked every inch the High King of the Ñoldor — which Fëanáro distantly realised he was now — right from his swept-back hair to his impossibly clean boots. No blood stained his clothes, and the salt and sea-spray seemed to have marred them not — in fact, it seemed he'd even fixed his hair. Upon his gleaming dark hair sat Atar's crown, the silver circlet sparkling there as if it belonged nowhere else, and right then Fëanáro wanted nothing more than to rip it off, any damage to Ñolofinwë's perfectly styled hair be damned, and toss it into the ocean because it was just another reminder that their father was gone, and never going to return.

In stark contrast of course, Fëanáro was soot-stained, shivering, bleary-eyed from having stared at too many maps and records with nothing but lamplight, and not at all fit to be meeting any person, let alone a King — just like everyone else except for His Most Royal and Exalted Highness, so it did not bother him very much.

He stared at Ñolofinwë, waiting for him to announce his business.

'Should I sit?'

Fëanáro pointed to a chair, and Ñolofinwë sat. Then, without asking, he reached out for a metal cup and jug by the chair, filled the cup with water from the jug, and took a long swig from it.

After that, he sat there and did nothing but stare the cup or into the middle distance for some time.

'Why are you here?' Fëanáro asked at last, when the silence and expectant staring grew unbearable. Ñolofinwë looked up from his long-since-emptied cup, and sighed.

'I was here to ask if you're alright.'

Was he alright? Fëanáro did not know, nor did he understand why Ñolofinwë might have been asking. But he wasn't not alright, as far as he knew, so he said, 'Yes, I'm alright.'

Ñolofinwë nodded, and turned back to the cup.

Fëanáro decided to pretend that his brother was no longer there, and went back to the map that Círdan's people had given him.

Some more time passed.

Then, at last, Ñolofinwë broke the silence. 'Why were you going to burn the ships?'

It wasn't at all a considered movement when Fëanáro turned around. snatched the cup from Ñolofinwë's unresisting hands, and threw it to the ground furiously. He even took a moment to stare at the cup and then his hand in bewilderment before crying, 'Why did you conspire to have me killed, then, brother? Answer this first!'

Ñolofinwë had gone very still again. After a moment, he breathed, stood up slowly, and picked the cup up from where it lay before placing it down gently upon Fëanáro's desk. His face looked hard and cold. 'Who told you that?' he asked evenly.

'It takes no Loremaster to figure out your designs,' Fëanáro snapped back. 'You wanted to have me sent to Lórien. Your intentions could not be any clearer.'

Ñolofinwë let out one of his long, beleaguered sighs. 'I will admit, Fëanáro, that I was asking Atar to convince you to visit Lórien. But my aim was never to kill you — I can't see how you would even imagine that from such an innocuous suggestion.'

'You do not send people to Lórien simply for a holiday.'

'But what of comfort, and counsel? Those are the reasons for which most people visit Lórien!' Ñolofinwë's voice rose a little, and he pushed it back down into his courtly, even tones. 'You were...I am not sure how to put it, Fëanáro, but you scared us during those last days. We did not wish for you to be suffering.'

Fëanáro shook his head. 'I was quite well all throughout,' he insisted, though his mind flashed back traitorously to the awful headaches, the exhaustion, the constant worry at the back of his mind as to whether the Silmarilli were safe and well. 'If you wished for me to depart for Mandos, you need not have arranged a route via Lórien. A knife to the heart would have—'

'Stop!' Ñolofinwë cut in sharply. 'Do not speak of killing, Fëanáro — I do not care to hear it, and especially not so callously. And tell me, please tell me, why do you think sending — not even sending, but suggesting you to go to Lórien, would be anything other than a suggestion for seeking advice and rest? Why would it ever be done to kill you? I don't understand!'

Another heavy, oppressive silence hung in the air.

Then Fëanáro cleared his throat and whispered, 'Ammë went to Lórien.'

Ñolofinwë's face went ashen, and he fell back into his chair. 'Oh. Oh, Fëanáro...'

'It was the only way you would know to kill.'

As suddenly as he'd sat down, Ñolofinwë stood up again and pulled Fëanáro into a tight embrace.

Fëanáro let him pull him close, unresisting — it felt like being young again, when being held by a parent or sibling was enough to drive away any fear, no matter how awful. 'I had never meant it that way, Fëanáro,' murmured Ñolofinwë. 'Lórien does not...I didn't know you thought...I wouldn't...'

'Truly?' asked Fëanáro, moving away. His mind went back to the overheard conversation, the rumours about something dark in Lórien. Where had he heard it? From his sons? Who'd heard it from...whom? Had he asked them, or simply believed it, since it had made good sense at the time?

Moringotto... of course. Curse Moringotto a thousand times over!

'Yes, truly,' said Ñolofinwë, earnestly. 'And I am sure the business with the swords was much the same, wasn't it? I'd heard whispers of your 'madness', though I do not remember where they came from...'

'I was wearing two swords that day, you know. I'd brought one for you,' Fëanáro admitted quietly. 'A gift of reconciliation.' That sword was still unbloodied, unlike his own, lying under this very desk, in fact. 'You must have heard the same sorts of things — that I hated you enough, was mad enough, as they put it, to wish you dead.' He'd never wished it, he knew, never had. Even with the flaming torch in his hands, ready to toss, he'd only hoped his brother would turn back and go home, as Arafinwë had.

He did not want to think about what might have happened had he set the ships aflame.

'Moringotto,' said Ñolofinwë, having drawn the same conclusions. 'I'm going to kill him.'

'I am,' Fëanáro retorted. It felt so wonderfully banal, nothing but a pointless, teasing argument with his elder brother only for the sake of it, that his lips stretched into a smile, after what must have been months.

'We could do it together,' Ñolofinwë suggested. The ice had already melted from his eyes and face. 'With both of us, I doubt he'd stand a chance.'

Fëanáro snorted. 'You're right, but you don't even — wait, no, you do.' He crouched down upon the floor, and felt around in the dark recesses under the travelling desk before pulling out an intricate scabbard, from which a silvery-dark hilt gleamed. He stood up, and handed the sheathed blade hilt-first to Ñolofinwë.

'Is it the one you were going to...'

'The very same,' replied Fëanáro. 'I'll make better ones once we have the proper facilities, of course. Some of the people around — I'll tell you all about them soon enough, and their highly fascinating language — mentioned all sorts of interesting metals that might be made into useful alloys. But until then, you'll at least have an actual weapon apart from your formidable anger to go against Moringotto with.'

Ñolofinwë smiled, and pulled the sword from its sheath, admiring the gleam of the pale blue-white lamplight upon its sharp blade. 'Thank you.'

'Don't...don't thank me like that.' Fëanáro took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts. 'Should we try to put this behind us, if we can? Please?'

His brother nodded at once, and Fëanáro felt a crushing weight lift from his shoulders. His back straightened, and for the first time in so long that he could not quite pinpoint when and where it had begun, the gaping wound between Fëanáro and his brother felt like it was coming a little closer to healing over.

#i'm starting to try and tackle the task of *writing* this AU that's been rattling around in my head since like august last year #so prepare to hear about it lol #the silmarillion #silm #legendarium tag #feanor #fingolfin #children of miriel au #<- tentative au tag #and it was not void #my fic

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 8! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Mentions of sex. Nudity. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: PG-13 (ish?) (but other parts are very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 4994

A/N: Our Reader is feeling it, y'all! I am, too! Getting into the right headspace for this part was tricky for whatever reason, and it's a bit long, so thanks for your patience. I wanted to get a bit more backstory in there, so hopefully the flashback scene works well. And a little Young!Elvis doesn't hurt anyone, right? I also couldn't help myself and HAD to include the detail about his stutter because I just keep finding all these deliciously real and human parts of him that make him such a rich, full person/character, so forgive me my indulgence!

To all the babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments mean the absolute WORLD to me. Finding out that some of y'all are liking it enough to be reading it MULTIPLE times blows my freakin' mind. Like whaat?! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

1957

“So, I hear you’re gonna make an honest man out of our Jacky Boy.”

You look up from your seated spot on the cool grass, Elvis’ tall frame lording over you in the dark of this humid midsummer night and you smile.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you blush happily, playing with the small, simple diamond that now adorns the ring finger of your left hand. It’s not much, but it’s yours. You can barely stop staring at it, you are so excited.

Elvis folds himself down next to you on the lawn, his long limbs a little less lanky than they used to be. A couple of years of being well-fed after a lifetime of poverty has done him well. He looks good, albeit tired. Hollywood and fame have certainly made him more beautiful, his resting face now always looking like it’s ready for a close-up, but the lightness that used to surround him is a little heavier, a little darker now, like he has the world resting on his shoulders.

He turns his head to really look at you, taking you in. It’s a look that might’ve made you self-conscious at any other time, but it’s dark and you’re too distracted by your engagement ring to really notice. “You happy, doll?” he asks, but answers it himself, “You look happy.”

You can’t stop smiling. “Yes, I’m most certainly happy,” you reassure him.

“Good,” he nods as if this has satisfied him in some way. Then he leans back, laying down in the grass, and stares up at the stars. That look comes over him again, the heavy one. It worries you a little. He’s been gone so much lately, and things have been moving so quickly for him, you’ve barely had a moment to talk in what feels like forever.

“How ‘bout you, E, are you happy?” you ask quietly, looking down at him.

He is silent at first, and you almost don’t catch the sigh he lets out before speaking, “I ain’t got nothing to be unhappy about, baby. All my dreams are coming true.” He says it almost as though he’s trying to convince himself of it. He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing all his attention on the sky.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” you say gently.

He finally looks over at you, those big blue eyes of his exhausted, rimmed with dark circles. “It’s all been moving so fast, I barely got time to catch my breath. I’m constantly around people, but sometimes I feel so lonely, y/n…and Hollywood ain’t all it’s cracked up to b-be,” he says quickly, but in a whisper, as though he’s terrified to be overheard.

You open your mouth to speak, but he rushes to continue: “And I don’t w-w-wanna seem ungrateful or nothin’ b-b-b-because I-I-I am gettin’ to do what I love to do and I’m supportin’ my family and it makes lots of folks happy, and God’s b-b-blessed me with that…b-b-but so many people hate me, makin’ it their mission to misunderstand me and they don’t even know me.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, frustrated and trying to get the words out.

You know he’s emotional and tired because his stutter keeps getting in his way as he tries to speak. Most people don’t even know he has one because it doesn’t happen when he sings, and he sure as hell doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wants to do, but you’ve heard it pop up now and again in conversation over the years, usually with nerves or when he’s “excited,” as he calls it. He told you how he thought he’d blown his initial screen test in Hollywood because of it, because he was so nervous that he couldn’t get the words to come out like he needed them to. Luckily, he said the director liked it and even said it made his acting seem more genuine. You find it endearing because it’s a very real part of him and his humanity, which you think is something much needed when the world is striving to make him a commodity. It still makes him a little self-conscious, though, so you don’t rush him or react, you just wait for him to continue.

“Sometimes I-I feel like I’m b-b-being pulled in a dozen different directions, all at o-once. I-I-I constantly feel like I’m tryin’ to prove myself. Sometimes it just gets to me, is all. So, to answer your question, yes, I am happy, but it sure comes with a price,” he pauses. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t’ve unloaded on you like that, today of all days,” he says, eyes now downcast and concerned.

“Don’t you feel sorry. I asked, and I’m glad you answered me truthfully. Seems like you needed to get that off your chest,” you say kindly, with a small smile. You hate to see him so weighed down. But you are pleased and surprised by him being so vulnerable with you. It makes you feel like you’ve got your friend back.

“You won’t go tellin’ no one, will ‘ya? Not even Jack,” he pleads, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Of course not, Elvis. I swear it,” you say seriously. You wouldn’t dream of betraying his trust.

He nods, relieved, and looks back up at the stars.

“I’m real proud of you, E, all of us are. It takes a special person to do what you do with the grace you do it with. God knows I couldn’t do it,” you say, suddenly feeling a little shy.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. “Thanks, y/n, that means a lot comin’ from you,” he says and the way his pretty eyes search your face sends a strange feeling through your body.

You don’t know what to say to that, so silence sits heavy, but not uncomfortably, between you.

Playing with your engagement ring, knees pulled into your chest, you look into the night sky.

“How’d ya know? That Jack’s the one?” he suddenly asks, out of nowhere.

The question both surprises and delights you. “Hmmm, well, let’s see,” you ponder. “He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be,” you rattle off. “That may seem silly and saccharine and hopelessly romantic, but it’s true. So, I suppose that’s how I know I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him,” you say, a giddy excitement running through you.

Elvis is quiet, his face unreadable. You’re not sure why, but you feel like you’ve said something to upset him.

“Why? You got a special girl or three, Mr. Presley?” you ask, in a faux-reporter voice, holding a pretend mic to his mouth to try and lighten the mood.

“Ha!” he scoffs with a laugh and a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, it must be so hard for you, to have thousands of beautiful girls to choose from, all clamoring for a piece of you,” you tease. You know he is dating quite a bit because he brings some of them home, whether from Hollywood or somewhere on the road. He always seems to be falling hard and fast for a new girl, but they never seem to last.

“No, there’s no one special I’m datin’,” he says, sitting up, intently playing with a blade of grass. “I mean, I’m seein’ lots of nice girls, great girls, even. It’s just…none of them’s the one.”

You are a little taken aback by his honest answer. “Well, you can’t force it, E. You’ll know when it’s right,” you say, patting his hand.

Elvis looks down sharply at your hand on his, almost like it’s burned him. “Yeah, I reckon I will,” he says, looking back up at you, his face unreadable once more. He’s gotten too good at that in Hollywood, you think, shutting the vulnerable parts of himself off from an untrustworthy world.

For the second time this night, silence hangs over you. This time it feels charged, but by what you do not know. You can’t figure out what’s going on with him.

“You gettin’ enough sleep, E?” His moodiness has always been worse when he’s tired.

“Oh, you know me, doll. I was barely sleeping before all this and now I sleep even less,” he replies. “There’s too much to do and I got all this-this crazy energy, ya know?” He wiggles his limbs, exaggerating. You can’t help but laugh.

But your laughter dies out quickly. “Seriously, Elvis, promise me you’ll at least try to get some rest while you’re home. It worries me to think you’re running yourself ragged.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, as if he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. Instead, he abruptly changes the subject.

“C-c-congratulations, y/n. Jack’s a lucky guy and I-I’m glad you’re happy. You—you both—deserve all the happiness,” Elvis says, his gaze kind but guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long. Your breath catches and you can feel heat blossom through your body and into your cheeks in a way that surprises you.

Then, just like that, he pulls away, getting up and brushing himself off, like nothing happened. He holds his hand out to you to help you up off the ground. “We should get back,” he says.

You blink rapidly, trying to process the last few moments. You are glad the darkness hides the red on your cheeks. Elvis seems unaffected, so you take his hand and let him help you up. You chalk whatever strangeness that has happened up to Elvis being exhausted, pushing whatever silly, fleeting thoughts you have far, far away.

The long-buried memory hits you hard as you stand at the door to Elvis’ bedroom, poised to knock. You’ve spent all night in anticipation of this moment, excited and nervous about whatever comes next, but this memory shakes you, knocking something loose in your brain. Something you had forgotten until just now.

You are trying to grasp it, the thing that is niggling at the corners of your mind, but before you can lock on to whatever it is, the door swings open, startling you. You didn’t remember knocking—it’s like Elvis just knew you were there.

And immediately everything else is forgotten because the tantalizing smell of him wafts over you, and your heart starts to pitter patter in your chest because he’s just so beautiful, and the brilliance of his light blue, dark-rimmed eyes nearly knocks you over.

Elvis pulls you in to the room quickly, trying to avoid any possible prying eyes, shutting the door quietly. The light is much dimmer in here and it’s silent, save for the sound of your breathing. He is so, so close, his eyes travelling over your body approvingly. His eyes ignite flames within you wherever they linger.

“I knew you’d be a showstopper in this, baby. And the tan is a nice touch,” he says, smiling coyly, running a finger down your bare arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Words get lost in your throat because all you know is that you need him. So instead of words, you grasp his face and kiss him as if your life depends on it. You sense his surprise at your boldness in the way he tenses at first, but it takes only a second before his arms wrap around you, and those soft, pliant lips open to yours.

But the butterflies happening in your stomach now are different than the heat you’ve experienced when kissing him before and that surprises you. Scares you, even, because the heat and the sex make a certain kind of sense. It’s biological, you think, natural to be drawn to him. Everyone is drawn to him. What you’ve already shared physically, what he is teaching you about pleasure, is addicting—you want more. Of course, you do. But what’s happening to you now is more than that, as much as you want to push it away and deny it.

You pull back from him slowly, his lips chasing yours with another gentle kiss. Your eyes raise, meeting the endless blue of his, and you are caught there, drowning, as you try to understand the man he is now. You can’t help but think that these are the same eyes that looked upon you on the lawn of Graceland so many years ago. Reconciling that Elvis with this Elvis feels so utterly strange. So much life has happened between then and now, yet under it all, you can still see that sensitive young man, striving and eager for everything life has to offer.

“Well, hello to you, too, honey,” he says softly, searching your face, trying to gauge what is going on with you.

“Hi,” you breathe out, “I missed you.” It just falls out of your mouth, a truth you aren’t sure you should reveal, but it’s too late now. It feels silly—you saw him less than 24 hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

This pleases him, his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I missed you, too,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss.

This invokes your own smile, a shy one. Your stomach continues to flutter like a schoolgirl’s.

He pulls you into the room, your hand small in his, the Vegas skyline bright outside the huge windows. To think, just a few nights ago, you stood in this very spot, furious and ripping him a new one for ruining your life. Feels like a million years ago now.

Elvis is barefoot, wearing a set of satiny deep blue pajamas, which somehow, even though they are sleepwear, still flatter him. You suddenly feel quite overdressed. You’re not sure what he has in store for you because his countenance doesn’t quite match the sexual fire from when he dominated you on the couch and sent you to the stars last night, but he is somehow no less intense.

His fingers brush through the pink fringe of your top, feathering over the bare skin of your back as he moves around you to a box on top of the piano. Curious, you move with him, stopping as he lifts out a slip of a nightgown that matches his pajamas exactly. Your eyebrow quirks.

Setting it back down, he glides towards you, wrapping his arms around your back. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, unzipping your top slowly, removing it, throwing it to the side. You shiver under his gaze, exposed in the lacy petal pink bra he bought you. He looks delighted that you are wearing it, though his gaze is still light and controlled, even though he is undressing you.

“Shoes,” he tuts, and you slip out of your heels, kicking them to the side. Your eagerness builds, the fluttering in your stomach wild and catching fire, but you let him guide you, as he seems wont to do.

He reaches around and unzips your skirt, pulling it gently over your hips and it falls in a heap at your feet. He hums and looks over you approvingly in your matching underwear, and the look alone has you weak in the knees. It’s criminal how handsome he is and what it does to you. Based on your previous encounters, you half expect him to take you right there, but he makes no move to do so. Your breath is shallow, your body on alert, waiting on pins and needles.

Next, moves in close, his fingers brushing up your spine. A shudder courses through you. He unhooks your bra, sliding it off you and placing it on top of the piano. You think for sure he will now devour you, but he waits.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Elvis whispers, taking in your figure and you suddenly feel shy under his adoring gaze. You resist the urge to cover yourself, your nipples standing at attention in the cool air. He doesn’t touch you (you desperately want him to), though you can see by the smoldering in his eyes he wants to, too. Instead, he hands you the nightie. “Put it on,” he requests, and while you are confused, you do as he asks. The expensive, silky softness drapes over you, hanging perfectly off your frame.

Nodding as though some requirement that is unknown to you has been fulfilled, he pulls you into him, kissing your forehead. His embrace is warm and comforting against the cold of the air conditioning and you wind your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into his fine hair. While there is heat growing in your belly for him, it is like glowing embers rather than an engulfing flame.

This feels different. And then you realize, it all feels so domestic.

The thought is jarring, yet not unwanted. You had assumed (rightly so) that he wanted you here so you could fuck all night long. But this, this is a decidedly different vibe to your uninterrupted night together. And while you are a bit confused and surprised by it, you are curious.

“Elvis,” you say quietly, without expectation, “what is this?”

A boyish grin spreads across his face, reminding you of the memory that blindsided you before, the one you still need to dissect. “I want all of you, not just a part of you,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his. It sends tingles down your arms. You’re not quite sure exactly what it means, but you get the gist that he wants more than sex from you and that is surprising.

Is it, though?

He pulls you up and onto the huge bed with him. You lean back against the pillows, the ornate headboard, and he turns to you, brushing flyaway hairs off your face. His crystalline eyes have an openness you haven’t seen in a long time, as though all the glitz and glamour of “Elvis” is stripped away and it’s truly just the man here in front of you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

It’s such a simple question, yet the fact that he asks it of you almost has you in tears. Perhaps it’s because until this moment you haven’t realized that it feels like no one has asked you that, or truly cared to, in a very long time. And the fact that it is coming from him, of all people, makes your heart simultaneously break and leap at the same time.

You clear your throat, pushing the emotion away. “I…uh, well, I went to the pool with Sandy. Hence the tan. She happened to be in the room when your gift arrived, though, so that was interesting to try and explain,” you say.

“And what did you tell her?” he asks, resting his head on his hand, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. You are distracted by them and almost forget what he asked.

“Um, I basically told her I couldn’t tell her anything. How could I? I mean, we haven’t really talked about…” you motion between you two, “us, this. I couldn’t very well talk to her about it before I talked to you.”

He smiles that crooked smile of his, the one that melts your heart. “And how did she take that?”

“Oh, she was disappointed but didn’t pry. As soon as she saw the underwear, though, she’s made it her mission to figure out who the mystery man is. She’s been my shadow all night. It’s gonna be hard to keep this from her for very long,” you say dismally.

He laughs. “You can tell her, honey,” he says.

This floors you. “What? But aren’t you afraid…I mean...?” you worry.

Elvis puts his hand on your cheek. “Baby, I wanna keep seein’ you, and I think you wanna keep seein’ me.” The way he says it sends warmth radiating through your chest. But that warmth is quickly chased by cold, pragmatic fear.

He continues, “And I know she’s your best friend and y’need someone y’can talk to. Jerry knows already, anyway. I’ll make sure she knows to be discreet.”

Your mouth opens then closes. To say you are flabbergasted by this response doesn’t quite describe what you are feeling. It’s a mixture of relief, surprise, elation, confusion, and terror, and what seems like a hundred other things, all at once.

If Sandy knows, it makes this all real. Too real. This was only supposed to be a one-time thing. A way to stick it to Jack. A way to take some power back. A way to quell the unbridled sexual tension that had grown between you and Elvis.

But now you feel wildly out of control. Mind-blowing sex with the ethereal man in front of you has morphed so quickly into a passion you didn’t expect that you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. The more you think about it and the more you remember, no matter how much you are shoving it away, you know that this was never going to be a one-time thing for Elvis. He knew it, too. The fact that you are here right now, like this, is proof. And you are not sure if that makes you elated or angry. Maybe it’s both.

This is too dangerous. Go back to Memphis and forget this ever happened.

Maybe that would have worked two nights ago, but the thought of leaving him now fills you with more despair than the anxiety of staying.

What happens if this all blows up in our faces? Because you think it will. You can feel the pressure building even now, though you aren’t sure to what end.

Elvis seems so utterly calm, so sure. You don’t know if this is because he lives in a world so above everyone that everything seems possible, like a strange naivety, or if he is just an optimist, but either way, you don’t know how to respond. You know you have to say something, though, because of the way he is looking at you, his eyes expectant and watchful.

“How? How are we gonna keep seeing each other, E? I go home tomorrow. And what about Jack?” you say in a whisper, all your emotions caving in on you at once. Tears spring to your eyes, which is not at all what you want or expect, and you are mad at yourself for ruining the mood.

“Hey, hey now, darlin’,” Elvis says with concern, sitting up and taking your face in his hands. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry. I got it all figured out. I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reassures you. He kisses your tears as they fall down your cheeks, his lips soft and warm.

Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long.

The memory flashes back to you, startling you as the past and present meld together.

He kissed you then much like he’s kissing you now. You pull back and look at him with wide eyes.

“Baby, y’look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asks, eyes searching your face.

So many seeds have taken root, blossoming in your mind. (Or maybe they’ve always been fully bloomed, and I just never saw them.) You shake your head. Your heart is beating too fast. This isn’t the time to dive into this.

But when? you wonder.

How long has he…?

No, absolutely not. You won’t let yourself go there, you can’t, not now, not when he’s looking at you like this.

“I’m sorry, E, I just got caught off guard and got overwhelmed,” you finally respond, wiping your cheeks. “You—you said you have it all figured out?”

Throwing it back to him is the right call because now he’s excited. “You’re stayin’ in Vegas, honey.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you want to believe him, but you don’t understand.

Your heart drops into your stomach, as if you are plummeting down a roller coaster, the feeling where fear and excitement meet. “Elvis, you’re not making any sense. If I stay in Vegas, Jack is gonna want to know why, and I certainly can’t say I’m here for you. And I’m pretty sure Jack doesn’t particularly want me here, anyways,” you say with distain.

“Jack’s got his fuckin’ head wedged so far up his ass, he can’t see straight,” Elvis says, blatantly annoyed. “Don’t you worry ‘bout him.”

Don’t worry about him? He’s my husband! You almost say it, then think better of it, not wanting to get into that right now. Plus, you are curious as to this solution Elvis has miraculously come up with.

“Baby, remember the other night when you’s was tellin’ me you’re unhappy, that you don’t know where you belong, what your purpose is?” he says, practically bouncing.

You nod. How could you forget? That’s what started this all in the first place.

“Well, I figured it out. You belong here, with me, with us,” he says, beaming, taking your hand in both of his. You can feel him vibrating with energy.

“Wait, what…? Us? Who’s us?” you say, utterly confused.

“Us, the show. We’ve been talkin’ about needin’ someone to sing the high voice parts, along with the Sweet Inspirations. And it just came to me, after you were singin’ in the shower. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. Now you have a reason to stay. We get to be together, and the show will have a new member. It’s perfect.” His excitement is palpable, he’s nearly glowing with it.

Oh, this man is outta his goddamned mind. You shake your head, shock and fear like ice in your veins. “Elvis, do you not remember me telling you how terrified I am of singing in front of people? I could barely sing in front of you without having a meltdown!” you practically shriek, dousing his elation.

“Hey, there’ll be none of that!” Elvis raises his voice at you, eyes darkening. It’s not a yell, but it’s stern as hell, and you realize that Elvis probably doesn’t like having his “good idea” shot down before it’s barely out of his mouth. His change in demeanor shakes you enough to calm down a little. You know him well enough to know his mood can change on a dime, and you don’t think you can handle that on top of your own panic right now. You force yourself to take a long, deep breath.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re gettin’ up on stage with me tomorrow, honey, but I am sayin’ that maybe you need a little trainin’ to prepare you for the possibility that it could happen. And that trainin’ needs to happen here, in Vegas, with a vocal coach I already got comin’ in,” he explains more gently.

You are starting to understand what he’s getting at, and your fear abates a little. He’s not saying you’re joining the band (yet), but if you are training for it, whether it happens or not, you have a reason to stay.

“Now, I know you love music, baby, I know it in my bones cuz I see it in you, always have, plain as day. Maybe this is that purpose you’ve been lookin’ for. It’s kismet, I’m tellin’ you, honey, all this happenin’, here at once. You and me. Us needin’ another singer. Even Jack bein’ a dipshit. Can’t you see, baby? It’s meant to be,” he says fervently, holding onto your shoulders, his eyes wild with passion. He’s so enthusiastic, it’s hard to not be swept up with him.

It's meant to be…

You nod, letting him pull you along down this road. You do love music. You have been searching for something, a purpose. And you’d get to be here with him, not thousands of miles away, being sad and lonely in Memphis. What do you have to lose?

A lot, a voice counters. This is a bad idea.

You quash that voice, wanting to believe in this as much as Elvis does. As scared as you are of how out of control he makes you feel, how your feelings for him (and his for you) terrify you, you know that the stifling sadness of your old routine is slowly draining the life out of you.

If nothing else, Elvis makes you feel alive.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Elvis beams. “Really? Okay?” he asks.

“Okay, I’ll try it. I’ll work with your coach. But I can’t promise I’ll be any good or even be able to get up there,” you add pointedly.

You have to give him credit, though, because the more you think about it, the more genius the idea becomes. It could actually work in terms of your relationship, whatever it may be. But more importantly, the thought of doing something with music, something outside yourself, is enticing.

“That’s okay, we’ll just take it one step atta time,” he says, ecstatic. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

God, he says it with such fervor, such sincerity, that you can’t help but be enveloped in it with him. The fact that anyone out there has your happiness at the forefront of their mind is amazing to you, much less it being Elvis Presley. And he seems to believe in you in a way you haven’t even believed in yourself in a very long time.

And that does make you happy.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

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iloveyou-writers · 11 months

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~~Tips On~~ Making Friends [Online]

Making friends serves to be something so many struggle with. Whether it be social anxiety, shyness, introversion, or just generally not enjoying the act of reaching out to others, there are a lot of obstacles that can hold us back from being able to make the connections possible for making true and lasting friendships.

Below, I will list some things that have worked for me, as someone with social anxiety and issues with keeping in touch with people I've connected with.

**Disclaimer: these will not work for everyone and this is not an exhaustive list of all the ways you can make/maintain new friendships online.

Tip #1: Think about how much you love to be reached out to. I know it can be easy to fall into the mindset of "I don't want to annoy them," but even big bloggers that receive hundreds of asks a day usually still love receiving them. Yes, sometimes answering all those asks can feel like a chore, but it is better than getting no engagement. Receiving correspondence from those that follow you is exciting and it lets you know that your [writing, art, whatever] reached an audience that cares enough to speak up, which can be super encouraging, even if you reaching out is more social than commenting directly on whatever they make.

Tip #2: Remember that the other person is human too. If they don't respond right away, remember they have a life offline as well as the one here. They may be at work or school. They may be sleeping or having a meal. They may be grocery shopping. They have a life outside the internet, so patience is key to maintaining a healthy relationship with someone online (or really anywhere).

Tip #3: Communication is such an important thing, no matter what the relationship. Letting someone know that you're interested in building a friendship can let them know what your intentions are, if you're just casually striking up conversation or if you actually want a lasting friendship where they will hear from you time and again.

Tip #4: Showing interest in their passions is SUCH A HUGE WAY to make friends. They're part of a fandom you've never heard of? Ask them about it! They're starting a new project that you're curious about? Ask them about it! They started talking about a person they're starting to have interest in? Encourage them in it! Showing that you have interest in their passions can be such a great way to connect and bond with another person.

Tip #5: Showing that you care in hard times is a very fast way to bond with someone. When someone talks about a rough time they're having, instead of having a "what does this have to do with me" attitude, and instead reaching out and simply saying "I hope you feel better soon" can make such a difference in some circumstances. You don't even have to say anything more than just showing sympathy and that you care about what they're going through. Not everyone feels sympathy or empathy, and this is by not means a requirement to make lasting and meaningful relationships, so please don't feel like I'm saying that anyone that doesn't do this isn't a good friend, as that certainly is not the case.

Tip #6: Reaching out - even anonymously - and showing an interest in them can be great! Ask them about their day or their favorites. When they post ask games, send in asks for it, even if silly. Give yourself a cute little nickname or emoji sign off so they know it's you when you come into their inbox and you can build a bond, even while you're anonymous. Eventually, you may feel confident enough to come off anon.

Basically, what a friendship boils down to is genuine care and bonding with another person. You can do that in whatever way fits your love language, that you feel you can make that connection, but these are just a few of the ways I have done it.

Thank you to the anonymous asker that sent me an ask on @writeblrsvoid asking about this. I hope this post helps you.

#making friends online #how to make friends online #tips #advice

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gemini-magic17 · 7 months

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Entanglement Chapter Seven

Waking up in the morning after the night of the celebration left me feeling happy almost excited about what today would bring. Even though Kit was standoffish to me at first I think after the talk we had yesterday everything would turn around for the better. Pulling back the covers I start to get ready for the day. Finishing up what I was doing I walked towards the door about to leave when there was a knock.

"Excuse me, Princess Y/n are you in there", recognizing the voice I opened to met with the face of Prince Airk.

"Hello, I was just about to head out. Is there anything I can do for you", I asked.

"I just wanted to formally introduce myself since we didn't get a chance to talk last night."

"I'm sorry about that. I was preoccupied but that is no excuse for not interacting with you Prince Airk", I said.

"No worries and please you are to be my sister-in-law call me Airk. Titles seem so formal and impersonal don't you think"?

"Yes, I do in fact", smiling at his remark.

"I came to tell you that Kit wanted to go horseback riding with you", he said with sincerity.

"Really, she said that", sounding too eager.

"Yes, she has been looking for you but she couldn't find you. She came to the conclusion that you must still be sleeping from the festivities."

"What can I say about the party it drained me", I laughed and so did he.

"Where did she want me to meet her"?

"Kit wants you to meet her at the entrance of the castle. She said she will already have the horses ready to go."

"Great, thank you", right before I was about to leave I decided to ask Airk the impending question that has been on my mind for a while now.

"Airk, do you mind if I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to", I said nervously looking him in the eye. He seemed a little put off by what I could possibly ask him.

"Who is that girl that Kit is always with", trying not to sound jealous.

"Oh, that's Jade she's been assigned to protect Kit, and have been friends for a long time", he said.

"Oh, ok."

"Why do you ask"?

"It's just that if we are to be married I should know the important people in her life", it wasn't a total lie but most of it was out of asking because of the close relationship those two seem to have.

"Yeah, I guess you are right", looking me up and down as if he knew that its not the real reason for me asking. Changing the subject I told him I better get going.

"I will see you later then Y/n."

"It was nice to meet you Airk", turning to walk off I stopped to ask one more question.

"Hey, Airk."

"Yeah, what is it", he turned around.

"Why did Kit send you to come find me", I asked genuinely curious.

"She didn't I volunteered", He winked at me giving me his signature smile and proceeded to walk off.

From what he just said it's almost as if he was flirting with me but that can't be I am meant to marry his sister. I mean right he wouldn't do that. Remembering that I have to meet Kit I rush to the courtyard and push that interaction with Airk out of my head.

Waiting around for this girl is starting to irritate me. I looked all over for her and she was nowhere to be found. It's almost noon if she is still asleep she is worse than Airk when he was a child. I wish she would just show up already the sooner we do this the sooner it can be over. As if on cue she comes running up to me out of breath.

"I'm sorry I hope didn't keep you waiting long."

"No, not at all Y/n", I said gritting through my teeth.

"I assume my brother found you as he can find anyone in this god forsaken kingdom."

"Yes, he did", she said.

"So, what do you think of him be honest because I know how much of a pain in the ass he can be", I said genuinely curious about what kind of impression Airk left on her especially since I see the way he looks at her.

"He's nice almost cocky and too sure of himself. Your brother and mine would get along just fine", she laughed.

"That sounds like Airk for you."

Making our way to the horses I saddle on Chief, an auburn, strong, and well-trained horse. Y/n saddled the most stubborn horse in the kingdom known as Shadowwing who was as white as the given snow. The name given to her didn't much make sense but Airk did name her when he was a kid so I guess that explains it.

Taking off in the direction of the forest the horses sped up basically making it a competition. Now this could turn out very badly considering Shadowwing does not like to lose EVER. Picking up their speed you could tell that these horses had no intention of stopping soon. Looking over at Y/n she didn't seem to be scared on the contrary, she was all smiles having the time of her life.

Reaching a spot in the forest we stopped without trouble from Shadowwing. It's amazing how Y/n got that horse to do what she wanted. Nobody has been able to do that before and if they tried it would usually follow up with a kick from the horse. Dismounting from our horses we sat down on the ground looking at the world around us. She looked in awe almost as if she was seeing something like this for the first time.

"So, Y/n what is it like in Zemira", I asked trying to make conversation.

"It's beautiful there. The people are gracious, accepting, and caring throughout the Kingdom. It is filled with art, history, and music making it so lively. Then there are our training yards throughout Zemira. If you were to come I am sure you would love it. My brother has trained with only the best knights since he was an itty bitty thing."

"Is that so? Do you train"?

"Well, I used to but there was an accident that caused me to stop", she said twiddling with her thumbs.

"Accidents happen all the time that is what happens when you train. You just brush it off and get back out here."

"Let's just say this particular accident forced my mother's hand into banning me from training again. Plus if I ever did pick up a sword again she would know. She has eyes and ears everywhere in Zemira especially when it comes to her children."

"You can't let that stop you. If I did everything my mother said no to I wouldn't be who I am today", I said not accepting what she had relayed to me.

"I just can't ok. Can you just drop it", she said rather harshly.

"Yeah, sorry didn't mean to upset", damn what the hell happened to make her snap like that.

"It's fine I just don't like talking about it."

The awkward silence filling the air was too much to bear. Then out of nowhere Y/n asked a question I didn't expect for her to ask.

"Kit, what's Jade like", she said.

"I'm sorry what", taken aback.

"It's just you two seem to be attached at the hip and since your brother told me that she is practically your best friend I just wanted to know what she is like that's all."

"Uhh, Jade is great. She is brave, courageous, and strong. The situations we have been in where we have almost been killed and she saved us is something that makes her extraordinary. I have met a lot of people in my life but not someone like Jade", I said smiling.

** Y/n's POV

After her answer, I should've known not to ask that question. It's like people always say don't ask questions you don't want the answer to. I can tell that she cares for her deeply for her which is something that is never going to change. After a while of just sitting and conversing about random things from favorite books to what is the craziest thing you have ever done we decided to head back. Mounting our horses we made quick way to the castle. Not taking long, perhaps fifteen maybe twenty minutes we arrived. Dismounting from Shadowwing I wrapped the handle around a stall door handle and Kit did the same with Chief.

Turning to her I told her that I enjoyed it and that we should do it again.

"Yeah, sounds like fun", she said smiling. I headed back to my room because I was in desperate need of a bath with me smelling like a horse.

The running water filling the tub with almost scorching hot water is what I needed. I started to undress and before I could get the chance to set foot in the water I saw my reflection. Staring back at me were the scars from that horrific day with James even though it was not intentional. Two big scars across my back forever never to be gone. Sinking into the water the sensation of the heat helped with any ache that presented itself. Looking back at what happened I wish to never even think about it. Thinking about the day when I almost died at my brother's hand is something I can't stomach.

#kit tanthalos x reader #hazel callahan x reader

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