#bad is undoubtedly stuck between friends

[tarjapearce]

Bad Teachings (Pt. 18)

Older! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: angst, parental abusive relationship, arguments, emotional distress, comfort towards the end, fluff, Soft! Miguel, Romantic and soft smut, p in v sex, oral (F! receiving) relationship stablishment.

Summary: Something is born from the chaos' ashes.

A/N: Te quiero is a softer yet still affectionate form of an I love you. (It is said in the early stages of a relationships) ✨

(P. d. Hope you enjoy as much as I did :'3)

Previous

Chapter's song:

"So, you and..." Peter cleared his throat while Miguel added a couple of coffee filters and packages into his cart. Peter secured Mayday's baby carrier and added a couple of granola in his own.

Grocery shopping proved to be as effective as a stress reliever and a multifunctional task. While both men restocked for their homes, the act of sharing secrets came in hand with it.

"What about it?" Miguel grunted as he examined the ingredients of a creamer and returned it back to the shelf to then grab a couple of cereal boxes. Granola and berries for him and almond and honey for you, something he noticed you ate ever since staying at his home.

"Oh, nothing. Just... took me by surprise to know you were back in the dating scene. You're dating right? Wait, stupid question, of course you are, you're freaking living together."

Miguel stared at him with a quirked brow and a deadpan.

"I'm more surprised you barely remembered her, when you agreed to help her out."

Petter grunted with goof chuckle, "Again, I'm sorry. I forgot about it."

"No te olvidas la cabeza porque nomás la traes pegada." (You don't forget your head cause it's stuck with you.)

Miguel's grumbles brought Mayday a giggle as she clapped at her papa getting sassed at.

The both moved to the meat section and filled the carts with an assorted selection of cuts. The background music made Mayday sway her feet and mumbling along at the lyrics.

Miguel chose between some steaks, and Peter asked for some things at the clerk.

"For how long have you been, you know, dating and all that?"

"It's recent. Almost a month perhaps."

Miguel then moved to the flours section and got some corn added to his cart, Peter in the other hand just tossed in the already made tortillas package.

"Wait... So, let me get this straight. You just recently started dating and you're already living together."

Miguel shrugged nonchalantly and sighed, "Basically. It wasn't planned though."

"Huh?" Mayday slapped Peter's face softly, trying to get his attention while pointing at a bright colored package of ice cream. He put the thing in his cart without much thought, "What do you mean it wasn't planned?"

"Long story short, her apartment flooded, the shitty man she has for a landlord never helped out, she's having it bad with her parents. Couldn't let her go back to them-"

"So you stepped in"

"That's sums it up."

A couple of emotions, crossed Peter. Surprise the main one. Everyone talked about how much he had changed ever since he got married and had Mayday, but in truth, he had also been an spectator the whole time. He had witnessed first row how many of the people he surrounded himself with had changed, Miguel wasn't the exception.

He remained ever blunt and hard around the edges, but these had softened, like him.

Was this thanks to you?

Undoubtedly. He didn't know the circumstances the sudden relationship had been born under, but his friend seemed at ease, nearly happy. It was enough for Peter. Plus he got to see him more.

Even though you were their student, he supposed that title was long left behind ever since you graduated. There were many questions that crammed up into his head but wasn't sure to ask, given Miguel's reserved nature. But as his best friend, Peter assumed being that granted him at least more trust above the rest.

"When did you started to-"

"Parker" Miguel chided and Peter huffed

"C'mon, pal. I mean, if you're gonna start bringing her around reunions and stuff, I gotta know, so I don't mess up again."

Miguel kept filling his cart with some toiletries and a couple of things that reminded him of the little things that made you, while partially ignoring Peter.

He took two pairs of dark socks for himself, but stopped in the woman's section.

"Been thinking about something actually." Miguel mumbled as his eyes darted through the array of fuzzy ankle length socks you'd probably stop to gawk at.

"And that is?" Mayday screeched as soon as she saw the socks and Peter's brow quirked when Miguel picked up a pair of black ones and purple. He ended up tossing in the purple socks with some lighter shade hearts imprinted on them, alike the ones he saw you wearing the first night you slept next to him after the incident.

"I'll ask her to move in with me."

Peter's eyes blinked, nonplussed.

Who was this man before him? More importantly, what had you done to him? How had you cracked his walls so effortlessly when he had taken years to open up to him.

"Are you...?" Inlove?

"Sure? Isn't it too soon?"

"Maybe."

He shrugged and added a couple of white tank tops in the cart.

"I know I'm serious about it."

Of course he was. If there was something Miguel was known for, was his unabashed commitment once he got into relationships, even if they failed. Tempest had also lived with him for four years. A natural thing to happen according to his brain.

But even so, something couldn't help but feel off..

"Right, but do you think she'll agree?"

Miguel's shoulders slumped, a hand passed over his wavy strands, trying to soothe the sudden doubt Peter awakened.

He wouldn't pressure you into things, but the idea had been roaming in his mind for quite a time. But solidified as a possibility that night you comforted him after that nightmare. He wanted you there, but also feared it would be too much.

Was he being too much? Even at his fourty two years of experience there were things that still made him feel like a young and coy man, unsure of his next step. He's never been good when it came to expressing himself without feeling panicky or awkward.

Miguel knew he wanted you there, with him. Attraction was undeniable between both, and there was something he couldn't put a name yet. Adoration perhaps? Love was too soon to get in both's vocabulary, even though at times he was oh so close to blurt that out because his body demanded it.

He could say Te quiero, a softer yet still version of a powerful I love you. Cause he was taking his time in enjoying you and whatever thing that bloomed between the both completely and throughly. And what a better way to do so than securing a place within his home specially just for you?

"I hope so."  Oh the mess you made out of him.

Peter's breath hitched upon his reply and exhaled deeply. But there was one little detail in the way.

"Have you, uh... Told her about Gabriella?"

Peter tried with all his might to not touch sensitive fibers that even to this day, made his and Miguel's heart splinter in many heartrending directions. Even more when he saw Miguel's shoulders tense up and his head shake softly.

"Haven't found the courage yet."

Mayday yawned and curled her head into Peter's chest.

Not that Peter blamed him, despite years parading through them both and their friendship, Miguel was unable to talk about Gabriella without turning in this blameworthy and broken man that would berate himself to death if possible.

"Well, if this is going for the long run, wouldn't it be better that you'd sit with her and talk about it? I'm not saying explain detail by detail, but just a concise thing for her to understand you a bit better. It'll make you both stronger, if that's what you're aiming for."

It was Miguel's turn to stare curiously at him. MJ had definitely been a good influence in his life.

"I'll talk to her when the right time comes."

"Hopefully your time isn't too late, pal. But in all, Hope everything works out for you both. She seems good"

"She is"

Too good for me at times.

----

You've never been one for being explosive, but this situation was purposely and constantly picking at your past wounds that scarring was proving itself tricky.

You didn't want to make Miguel concerned or upset given his sudden mood swings after that nightmare. And as much as you wanted to know, life made sure to keep you busy with a good dose of 'mind your business' in the shape of a call from none other than  mother.

Apparently Mr. Cufton contacted her since you missed a couple of calls, probably to discuss something regarding your apartment. And now, you were on the door of your old home. It felt like yesterday everything had turned so chaotic and blurry

Neither Hobie or Mrs. Brown were there to save you this time.

As soon as you reached the end of the hall, mother appeared in the elevator along Mr. Cufton.

They talked like nothing was wrong in the world, like if they had been intimate friends for quite the time, like if she hadn't mouthed him when the chaos happened. A shudder came down your spine, as nauseas fought for control on your throat. Mother settled her eyes on you, her skin crinkling as the smile reached her gaze.

Oh god...

Mr. Cufton on the other hand remained with a reserved smile, and soon approached, greeted you and opened the  door.

The smell of mold reminisced in the air despite it being long gone. The once jagged and bleeding open wall, was now immaculate and pristine as the first time you signed the lease. There was no longer that annoying drip drop from the kitchen, and the water was no longer freezing as Mr. Cufton showed you and your mother the repairs.

"I truly apologize for the silence in my end. Was doing everything in my power to get this fixed before a new administration comes up."

"It's alright." Was all you managed to mumbled as your eyes raked over the visible parts of the place.

There was a translucent plastic covering the windows and strapped at the walls. The smell of the oily paint emanated from a bucket and tools placed in the corner where you'd put your old books before Miguel assembled your favorite shelf.

Dust flowed through the void, earning a sneeze from Mr. Cufton. Your mother examined your room and every space and area your eyes were reluctant to probe yet.

"So it's ready to be occupied again?" Mom asked as you looked through the hallway, waiting for Hobie or his mom to suddenly appear and spare you from the gnawing dread clutching at your chest.

"Pretty much. Within a week you could move back in if you wanted to make it immediate. Or we could assign you another room. Some tenants didn't renovate their contract and left, and there's a single bedroom place in the upper floor if you're interested that is."

Wonder why.

Your lips pursed at the sudden thought. Another room sounded good, you had heard the upper floors had the best views and renovations. All you had to do was to pick. Yes for the upper floor or wait for a week more to move back in the place you had been calling home for the past two years.

What about Miguel?

You swallowed and rubbed your eyes while heaving a deep exhale.

"What do you pick, sweetie?"

Her voice snapped you out of the trance your brain had suddenly put you in. It was going to be a difficult talk.

"Hm?"

"Which one you'll pick?, the upper floor sounds good, unless you can wait a bit more. Wouldn't mind a bit of consideration for my knees."

Mr. Cufton and she laughed, but your mind was elsewhere. The timer had come to an end to your little fantasy and reality was dragging you down through broken glasses.

How could you explain him that you could go back? Would it change anything to be apart from him? You'd grown so used to him at this point that your nose had already memorized his smell, the exact amount of roast he liked in his coffee, his sweat after returning for his Sunday's early workouts, the mezcal he drank, the strawberry perfume that came from the black door, and the cologne he sometimes used just to have you locking your arms on his neck, and pecking his face until you got more than an airy chuckle from him.

All of that, soon gone to be replaced with the unpleasant musty and moldy smell that took you two weeks to get rid of when you first moved in and stagnant loneliness. Even though your apartment had the perfect temperature for so many things, you had somehow grown used to Miguel's cold place. A perfectly convenient excuse to snuggle against him and sleep in his arms. Not even a pillow could compare to the comfort and softness he offered.

All soon gone.

Mr. Cufton left, but your mother remained glued to the floor, the door's click brought you back to reality again

"Tell me you're staying here."

A tremor invaded your senses upon realizing a bit too late you had been left alone once more with the final boss.

"I don't know. I waited so long for this that it doesn't feel good anymore."

"You'll get used to it. I know. You're a smart girl."

"Am I?"

It escaped your mouth with such incredulity mom jarred her arms in her waist with pursed lips.

"Where have you been staying?"

There we go.

The brewing anxiety had prepared you for this kind of impacts, the more you were exposed to them, the more you started to identify the signs, the easier was to turn completely guarded. Your armor was already on and strapped, ready for the verbal spar.

"With a friend of mines." You headed for the bathroom to see how the fixer uppers worked but mom's words stopped you right in the wall's frame.

"Is Mr. O'Hara that friend?"

The implicit accusation remained there, etching at every apparent calm word that came out of her. Your name was called and your hands bawled into tight fists. Manicured nails digging in the fat of your palms.

"Is he?" Her tone demanding and severe.

"God... Yes! Okay?! Yes. I've been staying with him!"

You nearly roared as you turned around, one of your hands squeezed the keys so tight some of them indented their shape on your flesh.

The disappointment in mom's face was so familiar you had been immunized with it, leaving nothing but the urge to flee. But this time, there was no place where you could go and hide as everything was bare, stripped to nothing but the main arena you were having your match. The first punch had been delivered.

"Why..." your voice broke, "Why can't we have a conversation without ending up fighting?."

"Oh cut it. Don't give me that right now when I just found out you've been staying at your teacher's house! How indecent is that?! What were you thinking?!"

Your chest thrummed in such a violent compass you felt it growing tighter, just like the knot in your windpipe. Even though you didn't want it, life was forcing you to face this. To face her even if you screamed and begged to not.

"To run away from you! You suffocate me, alright?!" Your voice, though broken, came firm enough to have her nonplussed for a second.

"No. No, no. This isn't about me. You're... You've been sleeping with Mr. O'Hara haven't you?" Accusation was no longer able to be hidden, and this only set everything inside you ablaze, "Haven't you?!"

"What if I have? You're gonna ground me for that?"

Mother's eyes were blurred with the emerging tears.

"Oh god..."

"Oh god, what?! Mom. He has been helping me through this instead of-."

"I did not raise you to be like this." She mumbled while pacing with shaky hands on her mouth, mumbling over and over. You had to lean on the wall to gather up a bit more strength before round two happened.

"This is exactly why I don't visit you and dad. You're always at it! Always! Why can't it be different for once?!"

"'Cause apparently that's the only way you can understand!" her voice grew an octave higher

"Understand what?! That you're awful!?"

Your words managed to assert a blow on her armor.

"My goodness," She hiccuped as her hands wiped her rolling tears, "Everything your father and I have done is for you to be well! I'm just trying to protect you!"

"Protect me from what?! From someone that has been doing everything to kept me afloat?!"

"He's your teacher! Your fucking teacher! " Mom roared, "Double your age! Goddammit, your dad is just a couple of years older than him! You could have fourty and still that's inappropriate!

"And still he's a better companion that you both."

"Don't you dare disrespect me like that, young lady!" She waved an angry finger at you.

"But it's okay if you do?! It's ok for you to barge into my life, try to control everything, and decide with whom I get to sleep with? I haven't fucked him if that's you're worried about!" You seethed

"Are you hearing yourself? You think Mr. O'Hara loves you?" Her eyes stalked yours, moving her head in every direction your head moved 

"Stop." You rejected her however, trying to get to the main door and leave. But all her anger and frustration had been left out in shape of words that marred eachother.

"He just wants your body! The fucking heat you give to his sheets for him to not feel lonely at night! You're so gullible into thinking that he cares for you!"

"He cares for me more than you could ever do! He doesn't criticise me over stupid things, doesn't treat me like a stupid porcelain perfect doll, He treats me as a person! "

She took your shoulders with a surprising gentleness you weren't used to from her ad she shook you gently.

"A person that is falling into his trap! Older men are no good. He will care for you until he grows tired, until someone else amuses him. And once he gets what he wanted, he'll throw you away-"

"Stop!" you pleaded and she did, only when she saw your tears rolling down the cheeks. A sigh heaved from her lips, and you wiped your liquid pain off your face.

"I won't be there for the holidays, I'm-."

"Don't be silly. Og course you'll be there-"

"I won't. I'm done. I-I can't anymore."

Your hands recoiled from her instantly, as if you had been burned with the touch alone, you walked over the door but sensing the sudden shift in your tone, she clung to you once more, and unlike that time on the dinner, this time her sudden fear of losing you completely made her cling with all her might. But once more you managed to escape. You always did.

She begged your name but you conceded a last look her way.

"I'm... happy, dating a man that against all you've said, does care for me in ways I've never experienced before. And yes, mom. I might be whatever you weren't brave enough to call me for dating my old teacher from college, but I don't care. I... If it doesn't work then fine, that's how life is, but don't pretend to know me or him, cause you know shit about us."

Mom had to swallow a thick lump in her throat as she kept her hands to herself, "When Mr. O'Hara breaks your heart, you'll know where to find your dad and I."

You huffed while wiping the tears off your face.

"Don't worry. I've got some real friends this time for that. Take care."

You left, with a powerful slam on the door, closing that gut-wrenching chapter for good. Or at least hoped it was for good.

----

You had taken a time to properly calm yourself before driving back, but you didn't want to face Miguel yet. You needed to at least crawl up in a place where you could contain back your demons.

You didn't want to taint Miguel with them, he had been having enough as it is to add yourself as another toll.

You ended up driving aimlessly through the city, until the canvas in the sky turned completely jet black, with the moon and a few stars as the only dash of color in it.

You had stopped on a lookout, letting thr occasional intrusive thought of revving the engine alive and press the speeder. Before your mind took a dark turn, the buzz in your phone snapped your attention to the screen. Miguel's name in full display of the screen and the hour, 9:45, pm.

If you had any doubts in for how long you've been driving, the hour said it all.

I'll be home soon—

You texted, unable to properly speak. To then drive back.

-----

Miguel's nerves were set into make a disaster out of his head. Where were you? Why weren't you home yet? Were you in danger? Had you left him for good?

The door closed with a quiet click and his worrysome eyes immediately focused on you, and his brows immediately furrowed with a frown.

Your eyes were red, some areas remained puffy and swollen, and your overall aura seemed to be barely crawling to him for safety.

He didn't think it twice to standing up and cradling you so carefully into his arms before you could vanish, yet you held his cheeks and kissed him, not that he complained the way you kissed him, but how could he enjoy such thing when something was troubling you.

"Mi amor-" He mumbled but you kissed him again and pushed him towards the couch, his hands caught you, "Wait"

"Just fucking kiss me." Genuinely confused in your behavior, he sighed as he cradled your hunching and trembling form against him and put your head on his chest instead, kissing your forehead over and over while his hands rubbed in soothing circles on your back and damned be him if he didn't feel his heart break upon your meltdown.

Your hands clung to him, like the only good thing in your life, meaning he, would disappear from your fingers. Like all the words your mother said would come true.

"Wanna... talk about it?" You could sense the hesitation in his voice for such phrase. He was trying though, for you, he would.

He had prepared you a dinner to finally pop that question to make it official for you both. But hours kept ticking and ticking and he grew concerned.

And now that he had you in his arms, weeping and clinging to him, his priorities changed. His thumb wiped away the falling tears and kissed your lips gently.

"It's... alot. I don't wanna bother you."

"No no, nada de eso. Tell me what happened, please." (None of that)

With a stifled sniff you curled even more into his chest, "Mom happened. Again."

An annoyed grunt erupted in his throat and his lips puckered. The urge to keep you at his side anchored tenfold in his mind.

"She knows we're together."

Oh...

His brow twitched together. That wasn't something he expected, but as inevitable as it was, the discomfit grew. He was aware something like this would happen, but knowing your parents now knew and got defensive about it to the point of making you cry, was something completely different. But again, something less to worry about, they knowing now was better for them to find out later.

"I guess she didn't take it well."

"Course she didn't. She told me you... were just using me for warming your sheets and that youd grow bored of me... and-"

He kissed you deeply while his hands cradled the broken pieces of you. As if with that kiss alone he'd glue the most important remnants back together as his thumb caressed your cheek with such care as if you were a ticking bomb about to explode.

"Your mother needs to shut the fuck up."

A chuckle. His lips curved in a soft smile that quickly faded upon your next words

"She's convinced that you'll break my heart cause you're older and stuff."

You sat back in the couch, gaining a bit of space to exhale a proper breath. He stood squeezing his hands together to place them next on his waist. Your heart pounded in your already feeble ribcage.

"I'm sorry..." Your lips pursed upon the sudden mood swing.

"Don't move. Stay there" He quickly disappeared in the room, leaving zero time for rebuttals, to quickly emerge with a small package on hand.

"You really need to stop apologizing for everything, guapa." He handed you the printed paper bag.

"What's this?"

"Open it." He sat next to you, swallowing the rest of the space with his frame and watching you, expectant as your eyes lit up as soon as the fuzzy socks came into your view

"I..."

"Saw 'em back at the store, and thought you might like them. I'm still convinced the washing machine has the other you lost."

You half giggled half sobbed.

"Thank you" He cradled you once more and ran his long fingers through your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

How could your mother could say such things when he was proving you wrong? How could she say he was only using you when he remembered tiny and insignificant details about yourself?

The sudden truth laid bare on your tongue, hoping it wouldn't change anything between you both.

"Also... Mr. Cufton said I could go back."

His eyes softened as he took your hand and squeezed it. He had been way too caught up living the ultimate fantasy of you that forgot that little detail. Still, he gulped.

"So...You're going back to your place?"

"I... I don't know if honest. Cufton said I could take a room from the upper floor, a bit cheaper since he feels at debt

for not answering this whole time. Or I could wait a week more and go back to my old apartment."

Your throat was dry. Fingers quivered underneath him and he inched closer, gathering the courage to finally speak again.

"What if..." He passed his tongue over his dry lips and tried again, "Why don't you move in with me?"

He'd be a liar to say that he didn't melt under that surprised look you gave him. He could see your breath hitching in your throat, feel the tremor under his warm skin. You blinked. He mistook that for a hesitation.

"If you want to that is." He removed his hand to slick back nervously his hair, "I know is soon but-"

"You want me to stay?"

"Yes."

He nodded vehemently, without dither. Your hand enveloped yours in a tender embrace. He knew words didn't do the trick completely for you, so he took your feet and removed the shoes, then the socks, earning him an airy giggle from you.

"What are you doing, Miguel?"

He dressed your feet in the socks he chose for you and smiled as they perfectly hugged your feet in a warm embrace. An extension of his affection towards you.

He then cradled your face again and kissed you. His lips devoured yours like his life depended on leaving you breathless. Only to break it enough to mumble in between soft pants.

"I'm showing you."

Your skin crawled the more your heart thumped. His lips devoured you again and again until he loomed over your frame in the couch. His hands explored each dent of your body to finally hook them on your thighs and pull you over his lap.

He gently squeezed your ass, ebbing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

A gasp escaped you when his mouth donned your skin with a trail of soft kisses as his hands removed your sweater, coming in contact with a familiar yet annoying undergarment for him, to return to your lips

"Stay."

His eyes begged, his thumb pressed against your lips and you kissed it. Your fingers taunted the hems of his wool  sweater, and slowly removed it.

A big hand grazed up your spine, igniting alive a shudder to then pull you down  gently by the nape and kiss you.

He never got enough of your lips if honest. And the way your frame perfectly slotted against his, only reinforced the belief you were in the right place at the right time.

A deep shade of red bloomed in your cheeks as he held your body effortlessly and took you to your shared bedroom. After all, he was about to show you the meaning of everything he had said ever since the friendship's line blurred.

He laid you down on the bed, your hands reached for his face as he unbuttoned your jeans and removed them with care, eyes twinkling the more skin he kept discovering.

Your toes rubbed up and down his clothed thighs. His breath was cut short as soon as his fingers grazed your stomach, his thumb licked your skin deliberately, until the rest of his fingers  barged into the party of sensations they were about to unleash.

He had to mentally slap himself to keep those leering thoughts away. This wasn't about him and his cock, it was all about you and your pleasure. As it would be from now on.

The gaze he scrutinized you with had your chest blooming with a warm sensation you thought never in your life get to experience.

His hands roamed and worshipped every curve, bump and slope of skin in you to finally release your breast. Unlike the first time he nearly ripped your clothes off, he treated your garments with the same respect he treated you.

A tinge of flush adorned his sharp cheeks, pupils blown upon the beatific sight of your bare breast, rising and falling in a nervous tempo.

His head dipped to kiss the slope of your neck, and descended once more down your neck, kissing and tasting your skin under wet kisses. You quivered.

"Eres tan hermosa, mi amor."

He crooned as his lips inched closer and closer to your already erected nipple.

You didn't know whether to moan or gasp from the ministrations he was putting you under. Your hand immediately clutched his scalp as his tongue played with your taut peaks, but his limb made sure to remove the last bit of clothes he deemed necessary to go. The socks he just put you, were the only thing covering you against the cold temperature.

Once the panties were off your hips, his hands reached for your breast, squeezing them gently, together. His mouth tried to cup them both at the same time.

Your feet turned bold as they pushed bit by bit his sweatpants off, but they still hung on the middle of his butt, half exposing the growing erection between his own thighs

"Déjame disfrutarte, preciosa." (Let me enjoy you.)

His face once again dipped in the valley between your breasts, placing soft kitten licks down your abdomen, his tongue dangled at every contraction your torso did.

He smiled at the goosebumps erupting in your skin, but chuckled at the soft mewl you gave him when his nose nuzzled the inside of your thigh as he hooked it on his shoulder.

His thumb flicked softly your clit, then spreaded open your folds, revealing your sweetness to him, earning him a whimper.

"May I taste you, mi niña?"

Your head bobbed, light with the swirling sensations inside it.

Miguel kneeled before you and parted your thighs while pulling your hips closer to his face.

Your hands crumpled the sheets underneath you as soon as his mouth delved in your flesh.

Your hips stuttered when the vibrations of his groan rumbled in your skin. His tongue tasted and pressed against the pearly nub of nerves with such hunger his senses felt relieved upon having your scent all over his taste buds.

His tongue curled and flattened on your moist hole, slurping with gentle sucks before returning upwards with a dribble on your clit.

His name rolling of your mouth was the perfect melody for his ears. His lips cupped your mount and feasted like starving man.

The sheer though of having you completely for himself from now on ignited this urge to show you how your life with him would be.

Pleasure was one of the many things he had in store, and now that he had a complete access in your life, he was ready to prove himself the opposite of what your mom had told you.

Your toes curling in and your muffled hiccups was the cue he needed to raise on his feet once more. A frustrated whine remained in your throat while your chest rose up and down at the beat of your erratic breathings.

And by God, you were gorgeous.

He removed the last bit of clothes that imprisoned him and held him back from having you.

But as much as he wanted and ached to have you quivering, crying and biting the sheets underneath him, he'd enjoy you.

He'll teach you what it meant to be his.

Miguel cradled you once more to accommodate the pillows underneath your head, to then place you above them with the utmost care he could muster.

But you were urgent and pulled him closer, earning another soft chuckle from him.

"F-Fuck me." Pleasure had made your brain a liquid goo, swirling in your head. In truth you had forgotten what was like to be in such way with someone else. Life had made sure to keep you busy and with a constant dry spell, but as soon as Miguel came back to your existence, this close and personal, your body seemed to function again.

And what better proof of it than watch him coat himself in your drenched folds, hissing at the heat that kissed and begged to swallow him whole.

How long had it been for you? months? Years? both? You didn't know. Casual things and friends with benefits were off the list since you didn't have them neither the time for them, and for some reason your body felt off. Shut down.

But this man before you, made magic cause your body seemed entranced to the point of only being responsive to him. In the few times he had you, he had learnt all your reactions to his ministrations. He knew what you liked, what got you quivering like jelly and wet.

His hands roamed your body once more, having a proper taste of your burning heat irradiating from every pore indented in your skin. He cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you.

Soft, sweet, packed with devotion and something so scarily beautiful you refused to put a name on it yet to avoid tainting it.

What he had done out of you? What he had turned you into? All you wanted to do was drown in him and his devotion.

"I want you to enjoy it, ok?. The proper way. Can I?"

His swollen tip pushed against your folds, taunting your muscles snd waiting for your confirmation

"Can I make love to you, mi amor?"

The question itself sent a new wave of sparks soaring through your body.

A breathless yes on his mouth was everything he needed to guide his tip inside, to push in slowly but stopped upon sensing you tense a bit too tight around him.

"Fuck" He grunted at the sudden grip on him, "mfuck, Dios mio." He mumbled while squeezing the pillow underneath his hand and your head with a breathless laugh. "Relax, preciosa."

"It's been ages, sorry." You chuckled and slowly followed his breathings to ease the discomfort and relax, allowing him to push another inch inside, filling you slowly and carefully. His lips pecked your face, planting soft caresses all over your countenance, earning him a giggle.

What had you done to him? He'll never know for sure, the only thing certain in his life right now was you. You had granted him the utmost honor of being yours.

With a roll of his hips and a moan he pushed in all of him inside. The way your tightness grope and kissed him was a complete religious experience, and he wasn't precisely a devotee.

But when it came to you, he didn't mind being on his knees, worshipping and doting you like you were his salvation. His light.

The delicious whimpers that escaped you only fuelled his adoration tab higher. Your insides felt like heaven  welcoming him everytime his tip reached the hilt within.

The room's once cold temperature vanished as soon as your veneration started.

Even if his thrusts were slow, Miguel made sure for you to feel them to the fullest. Delving in and out, earning lovely whimpers and other delectable noises to his already hazed brain.

He drank from your breaths, tasting your mouth until you begged for air. Your thighs squeezed his narrow waist, and my, he had to bite his lip with enough force to remind himself it wasn't about his pleasure but yours.

His sculpted and muscular thighs separated.

"Hold on me" Miguel wrapped your trembling arms around his neck as he hooked an arm underneath you, to finally pull you upwards, towards him.

"Miguel!" Your teeth clenched as this new angle allowed you both to feel everything tenfold.

Your breast flattened against his well chiseled chest, rubbing your nipples in a soft back and fro motion, thanks to his hips.

Large and cinnamon hands squeezed gently your pair of supple glutes, guiding them ontop of himself, aiding you to properly receive his adoration.

"I'm so so close..." You breathed in between ragged and sharp inhales, kissing his lips and face over and over to then choke as he increased the pace enough to have you clinging to him and bouncing gracefully on his cock. Your face hid in the crook of his neck.

"No, no, mi amor. Mírame, por favor, mírame" (Look at me, please.)

Pleasure surely did a gorgeous display of his presence in your face. All of that perfect countenance he loved to kiss was pearled in sweat, a deep shade of red spreaded through your whole body, mouth shaped in a perfect 'o' that sometimes mutated into an 'a', breathing his air, crawling under his skin, and chipping away any last bits of his guarded heart.

There was no turning back, as the arrow kept pointing forward.

What you have done out of me?

Only he would and could provoke these things on your body. You were his.

The realization of such epiphany blurred his senses for a second he hadn't noticed he was kissing and grazing your neck with the prong of his enlarged canines.

The once forgotten taste, came flooding his memories in the shape of a whimper from him.

"Stay" He gurgled and your grip around his waist tightened. You rested your forehead against his, while the constant makeout noises from your union filled in the space around you with gentle and slow slaps.

The choke hold Miguel had into every fiber of you made you shudder and cry, drunk on pleasure.

"Please, stay. I can't-" He choked upon feeling his strength seeping away at the verge of his peak looming ominously on him, "I need you. You're-"

Another grunt that ended up in a growl as you trembled in his arms and groaned. Your nails dug on his flesh.

"So fuckin good f'me, mi amor"

His praising had sent such a powerful spark up your spine, that your body lurched impossibly closer to him, His hands immediately hoarded your wailing body, not caring much at how painfully delicious your tight walls spasmed around and trapped him in.

He laid you down and immediately drowned all of those exquisite laments with a deep kiss as his peak finally exploded within you.

His nose scrunched up and his teeth bared with the growl as he came. His back flexed and rippled at every messy and drowning breath he gave.

His hands immediately cupped your face, caressing it, letting the boiling breaths to fan each other's mouths, his forehead rested ontop of yours. Eyes ever soft and adoring at your tussled and perfect state.

"Eres toda mía ahora, preciosa" (You're all mine now)

He murmured, voice in a new tinge you've never heard before but sent happy jumps to your heart and fill your eyes with a happy glow. You just nodded, beyond enthralled in what finally laid ahead for the both, with a tired but honest smile.

"Te quiero*."

----

Taglist:

  @katitakenway @amylasagna @rositabluemoon @lyrasdrawer @plumplum2099 @damhanallagorm @chibiiichann @incustellar @taeecups @vonev @kinkybandages @del-ightfulling @tatatida @queenofroses22 @orangemango7 @migueloharastruelove @ctizu1 @vyxvi @zaddyskye69 @gejo333 @namjooningera @d1lf-loverrr @niyanispunk

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#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara smut #bad teachings #Spotify

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Five

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 5129

Warnings: 18+ blog; mentions of food, language, sexual innuendos, two dumb dumbs who lack communication skills, working on sobriety, failed relationships, loneliness, references to hookups and bad dates, I think that’s it but like always please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Reader gets her nickname!!!!! This was a fun one to write! I got stuck in parts of it, but over all I’m so happy with it. I don’t want to give too much away by setting anything up. Big thank you to my dear @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her constant support and beta reading through this whole thing! She’s a gem! Everyone who’s been reading, reblogging, commenting, liking, lurking— THANK YOU! 💕

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

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“So, I take it things are good then? You both seem to be pretty, chummy with each other lately.”

“Yeah, since our talk, things have been—good.” 

“Good?”

“Yeah, Good.”

The waitress stops by your table, refilling each of your water glasses, the clinking of the ice filling the silent break in your conversation. 

“Thank you.” Diem’s sickly sweet voice offers gratitude to the waitress before the young girl is carrying on about her work and then Diem redirects her gaze to you, her overly generous smile morphing into a questioning smirk, accompanied by a cocked eyebrow. 

“What’s that look for?”

“Good?”

“Uh yeah, that’s what I said.”

“So, now that you and Dieter are good, as you say, we’re just going to pretend what you said didn’t happen?”

“Would mind clueing me in on the conversation that’s happening right now, ‘cause I’m so fucking lost.” 

“That night at my house, what you had said about Dieter.”

“Ugh, Diem! We’ve already hashed this shit out. Plus, Dieter and I’ve been on good terms for a couple weeks now, let’s just not discuss what I said that evening.” 

“No, I’m not talking about that— the other thing you said that we have not discussed at all since you said it because the two of you were, and frankly might still be, idiots.”

“Oh my god, Diem! When I told you I was into edging, I didn’t mean like this— for fuck sakes woman, spit it out!” Grabbing for your glass of water, you take a sip to cool off your annoyance that is starting to simmer. 

“The part where you said my brother was attractive—“

Diem doesn’t even get a chance to finish the rest of what she is saying because you nearly choke on your drink, water spraying from your mouth back into your glass at the remembrance of what you had said. 

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” Wiping the water droplets with your napkin. 

You had honestly forgotten about it. Forgotten about what you said, not about the thought— honestly, it still rang true. 

The more time you spend with him, even if only for brief periods of time as you both got to know each other, you undoubtedly found Dieter Bravo attractive— he was caring, sweet, funny, and his almost chaotic personality only added to your growing attraction for him. 

“So?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that.”

“So you do then— find my brother attractive.”

“Sure, whatever.” You hope your nonchalant response is enough to outwit the surge of questions she’s hurling at you. 

“You know, for someone who works with kids regularly, you’d think at some point you’d learn how to lie better than them.” 

“Fine! Yes, I think he’s attractive. There I said it, are you happy now?” 

The check is dropped between the both of you, your hands quickly grabbing for it to avoid the back and forth on whose turn it is to pay this time, you place your card in the designated slot and place the receipt book on the edge of the table.

“You know this means I have to set you two up, like it’s my duty as a best friend to you.”

“You do it, and your best friend title gets revoked! Do not say a word to him, I am begging you! This isn’t middle school, I don’t need you playing matchmaker. Plus, we’ve just barely started talking, so just leave us alone.”

“You’re no fun. I’m sure he’d be into you though, I can always ask—“

“You are insufferable.” You chuckled, signing your scrawled signature on the receipt. “Seriously though, please don’t. I’m good with just being his friend and getting along like we are— we don’t need to throw feelings into the mix.”

She nods in agreement, but the scheming look she is giving makes you think she’s plotting something. 

“Oh, I just remembered— I won't be able to bring Wren, something came up so Dieter is going to be bringing her to art class this week.” 

“What something?” 

“Something— when I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.”

“I hate you!” Tossing your crumpled napkin at her, Diem’s laughter rising as you roll your eyes, grabbing for your to-box and purse. 

“I love you too!”

*

The chorus of a slow ballad hangs in the air of the empty gallery room, the euphonious melody sandwiched between poetic precision, eliciting a longing for a tangible moment you weren’t sure you would ever experience. 

Relationships never really seemed to work in your favor, not for a lack of trying on your part, you just seemed to always find the ones who never really wanted to advance into the seriousness that comes as relationships progress. 

You still kept your mind open to the possibility of finding someone who had the similar interests and desires as you, never really closing the door on relationships as a whole. Dating gave? you great conversations with potential partners, and hookups satisfied that carnal itch your vibrator couldn’t touch. 

You threw yourself into your work at school and your art to keep your mind off the fact that it had been over a year since you were last in a relationship, or had sex for that matter. 

Settling into a new town, it was intimidating to put yourself out there, every one of your dates had been disastrous setups that ended before the dinner checks ever came. 

For now, you were relying on fate to decide whether you were destined for a lifetime of solitude or not. 

You sailed through setting up for an evening of painting. Brushes laid out next to a plastic tray filled with tiny squares, dried chalky pigments begging for thirst and attention. Dense papers, laying neatly on top of two family style tables, waiting for imaginations to spill over onto its textured surface. 

Every class was a mixture of locals who were looking to further their own skills, tourists trying to immerse themselves into the happenings of the town, and a few who were convinced to be there against their will not realizing they would be leaving with a new hobby. 

The attendees slowly started to meander in. A few browsing the art on display as they enter the front of the gallery, a tell-tale sign they are the tourists of the group this evening, while the others don’t hesitate to find a seat pulling out their own personal art supplies and setting up their space. 

“We’re here! We’re here!” Wren zooming in like a tornado , little voice echoing off the cement floor of the building as she announces her arrival. 

“Hi!” Dieter trails in behind her, a shy wave and gleaming smile directed at you. 

The nervousness you had felt when Diem said he would be taking her spot tonight, now replaced with something more substantial, an awakened warmth penetrating through every wall you had built up over the years. 

Your breath catches as he makes his way closer to where you’re standing, his smile shifting into a toothy grin, suddenly making your knees increasingly weak with every step he takes— what is he doing to you?

“Hey!” You manage to croak out. 

“So wild to see it like this.” He looks around the open room, as if to recall all the memories that had been etched onto every wall over the years. “It was a general store growing up. My buds and I would scrounge up enough change in the summer for ice cream cones and a coke. Then we sat out front on the curb, planning what kinda trouble we wanted to get into.”

You can see it too. 12 year old Dieter, all gangly limbs with his wavy dark locks a tousled mess. A buoyant young soul, not knowing what it’s like to be broken and blue. You know though that 12 year old Dieter would be proud to see how hard he’s worked to be where he’s at right now. 

You’re looking forward to seeing this side of him tonight, Dieter the artist, to observe the way he’s able to construct a visual representation of what ambles about in his mind. 

“Looks like you got a good turn out tonight, this should be fun.” He says as he looks around at the now filled seats. 

“Y-Yeah. Don’t be fooled though— Betty and Marilyn,” Casually pointing to the two older ladies, all set up and straight faced waiting for your instruction. “They take these classes way more seriously than blackout bingo. No one’s allowed to talk or ask questions, otherwise you’re on the receiving end of their threatening glares.”

“Huh— Well, tonight’s gonna be interesting then.”

“Uncle Dude! I saved you a seat by me!” Wren shouts at Dieter, her hand frantically smacking the table, indicating the vacant seat next to her. 

“I guess that’s my cue. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.” He seals it with a wink as he gives your arm a squeeze, the gesture has become a sort of regular thing for him. 

“Fuck!” It’s barely a whisper as you turn your back to everyone, mentally putting yourself in check.

This budding friendship between you and Dieter was refreshing, and the last thing you would have expected. The both of you had become so intertwined, mostly through the connection of Diem and Wren, but you both were beginning to thrive while in each other’s orbit. 

You just needed to get a grip on these spontaneous feelings, before it was too late. 

“Welcome friends! I see we have some familiar faces, as well as new ones tonight. For those who are new, tonight is a basics in watercolor. I’ll show you some techniques for the first half of the class, then in the second half you’ll be able to paint freely using the techniques. If there are any questions at any point in time, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Your eyes quickly scan over everyone’s faces, taking in the varying degrees of excitement, but lingering a bit when they land on Dieter. His head cocked to the side, attention undivided, taking in every word that fell from your lips. 

“We’re going to prep our paper first.” You grab a larger brush, dipping it into a cup of water. A few swift swirls around before lifting and allowing the excess water to flow back into the cup, then placing the brush directly onto the stark white paper. “This is a soaking method, not required, but it helps prevent buckling of the paper— some will soak longer, but this will do for tonight.”

As instructed, everyone sets out to prep their papers, drips of water litter the table’s surface as brushes move about. 

“Umm, ma’am? I have a question.” Dieter’s hand raised, stone face as he awaits to be called on. Betty and Marilyn’s brushes halt for a moment, side eyeing Dieter, before continuing the sweeping motions. 

“Uh, yes. I’ll try to have an answer for you.” You can’t fully read his expression, but you sense a playfulness in his voice. 

He takes a quick glance over to the two old women, then back to you. His movements calculated, forearms rest on the table as he leans forward, his question primed and ready. 

“In your opinion, do you find allowing more time to prepare and properly produce a precise wetness, helps with the stamina of the— paper?” Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, his focus never wavering from where you stand. 

The question so flagrantly sexual in its delivery, you assume a fluke with the way he asks it so flippantly. But you don’t miss the way his words unlock a needy appetite for more. Your body’s tragic lack of foreplay halted, now buzzing with enthusiasm at such an erotic statement. You do your best to control your heady thoughts and not allow his words to affect you in the slightest. 

“Well, I guess that would be dependent on if it’s worth being quick and simple, or whether the job requires to be drawn out and deliberate to get the desired results.” 

Dieter is surprised at how quickly you counter your response— touché. He has to avert his eyes, looking down instead at his hands as they fidget with the dry paint brush, fighting back the urge to laugh. 

“Now, we want to load up our wet brushes with pigment and you can play around with brush strokes. Smaller strokes, known as stippling, the paint will stay in place and pool up. Longer strokes will drag your paint around the surface of the paper, leaving a wash of color from dark to light. The results will also vary depending on the pressure you use, so feel free to mess around with them.”

You give a few examples of the different ways pressure can affect the flow of paint and the proper ways to angle the brush against the paper, everyone eagerly waits to apply the same techniques to their own work. 

Swirling your brush in the water to clean off the remaining color, the pigment suspended within the clear liquid. Blotting the brush on a towel, you take a few seconds to breathe, your face still warm after Dieter’s earlier comment. 

“Ma’am! I have another question, probably a silly one.” 

You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle the choking laugh that tries to escape your throat. You hold the brush in both hands, rolling between your fingers as you turn around to see Dieter’s hand raised yet again. 

“I’m sure you know this, but there’s no silly questions. Please, let’s hear it.” 

Your encouragement provokes annoyed huffs from Betty and Marilyn. 

“Yeah— so these, uh, strokes. Are we talking like long, steady strokes or— hurried and—“

*Snap*

The brush you were holding, now in two pieces. 

“Okay! I think that’s plenty of time spent on the basics. Go ahead and get started working on your own thing, I’ll be available if needed.” 

Tossing the now broken brush in the nearest trash bin and wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans, you make your way back to the tables. 

You make a point to stop and admire what each person is working on, commenting on their progress and giving assistance when needed. 

There’s a weird wave of emotions that overcome you, thinking about how this will all come to end with the closing of the gallery. Sure, there were other galleries in town, but none of them offered classes or had the space to do so. But, you were grateful to have been able to share this space with others who were just as excited about art as you were. 

Another reminder that you also don’t have a single thing ready for the final gallery exhibition, your own showing— mentally noting to start brainstorming ideas. 

Dieter and Wren were still working away as you made it to their end of the table, the best for last in your opinion. 

“What are you painting Wren?” Trying to decipher the colorful blobs sporadically placed, her little hands diligently picking up more paint than needed. 

“It’s flowers, see.” She picks up the sopping wet paper to showcase her work, the upright angle causes the paint to run downward resulting in endless drippy hues puddling onto the table. “They’re poppies!” 

“Oh! I see it now. Poppies are my favorite flowers too.” 

“I know.” Wren, clearly more observant than any other 6 year old you know. 

“Well, it’s beautiful. Your mom is going to love it!” 

Shifting your attention over to Dieter, your breath hitches at what he’s been able to execute in a short amount of time, but your heart nearly stops when you really focus on what he had painted. 

“Dieter—“

His brush stills, hovering over the inky black and white portrait. 

“You like it?” 

“Dieter, is that— me?”

“Umm, yeah. Sorry, I was just watching you up there and you were talking about everything— I could see this light in you, I don’t know, just felt really inspired by it.”

You’re speechless at his admission. 

“I— I don’t even know what to say. It’s incredible.”

“Thanks. I’ve never tried watercolor before, only ever used oil and acrylic paints. This was fun though.”

He feels slightly embarrassed, hoping he didn’t make things uncomfortable between the two of you. 

“Well, I think it’s beautiful. And would have never guessed this was your first time using this medium.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, a soft squeeze letting him know you’re touched by what he did. 

Once the classes have commenced, supplies cleaned and put away for the next time, you wait by the door to thank everyone and bid them goodbye. 

Dieter and Wren hung back a bit until everyone had left before making their way over to where you’re standing at the front of the building. 

“You two outta here?”

“Yeah, this one’s getting hungry, best get some food in her before she gets angry. Sorry about Betty and Marilyn earlier, they seemed to leave in a hurry too.”

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll be back next week.” You wave off his apology. “Thanks for coming tonight, I know it’s not anything special—“

“No, it was great. You could see how much everyone enjoyed it. Makes me miss when I used to paint regularly.”

“I have some extra things at home. I could throw together a little kit for you if you’d like.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course! What’s your number? I’m just realizing I don’t have it.”

He recites his number for you, you promptly enter it into your contacts and save. 

“Uncle Dude?”

“What? What else am I supposed to call you? Friend?”

“Uh, Dieter…”

“Eh! Kind of boring.”

“Yeah, that’s boring Uncle Dude!” Clearly her ears work better than any other 6 year old too. 

“Okay, give me your number then, it’s only fair.”

Keeping the screen hidden as he types it into his contact list. 

“So, am I worthy enough of a fun name or not??” You playfully push at his shoulder.

Turning the phone around so you can see the screen, you see your number placed in the appropriate location and where your name would be, a nickname instead. 

“Poppy?” 

“Yeah, like your favorite flower.” 

*

Diem’s sitting at the counter, enjoying warmed leftovers, when Dieter and Wren walk through the front door.  

“We’re home! Birdie’s starving, insists she could eat the? a? whole restaurant.” 

Wren runs into the kitchen and climbs onto the counter height chair, dramatically lowering her upper body onto the counter. 

“Mama! I’m so hungry!”

“Here baby, eat this.” Diem slides her plate of pasta to her, her hand smoothing over her messy head of caramel colored hair. “Did you have fun at least?”

Dieter grabs a plate for himself, listening to Diem and Wren chat about the class, noticing Wren already peeking up after a few bites of food. 

“Lots of fun! We painted this time. I’m going to be the flower girl at Uncle Dude and Poppy’s wedding!” 

“Uncle Dude and Poppy’s wedding? Who’s Poppy?!”

“You know Poppy, Mama. She’s your best friend!”

Confused by what Wren is saying, Diem blinks in confusion in Dieter’s direction, he shrugs not having a single clue as to what Wren is talking about. 

“And why do you think Poppy and your Uncle are getting married?”

“Because! They did that thing that people do in the movies!”

Dieter eyes widen as he nearly chokes on the noodle he’s eating, his fist covering his mouth as he coughs loudly to hopefully change the subject away from you and him. 

“And what— t-thing would that be?” 

“They talk and look at each other a lot. You know, the way they do in the movies when they’re in love— duh!” 

“Hmm, well— that’s not how that works baby. Your Uncle and Poppy are just friends.” Trying to not break Wren's heart over the fact that she won’t be anyone’s flower girl at the moment. 

“But after you're boyfriend and girlfriend, you get married.”

“Technically true. But Wren, baby, Uncle Dude and Poppy aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend either— they’re just friends, that’s it.”

Wren tilts her head ever so slightly, her brows furrowed in contemplation. 

“But they have each other's phone numbers, like boyfriend and girlfriend’s do.” 

This is not what Dieter had expected when they arrived home, he had plans to relax and catch up on a show he had started recently. Instead, he’s listening to his niece conjure up wild stories about a nonexistent impending marriage and being romantically linked to you— yet the more he listens, he realizes you’re someone he could see himself with.

At first he only thought of it as a normal attraction towards you. From that first day at school, he was drawn to your beautiful smile, how you instantly lit up when your students waved their ‘good mornings’ as they entered your class. 

And if Dieter is truly being honest with himself, that night in the kitchen didn’t stall how thoroughly mesmerized he was by you. The more he thought about it, he realized you were the only one, aside from his sister, who called him out on his bullshit, something no one had done for a long time. 

After talking with his Sponsor and really taking the time to sit in his feelings and reflect on the situation. And the only conclusion he could come to, and the only one that made sense, was he needed to figure out how to make it up to you. 

He was thankful that you were receptive to the idea of still being around him, the amicable morning ‘Hello’s’ at school, fleeting glances from across the room during movie nights, tiny moments cementing these feelings for you. 

When you shared your past and reasoning for being so put off by him, he knew that was a turning point in the mending process between the both of you. Coming from two very different backgrounds, yet your upbringing’s weren’t all that different from each other. 

Tonight, watching you so absorbed in your element of teaching something you love, Dieter knew he needed you in his life anyway he could have you. 

“Okay, but friends give each other numbers too. Doesn’t mean they’re in a relationship, just friends.”

“Then why did Uncle Dude paint a picture of her in class tonight?”

“Okay, I think it’s bedtime for you little miss. Go brush your teeth and I’ll be in for story time in a minute.” Wren’s shoulders dropped at that, but Diem took Dieter’s silence for mortification and decided it was best to put an end to it. 

“Night Uncle Dude!” Wren shouted as she ran off to prepare for bedtime without any hesitation or arguments. 

“Night Birdie!”

A lull hung over the room. Dieter now leaning back against the counter edge, head down and arms folded over his chest, nervously chewing at his bottom lip. Diem still seated in her chair, glancing up at the ceiling, letting all of what Wren had shared settle for a moment. 

“How long?”

“How long, what?” His gaze shifting up to Diem, a line appearing between his brows as he waits for an explanation. 

“How long have you had feelings for her?”

“I don’t know what—“

“Dieter! I’m not dumb, and definitely not blind. It didn’t take a 6 year old stating the obvious to see how much you like her.”

A grin forms as he shakes his head and laughs, of course his sister would pick up on something like this. 

“I-I don’t know. I guess awhile at this point. Don’t know exactly when to pinpoint the time.”

“You should tell her.”

“Well, that’s not happening. Why? So, I can look like some fuckin’ idiot who’s been secretly falling for his sister’s best friend— yeah, I’ll pass.”

“Wait— Dieter, are you in love with her?”

“I, umm. Fuck! I don’t know— I think I—“

*BUZZ*

An incoming text message saves him from revealing exactly how he feels about you. 

Dieter pulls his phone from his pocket to see your name along with a message, up on the screen. The way his stomach flips, smiling from ear to ear, completely affected by a simple text message from you. 

Poppy 💐 - I hope this isn’t too late. I found those paints I mentioned earlier. Bringing them over, I’ll leave them on the porch. 

Uncle Dude - Not too late, just finishing dinner. Text me when you get here. 

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Diem’s smile mirroring his. 

“Mind your business.”

*BUZZ*

Poppy 💐 - Here!

“Gotta go, not a word out of you about any of this! Got it?”

“Okay, okay!” Diem’s hands thrown up in comical fashion heading for Wren’s room, then tossing one last punch before rounding the corner. “I’ll start looking for my Maid of Honor dress tonight!” 

Pushing off the counter in pursuit of the front porch, his eyes rolling at Diem’s lighthearted comment, Dieter finds you waiting for him— armed with a box full of tiny tubes of paint in every shade imaginable, paint brushes in an array of sizes and shapes, all curated by you for him. 

“Hey! Sorry again— I was just, excited to get this all together for you.” You say as you lift the box towards him. 

“It’s fine, Diem was just getting Wren into bed when you text. You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Grabbing the box from your extended arms, scanning over the contents, noting that you took the time to intentionally choose every item. 

“I wanted to. If there’s something you need that’s not in there, just let me know and I can check my supplies.”

“No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He takes a good look at you as you stand before him, deciding there isn’t any lighting that doesn’t look good on you, the moonlight being his favorite so far— even in the twilight, you’re the most stunning thing ever. 

“I have an extra easel too. I just have to pull it out of the attic, but you’re welcome to use it.” Your fingers pick at the cuffs of your sweater, feeling flustered and warm as you try to remain calm, but the way Dieter is looking at you makes it hard. 

“I can come by whenever to grab it.”

*BUZZ*

Another notification comes through Dieter’s phone, placing the box down on the ground, he fishes his phone back out of his pocket. 

It’s an email, one he’s shocked to be receiving, his reaction baffled as he reads through it. 

“Is everything okay?” You can’t get a good read on his hushed state. 

“Umm, yeah— Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s from my agent. He said a director sent him a script, asking for me specifically for an upcoming project. Said he’s going to be sending over the scene lines for me to read over.”

“Oh my gosh! Dieter, that’s amazing!!” 

Your body launches at his, arms thrown around his neck, pulling his solid body against you. 

Instinctively, his own body begins to relax into yours, his hands slowly moving around and up your spine, taking a mental note of how perfect you feel against him. 

“Y-yeah, I guess it is.” He murmurs, but his response sounds less than thrilled. 

“Are you okay?” You pull back, still wrapped in each other's arms, so close, studying his features in a way you hadn’t done before. 

He thinks he is. Dieter had planned to be here, in his hometown, for a few months. Take the time to enjoy his time here with his family and lean fully into his sobriety. He thought it would be months, maybe a year, before he would hear from his agent about any potential parts, let alone be a top pick for a role and be sent a script. 

This was all supposed to be temporary, short lived and then move on with his life. 

That was until he met you. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

*

It’s the drag of his upper lip down the column of your neck, your head angled back to allow the slow pleasing movement. Brief pauses allow his tongue to delicately dance about, taste the warmth of your dewy skin. 

“Dieter—“ His name soft as  it falls from your lips. 

His large hand settles at the base of your neck, pulling you head back upright, thumb dragging across the apple of your cheek. 

Your body is buzzing, an ardent energy building through Dieter’s stimulating and capable advances. 

Dieter’s pillowy lips crash into yours, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip, begging for more of you— you oblige, licking into his mouth with earnestness. 

A tingle runs down your spine, gradually turning into a throbbing sensation that settles at your core. Needy and breathless, grabbing off anything you can reach for. 

Your hands clutching loose cottony fabric, your grip never faltering as you try to ground yourself in this mind-blowing moment. 

“Dieter, please!” A throaty whine carries through the air, a plea for anything to help careen you towards a blissful peak. 

“Dieter—“

Silence. 

Nothingness. 

No movement. 

Fleshy desires abandoned. 

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The jolting sound of your alarm blares from your nightstand, you shoot up in a panic. 

Your room, your bed, alone. 

Your body depleted, pulse racing and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, you fall back into the wall of pillows. 

The third night in a row this dream, nightmare, has plagued you. 

One minute he’s there, with you, surrounding you in an all-encompassing manner. 

Then he’s gone. 

Darkness. 

Alone. 

That night he got the email about the potential job, you were so happy for him, truly. Instinctively, you wanted to praise him, tell him how proud you were of him. There was a moment, a stillness, between the two of you. A spark, a flicker of something— gone when Diem’s voice called out for his help.

The truth was, Dieter is going to get this job, and then he’ll be gone. Back to his movie star world.  Enveloped in the same world that created the demons that he’s fought so hard to keep at bay. 

And you’ll be here. Alone. Like always. 

Throwing the covers off your sticky body, you pluck yourself from the comfort of your bed. Mindlessly, you find your way over to the chair in the corner of your room, your hands grabbing for the brown fuzzy coat that’s been draped over it for the past few weeks. 

You pull it on, nuzzling your face into the fluffy fabric, his musky scent still vibrant and sharp as it hits your nose. 

The floor is cool against your bare feet as you pad your way down to your sunroom that doubles as your art studio. 

Finally having inspiration for your exhibition.

Next

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #Pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—06. Quarter of the Way —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... hiii guys!!! thank you for bearing with me while I sorted all of this out. my life is so crazy busy right now, and I have a weird outlining-rule that really restricted me from getting to bust this chapter out. it's a short one, and a lot of set up for the next chapter which WILL be coming soon.

The heads of the Elliott family tree—Bill, and his brothers Ernie and Dan—will tell you that what the Elliott’s do best is racing. If you ask the necks of the Elliott family tree—the ones who turn the heads; Cindy, Tammy, and Susan—they would argue that there is nothing quite like an Elliott family holiday. 

Chris is late, pulls onto the property an hour and a half after the start time posted in the massive family group-chat. She makes her own parking spot, like half of the family, since the driveway is well-filled. If her tally is correct, there are at least thirty people inside her family’s house right now. Or, at least thirty people somewhere on the property. 

She hauls her way inside with a hot crock-pot of mashed potatoes, which is the reason she was late in the first place. Her internal clock is so royally screwed up that it’s not even funny. She maneuvers her way through the herds of aunts, uncles, and cousins until she finally makes it into the kitchen. 

“Chrissy, you’re late, baby girl,” Cindy greets her daughter with a kiss on her temple, takes the crockpot from her arms and heaves it up onto the countertop.

“I know, I know,” Chris sighs, already starting to take off her coat. November in Georgia is not coat-worthy weather, but Chris is always cold, always. Sixty-five with a breeze does nothing for her. 

Hannah appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops a full wine glass into Chris’ hand. “Did you go tanning?” Hannah asks, picking up her best-friend’s arm to examine her skin tone in the light. “You’re glowing.”

Chris shakes her head and takes a big sip of her wine. “No, but, uh,” she chuckles. “I have a lot to tell you.”

Hannah scowls. “Good, bad, or in between?”

Chris smiles, gets that silly little warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest. The one she always seems to get when she thinks about him. Oh, when she thinks about him. It’s disgusting. “Good. Really, really good,” she says, takes another sip of wine and leans over to whisper into Hannah’s ear. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Do they work at a tanning salon?”

Chris laughs, whispers a “Shut up,” through gritted teeth. 

“Let’s go outside. Debrief on the swings?”

They sneak out the back door without being noticed by Cindy, who would undoubtedly have a long list of dinner-prep tasks for them if they stuck around for a moment longer. Wine glasses in tow, they make the journey across the porch, down the stairs, and to the back trail on the property, Chris greeting each family member as she walks past them. They’re all gathered around in the open yard, some playing cornhole, others positioned around the firepit, beers in hand, football game on the radio. Chase, who is playing catch with Reid and some cousins, warns of other family members out on the trails on the ATVs, tells the girls to be careful. 

As soon as they reach the cover of the trees, Chris is telling Hannah everything. Everything. She tells her about Austin, about how she met a guy who was just too charming to not get her number. About every nervous text and hours long FaceTime call and every picture and every conversation. She tells her about how crazy she feels, how insane she felt agreeing to fly across the world— “Wait,” Hannah questions. “You flew across the world?”

“Well, yeah. He’s not from here.”

“Where is he from?” Hannah takes a sip of wine. 

“Uhm,” she hesitates because she hasn’t dropped the big-bomb yet. “The south of France.”

“Mmm,” Hannah hums against the lip of her glass. “Tan mystery is solved.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Anyways,”—She tells her about how she met his family, how they were nothing but sweet and inclusive and kind to her, even though she was surprised by half of them and looked like she’d just rolled out of a dumpster. She tells her about how they slept together, a few times, and how he pretended not to have every minute of their time planned. 

“So, he was good?” Hannah smiles. Chris blushes into her wine glass, ears hot, cheeks hotter. “Oh,” Hannah laughs. “He was good-good.”

“I hate to give a man the satisfaction, but,” Chris giggles, “but,” she shrugs, doesn’t elaborate more on the topic. Her teenaged giggles and pink cheeks are more than enough for the dots to be connected, she’s sure. 

Chris keeps going, telling Hannah about how she’s pretty sure he put off work to spend more time with her, and how she totally cried while they watched a movie and how he was totally freaked out by it, but in a good way? In a he-asked-me-to-be-his-girlfriend way. And then, after all that, Chris asks the burning question: “I know the RSVP date for me to have a plus-one was last month, but… is there any chance I can bring one?”

“For you? There’s room for a plus-million. I’d let you get engaged at my wedding if you wanted to—”

“I would never do that to you,” Chris assures. 

Hannah nods. “Honestly, he sounds really sweet, I don’t know why you hid this from me?”

“Because,” and here comes the big one, the answer to the question she’d been dreading, the one thing about Charles she’d been dodging like the plague, “he’s not just a guy I met at COTA.”

Hannah stops dead in her tracks. Chris turns fully to face her best-friend’s apprehensive face. “Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to—”

“He’s a driver.”

“Chris!” Hannah groans. “Why do you tell me these things? Now I have to choose between protecting you and telling my fiance everything.”

Chris’ stomach drops. The thought of Chase finding out from Hannah, but especially finding out tonight, is the worst-case scenario. She has to plan out how she’s going to do it, to break the news. “You can’t tell Chase.”

Hannah shakes her head, downs what’s left of her wine. “He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“I know, just.” Chris sighs. “Please. Don’t tell him. Let me tell everyone.”

Hannah scowls, gestures dramatically. “You make my life so hard, y’know?”

Chris nods, winces when she asks:  “But he can come to the wedding?”

“He can come to the wedding,” Hannah agrees, “as long as you tell Chase about him before his birthday.” 

Chase’s birthday is four days from now. Four days. She can handle that, right? Four days is a lifetime, she can totally do that. It’s not like their little rule was ever all that real, anyways. She didn’t grow up under a roof where it was forbidden for her to be with a racing driver. It was always more… Bill knew the type. Bill was the type, and he didn’t want that life for his little girl. And Chase, well. Chase didn’t want his kid sister around any more than she needed to be, and that included her fraternizing with his friends, or worse, with the enemy. She can one-hundred-percent well up the courage to take his grilling. 

“Just,” Hannah hesitates. “Are you sure about him?”

“What do you mean?” Chris questions, confused. 

“You love hard, is all,” She elaborates. “You put up with a lot of shit, I think. Stuff that you shouldn’t have to because you think you’ve found your soulmate. I just, I want you to be careful that you aren’t blowing your savings flying to Europe all the time for a guy who doesn’t love you like you love him.”

“I don’t love him,” Chris is quick to quip back. 

“Yeah, but you will.” 

Chris rolls her eyes. “Also, I didn’t pay for my flights.”

“Oh?” Hannah laughs. “So you’re a sugar baby?”

Chris slaps her shoulder, bursts out laughing. “You know that’s what I thought the entire flight to see him?”

– – –

Bill leads grace around the head table, and the entire meal, Chris is acutely aware of every single family member. Of all their undesirable habits and questionable conversation topics. All of these people are going to be at Chase and Hannah’s wedding, and in a few weeks, Charles is going to be interacting with them all on his own. She’ll be too busy to be a buffer the entire time, and suddenly she feels like she’s throwing him to the sharks. 

She’s never seen her family in such an unsavory light, and suddenly there are a million little flaws about everyone. Cindy is a gossip, and Bill’s accent is so thick that sometimes even Chris just smiles and nods. Chandler is half-absent, and when she is present, she’s a skunk with expensive perfume, always acts like she’s better than everyone else, more important. She has a 24/7 stick up her rear, especially if her girlfriend is with her. Chase is oblivious to his surroundings, has the attention span of a third-grader and eats like a wild animal. Reid, he’s a wildcard—just last spring he was sent home from school because he wouldn’t stop biting kids on the playground. He’s sitting at the kids table right now with nothing but rolls and corn and has his sticky little iPad in his lap. He’s feral, practically. Hannah is truly the only normal one in the bunch, but clearly something is wrong with her, too, if she’s deciding to marry into this mess. 

After dinner, Hannah, Chris, Chandler, and Cindy are all on clean up duty, and as an act of sick, sick revenge, Hannah spills the beans on Chris’ relationship status. They’re all able to move past it after Cindy has collected herself—she’s very, very upset that Chris didn’t tell anyone she was leaving the country. Very upset. She almost cries over the sink of dirty china. 

“You two will get along, Mama,” Chris tries to comfort her mother. “He’s also mad that I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Well,” Cindy starts, shoveling leftover mashed potatoes into takeaway boxes. “At least one of you has some sense. He could have murdered you.”

“He could’ve,” Chris nods. “He didn’t, though.”

“No,” Cindy chuckles to herself. “He just sucked your blood,” she says, taps her finger gently on Chris’ neck, on the caked-on foundation and concealer and color correctors. Chris looks at her with wide eyes. “Your foundation is the wrong shade, hun.”

Hannah and Chandler burst out laughing, but Chris is still shocked. “You knew!?” She squeals.

“I knew you were… having fun with someone—”

“Mom!” Chris blushes with embarrassment. 

“I didn’t know he was a…” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “racing driver. Or that he lived halfway around the world.”

Chris nods. “It’s more like a quarter, really,” she quips. 

“Christyn Claire,” Cindy warns, and Chris instinctively straightens, quickly finds a task to busy herself with. 

“Yup.”

After dinner clean-up, the girls finally join the rest of the family outside. It’s a cool night, chilly almost, but the bonfire takes the nip out of the cold. Reid and his cousins are running around the yard like little maniacs playing flashlight tag, filling the background with giggles and hollers and the occasional scream that elicits the attention of all the parents when it’s not followed by belly laughs. 

Chase is hunched over the fire, carefully roasting a marshmallow at the request of Hannah, who “could really go for a s’more right now.” For a moment, calmed by the ambiance of the fire and the lull of busy conversations, Chris considers telling him right now, around the extended family where he can’t cause a scene. He’d probably still manage to make one, she thinks, and instead kicks in the back of his knee when he stands up.

“You’re so whipped,” she teases. 

Across the fire, Cindy snaps: “Chris, be nice to your brother.”

“Yeah, Chris,” Chase mocks. “Be nice to your brother.”

“Alors qu’est-ce qui se passe avec cette fille, mec” So, what’s up with this girl, Mate? Joris asks, and everyone at the table’s ears perk up. 

Charles is having lunch with his friends, the whole group—Joris, Hugo, Thomas, Nico, Ricky, and Guizou. Charles rolls his eyes, glares at Joris from across the table. “C'était censé être privé,” That was meant to be private, he says, but it’s too late. 

“Attends, quelle fille?” Wait, what girl? Ricky asks, and Joris giggles like a little girl. 

“Ce n’est rien,” It’s nothing, Charles mumbles, takes a drink of his water and tries to glare so hard into the waitress’s head that she magically spawns at the table to take their order, that she shuts his friends up before they get to talking about Chris. 

It’s not that he’s embarrassed. God, no. Not even sort of. But, people are always listening, always watching. He knows this, and he knows that when they’re all together like this, he and his friends are anything but quiet and subtle. 

“‘Ce n'est rien’, dit-il, puis se promène dans la ville avec sa petite amie,” It's nothing,’ he says, and then walks around town with his girlfriend, Joris says, because the fact that Charles has suddenly gotten shy only eggs him on to keep talking. 

“Oh! Oui! Est-ce la fille avec qui je t'ai vu sur Twitter?” Oh! Yes! Is this the girl I saw you with on Twitter? Guizou asks, and Charles nods, scanning the room carefully. 

“Mec, tu as une nouvelle petite amie? Depuis quand?” Dude, you have a new girlfriend? Since when? Hugo chimes in, shoves Charles’ shoulder playfully. 

“Depuis qu'il la présente à Pascale,” Since he’s introducing her to Pascale, Joris adds. Charles wonders, momentarily, if it’s too late for him to pick a new childhood best friend, to dethrone Joris from this role forever. 

“A ta maman ?? Charlie espèce de mec ! Pourquoi n'avons-nous pas entendu parler d'elle?” To your Mom?? Charlie you dawg! Guizou giggles like a child on the playground. Why haven’t we heard about her?

“Je ne veux pas que ce soit un gros problème.” I don’t want it to be a big deal, Charles mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. He looks around the room quick and inconspicuously, eyes scanning for anyone looking, anyone listening. He doesn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. He hates this kind of paranoia. 

“Tu n'aurais pas dû l'amener ici, alors. La course était assez risquée.” You shouldn’t have brought her here, then. The race was risky enough, Joris argues.

“Elle n'était pas à la course!” She was NOT at the race! Thomas laughs, hunched over the table so far he almost knocks over his glass of water. Charles thinks his friends are having far too much fun with this new revelation regarding his relationship status. 

He nods, though, “Elle était.” She was.

“Est-elle apprécié?” Is she cool? Riccardo asks. 

Charles nods and all he can imagine is the horrified look on Chris’ face when he tells her about this the next time they talk. She’s going to freak out, he knows it, and ask him to go over every detail a million and one times. He’ll do it, too, without a complaint. “Elle est très apprécié.” She’s very cool.

“Elle vit en Amérique. Géorgie.” She lives in America. Georgia, Joris adds again, because he really can’t stop himself, no matter how obvious Charles makes it that he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it. 

Hugo scowls. “Comment est-ce?” What’s that like?

Charles shrugs. “Je ne sais pas. Je vais au mariage de son frère dans quelques semaines.” I don’t know. I’m going to her brother’s wedding in a couple weeks. He hasn’t really had the time to fully understand the implications of the four thousand, seven hundred miles between him and his girlfriend just yet. It felt too sweet, too pure, too good to be true until she was standing in front of him again, and it’s only been a few days since he kissed her goodbye. 

“Oh? Rencontrer la famille?” Oh? Nico questions, sly smile on his face. Meeting the family?

“Elle a rencontré le sien!” She met his! Riccardo chimes. 

Nico nods. “Ils vont te détester.” They’re gonna hate you.

“Copain!?” Mate!? Charles exclaims, a laugh forcing its way out of his lips. He knows his friends are just fucking with him, but. Still. Damn, give the guy a break. 

“Je veux dire, tu vis de l'autre côté du globe. Les mamans n'aiment pas ça.” I mean, you live on the other side of the globe, Hugo argues, Moms don’t like that. 

“C'est plutôt un quart du globe.” It’s more like a quarter of the globe, Charles is quick to correct. 

“Est-ce une distinction que vous pensez que ses parents font?” Is that a distinction you think her parents are making? Guizou forces Charles to wonder. He supposes that it doesn’t really matter what distinction her parents are making, it really only matters what she thinks. 

“Ne vous mettez pas dans sa tête, les gars. Il ira bien, c'est de Charles dont nous parlons.” Don’t get in his head, guys, Joris says, finally bringing some sense to the conversation. Cleaning up the mess he’d made.  He’s gonna be fine, this is Charles we’re talking about.

Four days really flies by when you’re avoiding having a conversation with your older brother. Chase’s birthday dinner has come and nearly gone. Reid is already in bed, and Bill and Cindy have long headed home, so only the trio of terror remains. It is quite literally Chris’ last chance to tell Chase about Charles, and she has to. She can’t chicken out, because she’d already told Charles to buy his plane tickets. 

The moment creates itself when Hannah is ushering Reid back to bed for the fourth time in the last hour, because if there is one thing Reid got from his mother, it’s his FOMO. Her departure leaves Chris alone in the kitchen with her brother, who is begrudgingly washing dishes from his own birthday dinner. 

Chris hoists herself up onto the counter of the kitchen island, laying down so her back is spread over the cool marble and her eyes are fixed on the crown molding, half-blinded by the pendant lights that hang over the island. 

“I have to talk to you,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…” she trails off. It’s her last opportunity to chicken out of telling him, and she knows it. “I’m uh, I’m bringing someone to your wedding. A boy.”

“A boyyyy?” Chase teases, but Chris doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy freaking out. 

“A boy.”

“Who is this boy?” He asks. “Do I know him?”

“You might,” Hannah chimes in, rounding the corner from putting Reid in his straight jacket and locking him in the closet, or something not at all similar. 

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Chris says. “You don’t know him. And uh,” there really isn’t any way to do it but to just rip off the bandaid. “He… drivescarsforaliving.”

“Hmm?” Chase hums. 

“Hedrivescarsforaliving,” Chris repeats, somehow quicker this time than the first. Chase turns around from the sink, soaped-up scrub-daddy still in his hand, and scowls before turning to Hannah.

“Do you hear her?” Hannah shrugs. “What the fuck is she saying?”

Chris takes a deep breath and sits up. Chase rolls his eyes like he doesn’t have time for all these dramatics. “He races.”

“Oh. Stock car?” Chris shakes her head. “Indy?”

“Formula One.”

The gears start spinning in her brother’s brain, his eyes darting between Chris and Hannah like he’s waiting for them to say it’s all a big joke, to burst out laughing. Neither of them do. “F1?” He goads. Chris and Hannah both nod. “What the fuck?” he laughs. “Who?”

“Charles Leclerc.”

“You’re shitting me.” She shakes her head again, awkwardly maneuvers to grab her phone from her back pocket and pulls up a picture of her and Charles on the plane back on the way from Abu Dhabi to Monaco. Charles’ second-place trophy is sat on the floor between his legs, and he’s got his arm around her, the biggest, dumbest smiles on both of their faces. You’d think they had known each other forever, how comfortable they look. “This is fucking crazy.”

“Why aren’t you mad?” She asks, tucking her phone back into her pocket. 

“Why would I give a fuck who you sleep with?” He laughs. “Just let me know if I need to kill him, or something.”

It’s not until he’s well into post-season testing at Maranello, nearly half-way through December that it really sinks in for him just how hard the long-distance thing is going to be. He’s sitting at dinner with Andrea and Joris when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He’s come to memorize the different notifications, and he’s certain this one is a text. He hopes it’s from her. 

It’s not. It’s a Whatsapp notification from the PR groupchat Mia and Slyvia have him in. Charles, hai una ragazza? Do you have a girlfriend, it reads. He blinks at the screen a few times like the message might disappear. It’s not the first time he’s gotten it, the ominous relationship from two people who, as much as he respects Mia and Sylvia, don’t need to know every detail of his dating life. Or any detail, really. 

He knows she wouldn’t be asking him if people weren’t asking her, though, which means there’s a rumor stirring somewhere. 

He opens Twitter first, searches his name and Chris’ name into the search bar. Full names, nicknames, first names only, last names only. Every search comes up with a load of nothing. There’s a sigh of relief, and then he searches just his name, plus girlfriend. Bingo. 

The original tweet, a screenshot of a TikTok, a picture of the two of them walking down the street. It knots his stomach, drops it straight to his feet. Suddenly, he’s not at all hungry for the meal in front of him. Instead, he thinks he’s going to have to fight to keep it down. 

There are probably two hundred, three hundred tweets about him and his quote–en-quote girlfriend. From trying to figure out who she is by searching through his following on Instagram to arguing about if it’s an invasion of privacy or not, with every comment about his ex-girlfriend’s and comparing them to the back of Chris’ head in the middle. It’s a disaster, he thinks, but at least nobody can come up with a name. 

Charles texts Chris before he replies to the team. Don’t freak. There’s a picture of you and I on… everything. No faces. You can call me if you want. And then to Mia and Sylvia, sure do.

Can I call you? Mia replies. 

No.

He’s mad. Fuming, almost. At the invasion of privacy, at the fact that he gives so much of his time to strangers, over and over again he maintains the mindset that it costs him nothing to give them some of his time. At the realization that no matter how much he gives them, they will always, always feel entitled to taking what he tries to keep. It will never be enough for them. 

He’s mad at himself, too. The how-could-I-let-this-happen kind of mad that feels a lot more like a never-ending pang of guilt in your chest. He didn’t know they were around fans, but didn’t he? He’s always around a fan in Monaco, it seems like, and here he is putting his arm around her while they walk down the street? Sending out the siren for anyone who might want to pry into his private life? It’s a mistake he never should have made. He’s smarter than this. 

He fumes silently at the table while everyone around him talks about their meals and the atmosphere and all he can think about, the only track his mind can follow, is what Chris is doing at that very moment.

He knows the time difference like it’s nothing, automatically converts it in his head when he looks at his watch. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon in Georgia, so she's at work. Today is Tuesday, which means special is at… 2? It’s art day, and he knows art is at 2. Or it is Gym today? Gym is at… what time is gym at? He can’t remember. 

He’s watching Mia type, stop typing, and start again, his leg bouncing under the table, shaking the booth underneath him. Undoubtedly, she’s typing up some essay for him to read. 

Chris calls, and he answers before the first ring can finish vibrating. “Hi,” he says, soft. “Hi,” he repeats, this time harder, calmer. Everything is fine.

Silently, he shoos Joris out of the booth so he can step away. 

“Hi,” she says, like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like social media isn’t digging through every interaction he’s had for the last month with pitchforks trying to find her. 

“Are you okay?” He’s asking before he can even process the emotions—or lack thereof—in her voice. It’s like he’s blind. The type of angry where you’re clouded by it, where all he can think about is her. 

He navigates through the restaurant, trying to find a corner of quiet solace. He can’t go outside, there were fans out there when he’d shown up. Maybe the bathroom will be empty, he hopes. 

“Yeah,” Chris says, and he lets out a heavy breath, the one he’d been unable to release since he got that first text. He thinks he believes her, that she’s okay, and that he’s freaking out over nothing. “I mean, you said there weren’t any faces, so…”

“I’m sorry that this happened like this,” he offers, ducking his head into the bathroom, peeking under the stalls. He finds one pair of shoes and settles for the hallway outside the bathrooms—there’s more room to pace there, anyways. 

“Like what?” She laughs. She fucking laughs, and it stops him dead in his tracks. His head falls back to the sky, a sharp exhale—practically a laugh of his own—leaves his nose. Of course, she’s laughing. “This is exactly how we knew it would happen.”

“It’s my fault, I should have acted different.”

If he closes his eyes, he swears he can see the frown on her face, the familiar little disappointed sigh filling his ear. “Don’t do that,” she says. “You were just being… just existing. You’re allowed to exist. I’m sorry that anyone feels entitled to your existence.”

God, she can be so annoying sometimes; has to go and make all this sense all the time, makes all his nondescript, word-scramble of thought feel simple and linear. She does it so easily, understands him with infuriating ease. Avec toi, je suis moi, he’d say, if he could properly convey it. 

He bites the nail on his pointer finger. “Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes, babe,” she laughs again. It feels like she’s always laughing. He could listen to it, to the million variations of her laugh, for a long time. Maybe until he can’t hear anymore. “I’m so okay. The okay-est. Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine, yeah. Just worrying about you.” He’s not okay, but. He signed up for this life, and she didn’t. Charles asked for this, worked hard to have this. Sometimes he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be upset when stuff like this happens, all things considered. 

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re mad. Talk to me. I have fifteen minutes until I have to get my kids from art.” Tuesdays mean art class, he was right. He knew. 

Charles groans, thinks that this must be how toddlers feel right before they throw a tantrum, when they have all these contradictory thoughts flying around every corner of his brain and he can’t make sense of a single one of them. “I just. God, I just. Fuck, I feel guilty to get upset, you know?”

“I know. You don’t have to feel guilty with me, though.”

“I don’t know, sometimes it is just,” he’s pacing again. He wishes more than anything, more than anything, that she could just be here. That they could be having this conversation on a couch somewhere together. Missing her is hard when things are going good, because all he thinks about is how much better they’d be if she was there. But when things are bad, when he’s about ready to channel his sixteen-year-old self and punch a hole through a wall, he can feel all four thousand and seven hundred miles. “It makes me angry that less and less things are mine. I can not even walk down a street without getting a call from my press officer. I belong to everyone but to me, and I know that I am very lucky to have this life I have, and I love driving more than anything. It just gets bigger and bigger and more out of control. And God. Fuck, I am so mad about this,” he pauses, waits for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just holds the empty space. “I don’t know why I’m so mad about this one. I mean, I know that it’s because it’s not just me, it’s you too. But fuck, I’m pissed off.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. He knows he doesn’t need to. 

“I know, but I want to. I want to be able to.”

Without pause, she says: “You could. I mean, I felt safe enough to fly halfway across the world without telling anyone I was leaving, right?” He smiles. God, it really bugged him that she did that. She should have told someone. Anyone. We’re keeping it lowkey, she’s said and he didn’t know what to say. He remembers thinking it’s a trip, not the fucking nuclear codes. 

“It’s actually closer to a quarter of the way around the world, you know?” He jokes. It’s such a stupid distinction to make. Half the world, quarter of the world. Who cares, really? It’s all too far. A six hour time difference just feels a little easier than a twelve hour one. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly, and he’s certain she’s been making the same distinction, reminding herself of the same thing to make it that little bit easier. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

He leans against the wall of the narrow hallway, facing it, resting his forehead against the wallpaper and closing his eyes. He imagines he’s going back to a table with her sitting in the booth, that she’s inside the restaurant waiting for him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Are you?” 

“Yes,” he lies. She pauses like she can tell, like she’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it to call him on it. He really hopes she doesn’t, isn’t sure how much longer he can try to have a conversation like this with her while standing in the bathroom hallway at a random Italian restaurant. 

“Promise it won’t ruin your night?”

He chuckles. “I promise no such thing.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

“Two days,” he says, a reminder for him, a reminder for her. Two days until you’re in front of me. Two days and some change, for him—less than that for her. That’s what happens when you’re on different ends of the world, even your days are measured differently sometimes. 

“Two days.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

thank you per usual for @silverstonesainz for being my forever beta mwah mwah

#ma&thbp #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc #scuderia ferrari #ferrari f1 #f1 fic #f1 edit #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 x oc

[sanriovin]

Please finish the gojo fic now before daddy gets mad

GUESS WHO FINALLY MANAGED TO FINISH WRITING 💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻

CW: fucked in a washing machine, fingering, few ass spanks, Gojo referring to reader as 'good girl', p → v penetration, dirty talk, could be considered slightly dub-con as explicit consent isn't asked, Gojo is a horny bastard for us, that should be all (?) 😋😋😋

Money. A topic considered to be taboo amongst many. Raised to never speak about it, yet political discussions always find a way to include it amidst discussions. Well, taboo topic or not, it had to be spoken about and dealt with. With prices and the economy growing, it led to a crisis. Being able to afford less for more, bills and rent reaching skyrocketing heights, you weren’t able to afford living by yourself in your apartment. So a few months back, you moved in with a close friend of yours, Satoru Gojo. Having known him all the way from middle school, it came to no surprise that the two of you were close. Despite being of the opposite sex, living together wasn’t weird or awkward like everyone made it out to be. It was a nice change.

Satoru was a man who was loud and outgoing. Extroverted. Saying anything that came to mind, shameful or not. He was confident, with many women swooning over him. His looks only gave him an even bigger advantage with the women. And of course, he was strong. The strongest in the class, undoubtedly, and rich. Rising prices didn’t affect him, hell, he didn’t even realise them. Such a privilege to have. Yet, it didn’t bother you.

With you, he was funny, his good sense of humour showing. From funny remarks and comments to a more flirty and teasing attitude, he never failed to make you laugh or smile, bad mood or not. And, you couldn’t help but develop a small big crush on him. How could you not? He was gorgeous. Snow white hair, round blue eyes, with the white eyelashes laid over them, a perfect smile, and definitely a massive dick.

Currently, sitting on the ground in the laundry room, you were putting the white clothes into the washing machine, getting ready to set them for a wash. Today was your day to do the laundry. Both yours and Satoru’s. It wasn’t a big deal for you, as chores were split equally between the two of you, along with rent and bills. Sorting the pile of washing from whites to darks to colours, you threw more and more of the white clothes inside. Your pile was shrinking slowly but steadily. Eyes glancing around the room, you looked around for Satoru’s dirty laundry, yet, it was nowhere to be seen. Had he not brought it yet?

“Satoru!” You yelled, turning to face the door, dirty laundry held in your hands. Your voice was loud and clear, wanting to be heard by him the first time. “What?” He yelled back, his voice sounding slightly muffled as he was in his room, the door just slightly ajar. Yet, he heard you. “Bring over your dirty clothes, I’m doing the washing!” You replied, before sighing, turning back to the washing machine. Placing the clothes in your hands into the washing machine, your eyes quickly landed on something. You accidentally put the wrong colour in. Mentally chastising yourself, you moved to kneel on your knees, reaching into the washing machine to take the wrong colour out, your upper body finding itself in the washing machine. Rummaging through the stack of clothes, you finally managed to fish out the wrong coloured item, before beginning to try to move yourself out of the washing machine.

But, something was wrong. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t get out. You couldn’t push yourself out of the washing machine. You were stuck.

Your eyes widened, face growing pale, as you struggled in the washing machine, desperately trying to get out. You were desperate and honestly scared. How did you manage to get stuck? Would you manage to get out? It felt claustrophobic and tight, trapped inside the washing machine. And also humiliating. Imagine if someone saw you like this. Just imagine. Wait…

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” A voice spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts, making your eyes widen in realisation, a look of mortification crossing your face. Your roommate is seeing you like this. Satoru, your crush, is seeing you like this. A flush of redness dusted your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Satoru, let me explain myself!” You quickly exclaim, making your voice louder to have it heard through the metal and plastic that encased the washing machine. You so desperately wanted to tell him that you were just trying to get the wrong colour out and ended up getting stuck, yet, all you heard in response was a loud ‘tsk’ sound. His voice immediately turned into a teasing one.

“Did someone get stuck in the washing machine, hm? And wearing those short shorts, your ass is practically on display for me. Did you do this on purpose?” He cooed in a mocking tone, dropping his laundry onto the tiled ground, taking steps closer to you, crouching down, admiring the view.

You began to get even more embarrassed, squirming in the washing machine, his words sending tingles throughout your whole body. “That is not true!” You yell defensively, knowing fully well that you did intentionally wear short shorts for him to see. But you would never tell him that; you had some dignity to maintain.

But all other thoughts left your mind as you felt a large, warm hand place itself on your clothed ass, gently running itself along your right cheek, then your left, rubbing soft circles. A soft whine escaped from your lips, as your hand immediately slapped itself over your mouth to prevent any more noises from escaping. His hand traced over the hems of the shorts, threatening to slip into your underwear. His fingertips prodded at the waistband of your shorts, pulling it back, before snapping it back into place, causing your body to jolt forwards, breathing growing heavier.

“I think you’re lying. You wanted this attention. You wanted this, didn’t you?” He spoke, his head dipping down to place a soft, gentle kiss on your lower back, before sliding your shorts down to the ground, leaving you in just your lace panties. The smirk on his face widened as he saw your light pink lace panties on display, a wet patch evident on them. “So wet already, all for me?” He chuckled, his slender, pale fingers trailing up and down your clothed pussy.

Little whines and whimpers left your throat as your hips subconsciously

bucked backwards, right into his hand. Your body was doing whatever it wanted, while your mind screamed at you that this was wrong. He was your roommate. But, how could you deny yourself such pleasure?

“‘toru, please, hurry up…” You murmured quietly, ashamed to be saying such words out loud. It may have seemed like you didn’t want him to have heard you, but in reality, you were secretly pleading that he had heard you, and that he would comply. And luckily enough for you, he had heard you. And who was he to deny you of what you had asked for?

Slipping your panties down your legs, leaving your lower half bare to his eyes, a chuckle left him as his fingers slid up and down your slit, coating themselves in the wetness leaving you. A small moan left your mouth as you pressed a hand against the back of the washing machine as your hips pressed back, desperate to gain some friction, and to feel something more. He was teasing you, and you hated it. You needed to feel more.

“Satoru, don’t tease me–!” You huff out, body trembling slightly as your breaths grow heavier, your cheeks dusted with a rosy blush, your fingers gripping at the steel wall, digging themselves into the indents of the back panel. In response to your pleas, Satoru slapped your ass gently with his free hand, shushing you. “Now now, quieten down. I’ll get there soon enough.”

Deciding that he couldn’t wait any longer, the fingers that were coated in your slickness were slipped inside of your aching cunt. One at a time, the two got entered, prodding at your soft, clenching walls, making a cry get strangled from your throat as he thrusted his fingers inside of you at a slow pace, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the indents on your walls. Placing a kiss to your clit, his thrusts began reaching deeper and deeper, occasionally prodding close to, yet not directly at, your sweet spot. By now, you were a moaning mess. Without even getting to the main attraction, you were already a teary eyed mess under him. How much power did this man have?

“‘toru, please, nearly there, nearly there–!” You whispered in a quivering voice, barely managing to in between your load gasps and moans. Almost out of instinct, his fingers finally reached your g-spot, resulting in your body jerking forwards, your back arching slightly. “Right there, right there, there, there, don’t stop, ‘lease!” You cried out, beginning to rub yourself against Satoru’s hand subconsciously, chasing after your oncoming orgasm. It was so close yet so far away.

“You gonna cum, hm? I can feel you clenching around my fingers. So, so tight. How am I meant to get my dick inside of you if you’re squeezing so tight? Gonna milk me dry, aren’t you? Such a good girl. You can cum. Go ahead and cum all over my fingers.” His lewd words and praises were sent directly to your pussy as his fingers began to curl inside of you, pressing further against your sweet spot, his thrusts gaining in speed and harshness. Your legs were practically jelly now, trembling immensely as the pleasure began to build up at an alarming pace. You could only imagine how hard Satoru’s dick was right now, straining against his trousers and boxers, urging to be let out.

That thought alone was enough to push you over the edge separating you from your release, your orgasm rushing through you. Legs quivering, high pitched cries and moans leaving your lips, Satoru’s name repeated by you as if it was a chant, as he carried you through your intense orgasm, his fingers slowing their thrusts, yet not stopping, slowly pushing in and out of you, to allow your orgasm to be rode out at a slow pace, rather than have it snap and disappear in mere seconds. His free hand gently caressed your ass, leaving another little spank on it, a small chuckle emitting from him. Your cum dripped down his fingers, a ring of it pooling at the base of his index and middle fingers as he slowly pulled them out, bringing them up to his mouth.

With no hesitation, he parted his lips, inserting the two fingers inside of his mouth, immediately wrapping his lips around them as his tongue swirled around the fingers, taking in the taste of your release. A satisfied hum left him as his eyes grew half-lidded, the boner in his trousers straining even more against the cotton fabric that restrained it. With his fingers still in his mouth, he glanced over at you, seeing your panting form, with little jolts of aftershocks from your orgasm still occuring. Your legs were threatening to give out, barely holding your lower body up, your arms that were inside of the washing machine helping support your weight.

“Seems like someone enjoyed themselves. A little too much maybe. But, there’s still more awaiting you. You didn’t think I would be done after such immature play, did you?” He slipped the fingers out from his mouth, and spoke in that signature teasing voice of his, yet it was mixed in with a hint of seriousness, gentleness, and of course, lust and desire. He wanted to fuck you, and now. He wished he could see your fucked out face, your teary eyes, your tear stained face as you pleaded him for more. But he knew he would have to wait. For now, he would be satisfied with even just fucking you. And that was what he intended to do, as you showed nothing but pleasure and neediness in response to his actions.

Slipping his fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, he pulled them both off in one go, his cock springing up and hitting against his abdomen, precum beading up on his tip. With the same fingers that he used to finger you, he used them to spread the precum around his swollen red tip, placing it near your soaking cunt, rubbing it up and down, occasionally rubbing it on your puffed up clit. He was both taunting and overstimulating you now.

“Satoru, put it in, please–!” You cried out, little whines and desperate pleas escaping you as you pushed your hips back a little, aiming to get some more pleasure. To get closer to having his cock inside of you. You were desperate. “So needy, aren’t we?” He gripped your hips tightly with his right hand, steadying you, as his left hand reached for his cock, aligning it with your dripping pussy, as he took a sharp inhale, slowly pushing his cock in, inch by inch. His head lolled backwards, eyes shutting slightly, exhaling heavily as a groan left him, the feeling of your warm wet walls enveloping his cock hole feeling much better than he ever imagined.

As soon as you felt his veiny cock enter you, a strangled cry of pleasure left you, your hands quickly finding themselves on the back panel of the washing machine once again, trying to stabilise yourself. Now that you felt him inside of you, it felt too good to be true. Better than any of your fantasies. He was veiny, his tip big in itself, and his girth? It was to die for. Yet here you were, bent over in partial doggy style while stuck in a washing machine, getting fucked by your roommate, best friend, and crush all in one. A sheen of sweat covered your body from the sheer pleasure and physical exertion, your body on the verge of falling limp, if not held up by Satoru’s strong arms.

Giving you a minute to adjust, he moved his head as close as he could to the opening of the washing machine, speaking in a low voice, making sure he could still be heard. “I’m gonna start moving now, okay?” He was asking to double check, but deep down, he knew what the answer was. Almost immediately, you began to nod your head frantically, your mind a mess. Your eyes glazed over with lust and pleasure, lips parted, eyes drooped, you could barely make out the words. “Yes, yes, please, fuck me, fuck me, pleaseplease, ‘lease–!” Your words were like a prayer. Like a beg of desperation. Like a plea for your desperate needs.

No sooner than you said those words, he was already thrusting into you. Settling for a medium pace, his thrusts planned and targeted towards your g-spot, both of his hands now gripping your hips tightly to support himself, sure to leave bruises behind, as he pounded into you. Groans and sweet nothings left his lips as moans and whimpers left yours, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and the squelching sounds that came from your pussy as his dick collided with the wetness that left you. It all felt too good to be real. And yet, it was.

“‘toru, don’t stop, please, feels too good, ‘oo good, nghh, please–!” You moan out, your hips pushing back to meet with his pelvis, his balls meeting your clit every time he pushed his hard dick into you. The extra little stimulation to your clit was driving you insane. It was almost nonexistent, yet it amplified what you were feeling by a lot. Reaching one of your own hands up to your chest, you began to pinch and twist at your nipples through the thin fabric of the shirt you wore, a little cry of shock leaving you. You weren’t sure how long you were going to last before you cummed all over Satoru’s pulsing cock.

And he also didn’t know for how much longer he would be able to hold on. The feeling of your soft gummy walls, indented with ridges along them, wrapped around his desperate sensitive dick was too much in itself already. But the feeling of his bulging tip hitting against your sweet spot and occasionally brushing up against your cervix was sending him over the edge. He knew he would cum soon enough.

Reaching one of his hands down to your clit, he began to rub lazy figure eights on it, his thrusts growing more slowly. Tears of pleasure ran down your face as your body continued to get pushed forward with his hard thrusts, little sobs and moans leaving your mouth as you were brought closer and closer to the peak. Hand having your hips in a death grip, his other speeding up its ministrations on your clit, it all felt so good. You were tightly clenching around Satoru’s cock, as he pounded into you over and over, groans and little moans being heard from him. You were feeling overstimulated, having him make you feel so good. A sweet pain is what you would call it.

The tension in your lower stomach continued to build, threatening to snap at any given moment. Your pussy clenching tightly around his cock, threatening to milk him dry. A sharp inhale was heard from Satoru, as he began to mumble over and over again, heavy breaths heard from him. “Cum for me, cum for me, be a good little girl and cum for me, okay? Shit, cum for me–” His words sounded desperate as his pace increased drastically, trying to bring both you and himself to your inevitable orgasms. His fingers began applying more pressure and speed to your clit, making a shrill cry of bliss leave your lips as you came undone under him, cumming over his cock, your back arching from the immense pleasure you felt, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to ground yourself throughout the intense orgasm. Your face was stained with pleasured tears, looking fucked out, as your brain could only focus on the orgasm you were feeling.

Satoru was right behind you, sloppily thrusting into you a couple more times before thrusting once more into you, this time it being a firm and deep thrust, his cum being released into your drenched hole, filling you to the brim with the warm sticky liquid. A loud moan came from him as he cummed inside of you, the loudest one he had made so far. Head lolled back, eyes shut completely, his face painted with bliss and relief. Softly rutting his cock into you to ride out both your and his orgasm, his breathing grew heavy as he pulled out his now softening cock, watching the sight in front of him. Your limp body resting on your knees, with your upper half in the washing machine, your pussy leaking out his and yours cum, perfectly on display for him. Your ass with red marks on both sides, like candy to his eyes, and of course, the little shocks of overstimulation and post-orgasm passing through you, combined with the pants heard from the inside of the washing machine.

As the minutes passed, Satoru was able to regain his composure, snapping out of his sexual trance. He slowly moved closer to you once again, examining the situation, planning to get you out. “Pull your arms close to yourself.” He spoke in a quiet, yet sure voice. One much different from his usual, teasing, and flirtatious voice. Barely comprehending his words, you followed through with his instructions, bringing your arms as close as you could to yourself. You felt Satoru’s hands on your hips again as he began to pull, attempting to pull you out. You were almost sure that his attempts would be futile. Almost.

In less than a minute, you were out of the washing machine, finally being able to see Satoru, and his flushed cheeks, with his dishevelled hair. The view was one that words couldn’t describe. With his pale skin a rosy colour, his slender fingers drenched with your cum, and with his cock hardened once again, it made you feel a certain way. You couldn’t even manage to speak as Satoru picked you up, holding you close to him, with a small smirk on his face as he placed a kiss on your lips.

“Round two?”

#jjk fic #gojo imagine #gojo fanfic #jjk satoru #satoru gojo smut #jjk fanfiction #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satorugojo #gojo #jujutsu satoru #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojosatoru #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #smut #fem reader #x reader

[hbyrde36]

The Crawl (Complete)

Part 5 of 5 (Final)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 AO3

Author's note: This chapter had a mind of it's own and has gone through several re-starts. Basically, if you saw prev wip snippets of this, no you didn't 🤣

WC: 4152

-Eddie-

It did keep happening. 

By the time Eddie was released from the hospital, about a week later and with loads of antibiotics, pain meds, and a packet inches thick of instructions on how to care for his still healing wounds, they knew for sure that they were right. 

Anytime he closed his eyes, even for a brief cat-nap, Eddie would get another flash from the alternate week from hell, or so he called it. Although, occasionally he’d get a glimpse of something more mundane but still decidedly different from the months leading up to it.

As far as he could tell, his other timeline split off on the night Steve first tried to get his attention after Hellfire. 

It was funny to think about how unwilling he was to accept that a well-known, if supposedly reformed, asshole like Steve Harrington would want anything to do with Hellfire, or him, regardless of the kids he seemed to love so much. 

It was strange too– to look back now, through the lens of everything he had come to know, on the months that had followed. How he and Steve had gone from relative strangers, to acquaintances, to friends, and now so much more. 

It wasn’t lost on Eddie that without all the bad shit and the extreme circumstances of his other self dying and being resurrected, only to change everything by sheer chance and a well placed time disturbance, he and Steve might never have gotten to where they were now.

He didn’t want to say he was grateful for it… they would all undoubtedly be better off if the Upside Down had just never existed at all, but if there was a silver lining to be found in all of this, that would be it for him. 

In the alternate version of things, the other Eddie’s memories– though, now that they belonged to him he should probably stop thinking of it that way, the first time he’d seen Steve since graduating had been the moment he threatened him with a broken beer bottle to his neck. 

They recovered from that dramatic re-introduction rather quickly, and went on to share more than a few intriguing little moments between that day and the day that Eddie died. He could see a hint of it there, the potential, in curious glances and countless casual touches made without thought. If only they’d had more time. 

He tried not to dwell on that part though. 

However it had happened, they were here now– was the point. Alive, together, and with a future in front of them full of possibilities and hopefully free of monsters and trauma. 

Eddie had been wondering all week what would happen once he was released. 

Their old trailer was still a no-go. The gate inside of it was closed for good, the world it led to gone, as far as they knew, but there was still a sizable crack in the ceiling. Not to mention the fact that the entire park was now off-limits, cordoned off by temporary fencing– closed to the public by whatever shadowy sector of the government had finally decided to step in to help clean up the mess made by Brenner and his lab. 

Steve said he would have offered his place but his parents had made a surprise return to town in the middle of all the chaos and he wasn’t sure how long they would be staying this time.

Eddie knew Wayne had been living in a nearby motel and just sort of assumed that would be home for now. He was more than a little surprised to find out, as they waited for his discharge to be finalized, that Hopper had offered them his cabin to stay in for as long as they needed. The chief was living with the Byers full time anyway so he hadn’t hesitated to make the offer when he realized they were stuck. 

He asked Steve to come with them, would have begged outright if he wasn’t already afraid he was being too clingy, but Steve said he couldn’t. Though, he didn’t look any happier about the idea of being separated than Eddie was. 

It was tough to think about being apart for any amount of time after they’d been sleeping in his hospital bed together for almost the entirety of his stay, with Steve only ever leaving his side to go home for a shower in the mornings or to pick up food, but Steve seemed to think he would be imposing.

A ridiculous idea. 

Eddie tried to convince him otherwise, but Steve was sure that Wayne would mind, and didn’t want to make a bad first impression on his new boyfriend’s only family by being a nuisance so soon. He felt the need to point out that Steve had been hanging around their house for months. He and Wayne saw each other literally all the time– meaning they were well past first impressions at this point, but he insisted it was different now that they were a couple. 

A couple.

Boyfriends.

The idea itself, let alone hearing Steve say the actual words, was enough to keep Eddie warm for at least one night, so he let it go. 

They parted reluctantly in the hospital parking lot, after everyone else who’d come to see Eddie off had left, with Steve promising to come up and visit the next day. 

Maybe then, after they sat Wayne down and told him about their relationship, as if he hadn’t figured it out already, maybe then he could talk Steve into it. It was probably too soon to discuss actual living together, considering they’d only been together for a week, but maybe he could just stay with them temporarily, at least until it was all a little less raw.

Eddie was exhausted from the day. He hadn’t actually done much, the kids had all helped Wayne move what few belongings of theirs had been salvageable into the cabin while he was languishing away in the hospital, but it was still the most he’d been up and moving around since the final battle. 

Regardless of how tired he was, he tossed and turned for hours, unable to ignore the way his skin itched where it was healing, or find a comfortable position to rest in alone, having grown so used to having another body pressed closely to his. 

And he couldn’t stop thinking about Steve.

Wondering if he was alright, wishing he was there, and… okay, maybe he was also possibly avoiding sleep on purpose so he wouldn’t have to see anything, since he wouldn't have cuddles from Steve to wake up to and make him feel better. 

Pathetic? Maybe, but it was the truth.

Which was why he was still awake at 3am when a series of hesitant knocks sounded on the front door of the cabin. 

It had to be someone in the party, no one else knew they were there. Eddie’s name had been cleared officially, sure, but it would take time for the news to spread and be accepted by a town full of people who had hunted one boy down like an animal based only on circumstantial evidence and the word of another boy who was blind with grief and his own prejudices.

Wayne got to the door first, of course. Eddie was doing better by the day, but his injuries still had him moving painfully slow. When he did finally make it out of his room, what he saw made his heart drop through the floor. Wayne was grasping on tightly to a weeping Steve, holding him up as the boy fell apart in his arms.

Eddie shuffled closer as fast as he could, finally catching their attention.

“There, see? Look at him, son.” Wayne said gently, coaxing Steve into lifting his head. “Eddie’s just fine– he’s right there.”

His eyes were so red and swollen that Eddie wasn’t sure Steve could see him, but he nodded anyway, sniffling as Wayne released him, transferring him over into Eddie’s arms instead. 

Eddie braced himself, worried that he didn't have the strength to support them both, but Wayne was right there with a hand on his back for support, just in case. 

Steve buried his face in Eddie’s neck as they embraced, babbling, “I'm s-s- so sorry. I woke up and you weren’t there. I forgot, I forgot I was alone and… I- I knew we made it out, that you were okay but I needed to see. I just needed to see you.” 

Eddie ran his hands in soothing circles along Steve’s back, shushing him, and telling him it was okay.

“Come on,” he said, when Steve had calmed some. “Let’s go lay down on my bed so I can hold you properly.”

Steve pulled back, biting his lip and cutting a sharp nervous glance at Wayne 

Eddie huffed a gentle laugh, taking Steve’s hand and squeezing it. “Baby, we were sharing my hospital bed, I think he knows.”

“You don't need to worry about me, Steve. I’m just glad the two of you finally figured yourselves out. It was getting painful to watch, frankly.” Wayne said, letting out his own small amused chuckle. He gave Steve one last little pat on the shoulder and finally retired back to his own room.

They laid quietly on the bed facing each other, arms and legs entwined as much as they could manage without putting pressure on Eddie’s bites. Steve refused to take his eyes off of him for even a second while wearing the most tortured expression. 

He didn’t seem to want to talk about what happened, but that was okay. Eddie knew Steve was still struggling with the loss of the other Eddie, and having to leave him behind to fade with the Upside Down. Though, with Eddie gaining the other’s memories he had to wonder if that still meant he was lost.

“Feeling any better?” Eddie asked after a while.

Steve nodded, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “Always better when you’re with me.” He said sleepily.

Eddie gave a soft, breathy laugh. “What a line.” He whispered, leaning in to capture Steve's lips with his own. 

It was meant to be a chaste kiss, a sweet moment before they both inevitably passed out from exhaustion, but it quickly turned heated. 

It was nearly sunrise before they finally fell asleep.

After all, they had been apart for over 12 hours, surely that kind of reunion was worthy of an hours-long make out session, right? 

They slept all day until Wayne knocked on the door to make them come eat something. 

They sat as close together as the kitchen chairs would allow, their thighs pressed together under the table, compelled to have some form of physical contact no matter what, even while they were eating. 

Dinner was quiet, unusually so. Eddie would normally have been talking away, filling the silence with whatever popped into his head, but he was tired. He also knew his uncle must be wondering what had happened the night before, but he wasn’t really sure what to do about that. 

Wayne kept giving them sideways glances, clearly trying to ignore the silence, pretending like it wasn’t completely abnormal for Eddie who typically never shut up. But eventually, having apparently had enough, he gently set his fork down on the table and looked squarely at the two of them. 

“Now, look boys, I know I ain’t supposed to ask any questions about what happened to you two, and honestly-” he paused, blowing out a long breath. “I'm not sure I want to know. But if you want to talk, if you think it’ll help, I’m here for you. Both of you– for whatever you need, and nothing you’d say to me would ever leave the three of us.”

It was actually something they’d discussed however briefly before falling asleep. It didn’t seem fair to leave Wayne in the dark when he’d been nothing but supportive so far, even after Steve showed up at his doorstep in the middle of the night crying that he needed to make sure Eddie wasn't dead again.

“I’m not sure you’d believe us if we told you.” 

“I’ve seen some shit, Steve. You’d be surprised what I'm willing to believe.” 

Wayne took it well enough.

Not a single look of doubt crossed his face as he listened to the whole saga of Hawkins lab and the Upside Down. Worry? Certainly, but never once did he question if what he was being told was the truth. Not even when they told him about the other Eddie, though he did look a little haunted by the thought of it.

Steve took the lead for the most part, since he’d been there for so much more of things, and at several points in the storytelling Wayne did ask him to stop, to give him a moment to process things and also to ask, where were his parents? Why didn’t they ever seem to show up when he needed them? How could their son have been dealing with all this shit, for all this time, and they still have no idea it was going on?

Eddie was glad for it. He’d had some of the same questions on his mind since he learned the full truth of things, but they’d been dealing with so much. He knew Steve’s parents weren’t around a lot but it always felt like there was more to it, he just hadn’t really known how to ask. 

Steve tried to brush it off, but as patient as Wayne was, he was also persistent, and eventually Steve had to admit that his parents were hardly ever home. When they were, it seemed all they would do was judge him for not doing better in school, or in sports, or in life in general. Far from being concerned when the mall mysteriously caught fire, they had called to say how disappointed they were that he hadn’t gone out and gotten another job already. Never once asking if he had been there that day, if he was okay. 

When it was all over, and Wayne finally knew everything they had to tell, all he did was nod and start clearing the table. 

“You know, Steve, we got plenty of room here if you’d like to come stay with us.” He said casually, as he put all their dishes in the sink.

Eddie grinned.

“Oh.” Steve said, blinking in surprise. He looked from Eddie’s smiling face to Wayne’s back, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. 

“Um, thank you. I… do you– do you mean just for now, or…” Steve trailed off. 

Wayne turned, drying his hands on a kitchen towel and shrugged. “For now, or for good. It’s up to you and Ed really. I’m happy to have you, son, and I'd sleep better at night if I knew you were right here– safe under my borrowed roof.”

Steve bit his lip, still looking at them both hesitantly like was truly unsure of his welcome. 

Wayne sighed, plopping back down in his chair.

Eddie was familiar with this particular expression, having been the receiving end of it more than a few before. Wayne was uncomfortable about whatever it was he was about to say, but damned it he wasn’t going to say it anyway.

“I know you two probably feel like it’s too soon for all this, and ignore an old man if you like because God knows I only know what i’m talking about roughly half the time, but–”

A lie, Wayne was always right, but Eddie decided it wasn’t the time to argue. 

“Your relationship might be new, but the way you feel about each other ain’t. You’ve been through Hell together, in this life and another, it seems. That kinda thing either brings people together or breaks them apart, and from where I'm sittin’ it looks like it’s only made you closer, stronger.”

Eddie took Steve’s hand that was resting on the table and laced their fingers together. 

Wayne tilted his head. “Maybe a little codependent but it’s not the worst thing in the world.” He murmured. 

“Move in, Stevie?” Eddie asked, looking Steve firmly in the eye. “Please, I want you to stay for good. And it’s not just about me wanting you here after my nightmare memories, or wanting to get you away from your shitty parents. Wayne’s right, and who cares if it’s too soon. We both know better than most how short life can be.”

“My parents kicked me out.” Steve blurted out suddenly. “There was a message on the machine from Keith, saying I was fired for too many no call no shows. They heard it and flipped out on me when I came home yesterday.  I have till the end of the week to get out.”

“Baby, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Steve shrugged, “I didn’t want you to feel obligated or–.”

“What were you gonna do, sleep in your car?”

“If I had to.” Steve admitted. “Or sneak into Robin’s house.”

“Well, that settles it then.” Wayne said with finality. “When do you wanna go get your stuff? I can go with you if you want.”

Steve looked down, cheeks going a little pink. “It’s all in my car already. The stuff I wanted to keep anyway. I packed it up before I went to bed last night.”

3 Months later

Steve held up another god-awful polo shirt and waved it in his direction. “You sure you don’t want to borrow something of mine? Look, it's even black!”

Eddie was tearing through their small closet, no closer to finding what he was looking for than he had been ten minutes ago. 

“No way, Harrington. That look is all you. Besides–” He grunted as he finally pulled the plain black dress shirt from between a sea of red, black, and gray flannels, holding it up triumphantly. “I have this, and a brand new pair of non-ripped jeans that I was saving just for the occasion.”

It was graduation day and they were getting ready to go and cheer on Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan as they walked across the stage to get their diplomas. 

Eddie wouldn’t be joining them. 

He’d been given a choice when the doctor’s cleared him to return to school. He could go back, knowing he was likely to fail, all the while being subjected to hate and vitriol from the rest of the student body, or, if he agreed to never set foot on school property again, they would pass him, and send his diploma in the mail. 

It was an easy decision. He took the diploma. It was no skin off his back. The only thing he missed about that place was Hellfire, and it was simple enough to move their weekly game to the cabin, and a hell of a lot more pleasant than the old musty drama room provided by the school. 

Technically he’d be breaking his word today by showing up to the ceremony, since it was being held in the school’s auditorium, but he figured, fuck Higgins. Eddie already had the diploma. What were they gonna do, make him give it back? Nothing was going to stop him from showing up for three of the people who’d had his back before they ever really knew each other. 

“Boys! I hope you’re getting dressed in there, we gotta leave in fifteen minutes!” Wayne shouted from the other room.

Eddie grinned, buttoning his shirt up as he caught Steve’s eye through the mirror, while the other boy fixed his hair.

They giggled in unison, both of them knowing full well that they should have been dressed a while ago, but that was the thing sometimes about sharing a room with your significant other, someone starts to get undressed and suddenly it becomes really easy to get distracted.

Things had been going great for a while now. Steve eventually stopped looking at him like he was going to disappear, and Eddie’s dreams had slowed to a crawl before finally stopping altogether, leaving him with a full set of alternate memories. He didn’t think about it all that much anymore. As quickly as they had come, the memories started to fade into the background. There, if he wanted to poke at them, but easy enough to leave in the past if he so chose, which he did most of the time. 

Still, as good as things were, as happy as they were, Eddie was nervous. He had a big question to ask Steve and he wasn’t sure how the other boy was going to take it. 

Eddie cleared his throat and walked over to where Steve stood, wrapping his arms around him from behind. 

“Hey, Stevie, what would you think about getting out of here?”

“Like, the cabin?”

“I was thinking more like… Hawkins.”  

Steve stilled, hesitating before he responded. “And go where?”

Eddie took a deep breath, letting it all out in a rush. “What if we got a place in New York with a certain friend of ours who’ll be going to school there in the fall?”

At first Steve broke out into the widest smile imaginable, his eyes sparkling with it and Eddie thought maybe this wouldn't be such a hard sell, but a split second later Steve’s face fell. 

“What about the kids, we can't just leave them here on their own.” 

Eddie rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder, still watching him carefully through the mirror as he swayed them back and forth, subtly trying to soothe the other boy’s nerves. 

“They won’t be on their own, baby, they have parents, families, each other. And it’s not like we wouldn’t come visit. It’s a 10 hour drive– hour and a half by plane if we’re in a hurry.”

“You’ve really put some thought into this, haven't you?” 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Since Robin got her letter.” 

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, turning in Eddie’s arms to face him. 

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t be stupid, of course you should go.” Dustin said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. 

They both jumped, completely forgetting that the kid was getting dropped off here to ride to the ceremony with them since his mom had to work. 

“Jesus Christ, kid, put a fucking bell on or something.” Eddie said.

“Dustin, what? You want me to leave?” Steve asked, leaving the circle of Eddie’s arms to take a step towards the kid.

“It’s over. For real this time, Steve. I know you think you need to stay here to protect us, but you deserve to get out of here– start your life. We’ll be fine, I promise. You’ll call and you’ll visit, and you better get a comfortable couch for me to sleep on when I come to stay with you.”

Forget the bell, if it made him happy this kid could sneak up on Eddie all he wanted, because he’d just said the one thing that might convince Steve to finally leave this place and it’s awful history behind.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

Dustin nodded emphatically. “Robin needs you, and it’ll be… easier for the two of you in the city, won’t it?”

Their relationship was no secret to the party, least of all Dustin since he and Will had witnessed their coming together in the Upside Down. They’d told everyone else not long after Steve had officially moved into the cabin. 

Eddie took Steve’s hand and squeezed. Steve squeezed back.

It would be easier. There would be places– shops, gay bars, whole neighborhoods where they could walk down the street hand-in-hand, in relative safety compared to their small Indiana town. 

“And you’ll come visit? The others too?”

Dustin grinned, making a waffling motion with his hand.  “Might take some convincing to get Mike to come along, but yeah. For Eddie, he’ll do it.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “He’s never gonna forgive me for dating his sister is he?”

“Nope,” Dustin said, chuckling as well. 

“So, what d’ya say, sunshine?” Eddie asked. 

Infuriatingly, Steve still hesitated. “And Wayne, he’s okay with this?”

As if summoned, although more likely he was just getting tired of waiting around for them all, Wayne popped his head around the corner with perfect comedic timing. “Stop worrying about what other people want, boy, what do you want?”

Steve sighed, smiling sheepishly.

“Can I be the one to tell Robin? It’ll be a much better graduation gift than the watch I planned on giving her.”

“Of course, baby.” Eddie quickly agreed.

“Okay, then.”

“Is that a yes? Are we really doing this? Are we moving to New York?!”

Steve nodded and leaned over, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“It’s a yes.”

Thanks forever to @penny00dreadful for being the best friend, cheerleader, and beta in the whole fucking world 💜 truly could not do it without you. Also special thanks to @hitlikehammers for all the discussion and encouragement on this!

@hissunflowers @sadisticaltarts @gutterflower77 @epiclazershark @yeahhhh-suga @soapyscoobert @thetrueghostqueen @guppynuggets @reh-hateshumans @katdeerly @kolorzapster @useless-nb-bisexual @sammyammi @ellietheasexylibrarian @thesecondfate @eleganttidalwavecloud @localcrustrat @letsmo6 @justaquietnerd @marvelobessed @femmeratale @carriethesaint @novelnovella

#steddie fanfic #time fuckery #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steddie fic #the crawl #ao3 link

[verlaines-corner-archive]

Death/Muerte sfw alphabet 

 -> Warnings: Muerte typical death mentions, suggestive content, probably ooc and I probably contradict myself at some point. There is slight angst in some of these, though nothing major. There is a singular radiohead reference in this.

 -> Notes: I fucking adore this wolf, so I figured this would be fun to do and it was! This is unedited, I’ll go over it again tomorrow. Also thank you to everyone who sent in requests, I plan to get started on them soon! 5.3k words.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

 -> Muerte is actually rather affectionate! 

 -> He’s not the best at affection at first, purely because he’s never really had to be affectionate. Being the embodiment of death hasn’t presented Muerte with many opportunities to be like so with another, and though he’s been alive long enough to have witnessed his fair share of love between others that’s all it is - love between other people. So he’s a little stuck at first, unsure of how to ask for affection or initiate it, but with enough patience he learns how. A quick learner, too.

 -> Once Muerte has his head properly wrapped around the concept - both the giving and receiving - he’s very sweet with it, and there are two main ways he shows his affection for you, those being physical touch and quality time.

 -> Physical touch is perhaps a little surprising but Muerte is quite fond of it! 

 -> When receiving physical affection Muerte actually really likes being pet. It is definitely his wolf instincts kicking in, but whenever you thread your hands through his fur or scratch behind his ears/rub his belly, he just kind of melts. Tail starts wagging, he gets this real big grin on his face, and in general his mood just lightens. Your touch is fairly comforting to him, in a way he never knew he needed or even wanted.

 -> When giving physical affection Muerte is big on nuzzling as a thing. Rubs his face against yours, or wherever he can really, and it’s often accompanied by little love bites and licks. Speaking of love bites, they're something that happen often and at random. Basically; oversized puppy.

 -> Now in regards to quality time, it’s very important to Muerte. Due to who he is he doesn’t have all too much time with you, so what little there is he wants to make the most of. This is usually done through sharing stories and experiences! 

 -> He has undoubtedly seen a lot, and he’s never really had anyone to share any of it with so it makes his day when you listen to him. He’s quick to find that he likes talking and though he remains a fan of comfortable silences he’ll never complain about conversing.

 -> Similarly he likes listening to what you have to say as well! You could be talking about anything and he would spend hours just listening. Always so invested in it too, giving you his full attention.

 -> Sidenote: his ears are very expressive when both talking and listening.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

 -> A friendship with Muerte is going to be a little tricky to get into, mainly because it’s kind of hard to meet death himself outside of, well, a near death experience. 

 -> Soooo this leaves three main options. You’re either immortal but not an arrogant asshole [so he has a reason to actually want to be your friend], you’re in a near death experience but due to circumstance he doesn’t actually take you, or you meet him in a bar, assuming he visits them outside of hunting down narcissistic animals [which is funny to imagine, can Muerte actually get drunk?].

 -> Now what draws Muerte to someone is hard to say, but I would wager a lack of fear towards him would be a good start. Even though you probably don’t know he’s death when you first meet him he’s still incredibly intimidating, from his stature to his eyes. It’s also in the way he holds himself, like he knows something you don’t, like something bad is going to happen. Seeing him is almost like a bad omen, so when you show little or no fear he is incredibly curious. 

 -> That curiosity leads to him visiting you often, and that leads to friendship. 

 -> Now I think Muerte as a best friend is a little distant but someone you can count on. He’s the kind of friend who you can trust to have your back and - when possible - be there for you but will never really open up to you, even after you’ve spilt your guts to him.

 -> He’s charming, laid back and calm, yet confident in a subtle way, and once you get past his unnerving demeanour he’s very easy to get along with. But despite that he doesn’t reveal much about himself, keeping things close to his chest and seldom does he express much outside of annoyance or joy. Things such as sadness [which for him often materialises as a heavy melancholy] aren’t often seen and whenever you do see them he’s quick to leave.

 -> I think the main thing keeping him back from getting close to you in a friendship is the nature of who he is. Muerte is a little worried about getting close to you, creating a genuine emotional bond and then telling you who he is, only for you to leave in fear and for the connection to break. 

 -> It’s only after he’s told you that he’s death and you still accept him does he get closer as a friend and subsequently start falling in love with you. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

 -> Ohhhh Muerte loves cuddling! 

 -> Now I can’t really elaborate on the why of it, it just seems like something he’d enjoy. Maybe it’s the fact that he can hold and touch another without receiving fear or hate - that he can do it without having to guide another soul to rest, or maybe it’s the fact that you just fit so nicely in his arms, it’s hard to say. 

 -> If you were to ask Muerte why he likes cuddling he’d probably make some quip about how it’s because you’re “so small and cute” [even if you’re neither of those things], so why wouldn’t he like holding you? 

 -> The comment itself is a little unsettling, making you feel like he’s sizing you up to devour you or something, but don’t worry about it. You are incredibly safe in his arms and he’s really just taking the opportunity to tease you.

 -> In regards to the cuddling position I think Muerte is a fan of spooning! It’s definitely the easiest for you both considering his size, though he likes when you face him during it. A part of this is because a lot of conversations happen during cuddling and Muerte finds them most enjoyable face to face, where he can watch your expressions and reactions to things. Facing him also means you’re able to give him affection easier, not that he’d ever ask for that, of course. 

 -> I think Muerte also doesn’t mind being the little spoon, though it’s really just him burying his face in your chest/stomach and letting you hold him like that. His tail is definitely wagging, though if you bring it up he’ll give you a little warning bite and half hearted growl.

 -> Big spoon or little spoon doesn’t matter though, Muerte will croon for you.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

 -> Muerte cannot settle down with you. Due to his job as death he is unable to, because it is so constant and though he can seemingly teleport it can lead to him being gone for days, or weeks, or on the rare occasions even months. It’s not that he doesn't want to, but there is no real opportunity to.

 -> While Muerte cannot settle down he can leave bits of himself around your house and as a result it’s going to feel lived in by him. Spare ponchos hang in your warbroad, desks and shelves are littered with old books and scrolls, weapons are displayed along your walls, and your old storeroom has been turned into a makeshift workshop of sorts. Not to mention all the things he brings home for you specifically, ranging from flowers to letters to small knick knacks and trinkets. To everyone else your house is bound to feel uneasy, carrying a cold stale air to it, but to you it’s a sign that your lover cares enough to always return. 

 -> Which is all it is really; somewhere he returns to. Your home could never be Muerte’s, not really, but it can be his sanctuary and for as long as you let him he will always find his way back to it.

 -> Now in regards to cooking and cleaning, I’d say Muerte is okay at it? Nothing special, but also nothing atrocious either. I think the main problem is that he just kind of never has to do either. If he eats it’s not because he needs to, and he’s never really stuck around a place long enough to need to keep it clean, at least not consistently.

 -> With that being said however, now he has a reason to do both! Now once again he can’t do either consistently due to his job, but when he’s actually there he’ll help out while he can. Or not, I won’t pretend to know. I’m sorry, but picturing him in front of a stove is fucking hilarious. Imagine that absolute monster of a wolf holding a broom.

 -> Though, one thing I can say for certain is that Muerte enjoys bathing with you!

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

 -> He wouldn’t <3

 -> No but genuinely, Muerte is not going to break up with you. From my understanding wolves tend to mate for life and even beyond that I don’t see him as the type to fall out of love.

 -> Getting Muerte to fall in love with you is near impossible, but once he has the feelings just never go away. Especially in your lifetime. Assuming you’re not immortal, your lifespan is so miniscule compared to his own that it’s not even nearly long enough for him to even consider losing such feelings for you.

 -> Now if, for whatever reason, Muerte does break up with you I think he’s polite about it. He finds no joy in seeing you cry at all, but his comfort is also very formal and impersonal. Though he respects you he doesn’t care for you anymore and during a breakup Muerte is very matter of fact, straight to the point, and refuses to sugar coat any of it.

 -> It’s simple, he’s sorry but he doesn’t love you anymore. Does he wish you well? Certainly, and he hopes there’s no bad blood between the two of you when you inevitably meet again.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

 -> Muerte is a very committed lover, he doesn’t get into a relationship if he doesn’t plan for it to last. 

 -> With that being said though I don’t see marriage as being something important to Muerte. He kind of understands the appeal, but to him it’s idiotic. A ring and piece of paper should have no say over your relationship with him. 

 -> I do think Muerte would get you something to signify your bond with him though. It’d be a piece of jewellery - possibly a broach, something easy to keep on your person, and though it’s no real proposal or church it carries the same weight to it. A confession of his love for you, a promise to remain by your side for as long as you’ll let him.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

 -> Is gentleness natural to Muerte? I think this is both a yes and no.

 -> Muerte is death itself, and this is something that can be both gentle and harsh. To some it is solace, it is peaceful and calm, while to others it’s harsh and cruel, unjustified.

 -> What we see with Puss is completely natural; Muerte enjoys a chase, he enjoys fear and borders on being sadistic. But it would also be just as in character to say that Muerte is gentle with souls undeserving of their fate, that he would comfort wounded animals as they die and let kids pet his fur so they’re no longer scared.

 -> Now I know that this question is in regards to him with a lover, but I do think it’s worth going over that he is very much both naturally depending on what’s needed. Neither is a facade or fake.

 -> So, to get to what we’re actually here for yeah, Muerte is a fairly gentle lover! You have given him no reason to be otherwise, and though he enjoys some fear [even from you] it’s in no way malicious. His fear comes as a warning to appreciate what you have, and any other moments of roughness are all rare. 

 -> I think Muerte has an easier time being gentle emotionally as opposed to physically, mainly because I believe him to be someone incredibly in tune with his own emotions. I think his natural disposition is a lot calmer than what we see with Puss and he’s most likely a very wise individual. Due to this it won’t be long before he’s in tune with your emotions as well and it leads to a fairly gentle and calm dynamic. Like “old married lovers” kind of gentle.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?

 -> Muerte definitely likes hugs, but I think there are just other forms of affection he prefers over them. 

 -> The main thing Muerte likes about hugs is how protective they are. He completely smothers you in his arms and it always leads to him feeling like he’s keeping you safe. But even that isn’t unique to just hugging and he often feels that way during cuddling. So it leads to hugs, while being something pleasant, not being something that’s done all too often.

 -> Muere mainly reserves them for when he’s greeting you, especially if he’s been gone for a while. In those cases they’re are tight, secure, and can last for a minute or so, though that depends on how long he was gone for.

 -> There is one problem with Muerte’s hugs though, that being that he tends to lean into you and subsequently put his weight on you. Make sure you have good footing before hugging him, just for your own sake.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

 -> Hmmm, hard to say. Not too quickly, but he certainly knows he loves you when he gets with you. 

 -> I think Muerte might be a little hesitant to say he loves you in all honesty, mainly because it’s so surprising to him that he actually feels this way. I don’t think he ever considered himself capable of love. Sure, he knows he’s not incapable of things such as sympathy or affection for another, but actual love - romantic love? That’s a whole different ball game.

 -> Muerte has a very theoretical understanding of love. He knows why people feel it, he knows the importance of it - the importance of why he should tell you how he feels - but when it comes to the actual doing and feeling he’s lost.

 -> And that leads to him feeling small, in a very weird way. This is outside of his knowledge, outside of his comfort zone, and it leads to fear. Fear of admitting that he cares, fear of losing you, fear of making a fool of himself. Muerte is prideful, and though that’s not something that gets in the way of your relationship all too often, when it first comes to an admittance of love it leaves him frozen.

 -> Muerte will bite the bullet and say it though, and all things considered fairly quickly too. Say, maybe three/four months into the relationship. It’s a little awkward on his part, but he still looks you in the eyes and says it with his full chest. There’s no doubt in his mind that this is what he feels for you.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

 -> Not at all! Muerte holds you with full respect and never once doubts your loyalty to him. If you gave him reason to doubt it he wouldn’t stick around.

 -> While Muerte is indeed somewhat possessive he knows you’re his, and that he’s yours too, so that never leads to jealousy. If you like the whole jealous lover schtick he can certainly play it for you, but it’s just not something natural to him. 

 -> On the very rare occasion that Muerte gets jealous he gets quiet. He’s already an observer but it increases tenfold here, eyes like daggers as he watches whoever is stealing both your attention and time. Muerte has enough sense and control to never get angry at you when jealous, but he does get more possessive, pulling you into his side and once you both get home he’s not letting you out of his arms for the rest of the night. Make with that what you will.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

 -> Muerte’s kisses, much like everyone else's, vary. In general they’re gentle yet passionate and are often drawn out. He tends to like taking his time kissing you, and they only ever become rushed and aggressive if things are getting heated or he hasn't seen you for a while.

 -> Even make outs with Muerte tend to be somewhat gentle, but this is partially because kissing him is a little difficult, especially if you’re human. He has lips and he can kiss you, but anything heated can be a little tricky to do with that mouth of his. Honestly his kisses are more tongue and fang at times.

 -> Now Muerte doesn’t really have a favourite place to kiss you, but if he had to choose he’d say your neck! This is heavily trust based, but he also likes the fact that he’s able to feel your pulse under his lips. 

 -> In regards to receiving kisses, please kiss his nose. He’ll accept them anywhere, but his nose and forehead are weak spots for him. Always results in a little happy growl of sorts.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

 -> Oof, he likes kids but kids do not like him.

 -> I think children give Muerte a sense of peace. They are good, for the most part kind, and though they don’t really understand the world they tend to appreciate what they have. I think he finds their wonder in the world to just be very refreshing, if that makes sense.

 -> Kids don’t like him for obvious reasons, those being his general demeanour and appearance. Though, there are always a few that approach him. Mainly with the intent to pet him, or in some cases tell him that he “looks cool” [or very bluntly tell him that he’s scary, which always makes him laugh a little]. 

 -> Now despite his fondness for kids Muerte doesn’t want any. He’s already placing his heart on the line by being with you and he knows that he’ll have to take you some day. But outliving his own kids, having to bury them? No, no. He won’t do it. Muerte understands that it may be selfish of him to so adamantly refuse the idea, but it’s a weight he would much rather be without.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

 -> Assuming you wake up with him and he doesn’t have anywhere to be, mornings with Muerte can be rather lazy. If he doesn’t have to get up and leave the warmth of your bed he simply will not, unless you were to blackmail him out with food or something of that ilk. Which isn’t guaranteed to work mind you, and that’s assuming he lets you get out of his arms in the first place.

 -> Which he won’t. Mornings with him are cuddly, in the sense that you are trapped and cannot escape. Seriously, unless you’re a fucking powerhouse or incredibly small you are not worming out of his embrace. So sorry </3

 -> Hehe morning sex hehe

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

 -> Nights with Muerte are bound to be very calm. He tends to spend a lot of them out working, but when he has free time Muerte likes to take you places! Usually places with a nice view and that are away from people, though sometimes he likes to just sit in the corner of a pub with you and watch everyone go about their night.

 -> Muerte is also a big fan of nights spent at home with you, simply coexisting. With him caring for his weapons as you get ready for bed or so on, they’re awfully domestic.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

 -> Not slow, but not fast either. I think Muerte doesn’t go out of his way to reveal things unless they’re of importance, instead everything is revealed naturally through conversations. 

 -> The way he opens up is very calm in a sense, there’s never any spotlight placed on what he’s saying. It feels natural, it flows, and the mood never really changes. I think it’s comforting in a way, the casualness of it all highlighting just how much trust he has in you.

 -> There will always be an air of mystery to him though. He is only truly knowable through death after all, so when you die it’s like the last piece of a jigsaw falling into place.

 -> In regards to you opening up, Muerte is patient. There is no rush and he understands that some things are just hard to talk about. 

 -> There is also no judgement either, not with him. Muerte has seen just about everything there is to see, has witnessed the absolute worst of humanity. You are safe here, the scars on your hands will never drive him away.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

 -> Hmm, this is hard. He’s not easily angered, especially by you, but there are some things that get to him.

 -> In general I think Muerte is very patient. Even with someone like Puss, it took eight lives for Muerte to finally snap and go after him, and that’s after heavy disrespect and wastefulness. He is easily annoyed, but getting actual anger [especially anger he’ll act on] is hard.

 -> With you, whether as friend or lover, Muerte is simultaneously very patient and very easy to anger. 

 -> In general, once again, he’s patient. You’re in no rush to open up, arguments with Muerte are fairly rare as he prefers negotiating and actually discussing things, and he has an incredible understanding of humans, along with being very in tune with your emotions. Calm, with the patience of a saint.

 -> Unless you act recklessly that is. Unlike with Puss, Muerte cares about you and so every time you do something idiotic or place your life on the line [intentionally or not] he grows angry. It is anger built from worry and results in him scolding you. He grips your shoulders, bares his teeth, growls, anything that will make you realise that death is still something to be feared, something that should not be so recklessly rushed towards.

 -> Is Muerte easy to calm down? Depends on what exactly angered him, but for the most part he needs a little bit of time to himself. Not just to calm down, but to fully gather his thoughts - especially in the case of you being the source. Afterwards he just wants to hold you. Like I said before, your embrace is comforting to him.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

 -> Remembers everything.

 -> Muerte has an exceptional memory, so everything you tell him - whether in depth or in passing - will be kept tucked away in his mind. Honestly you don’t even have to tell him, his eye for detail is insane. He can read you off body language and expression alone.

 -> He’s the type of lover to know your order off by heart, the type that makes you feel seen and understood, to the point where it’s almost terrifying. The little details matter, and Muerte’s love lies in them.

 -> What makes it more heartwarming is that it’s not all natural either. Sure, his memory is fucking amazing, but he only knows you so well because he puts in the effort to listen and remember. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

 -> Muerte has two responses to you asking this. The first is saying that he doesn’t have a favourite memory, because how could he possibly choose just one? And the second one is pretending that his favourite moment is something that is probably very embarrassing for you, like the time he saw you trip over your own feet or that one time he popped up beside you and you screamed so loud the neighbours were worried [yes he did laugh, broke out in a sort of giggle fit actually </3].

 -> In actuality his favourite memory is when he told you he was death itself. While that might seem like a weird one to favour it meant a lot to him, and still does. 

Muerte had very much gone into that confession expecting hate, for any fondness you had of him to vanish, and for the most part your initial reaction had been what he had expected: fear. The stench of anxiety had come off you in waves as you tried to process what he had said, because what could death want with you if not to collect your soul?

There had been a minute of painful silence, and it was only after the rational part of your brain had convinced you that if Muerte wanted you dead it would have happened already that you had spoken. 

Your voice, while slightly shaky, had been gentle, telling Muerte that despite who he was you still trusted him and hoped that your friendship would remain the same. You had accepted him, overcome your fear to be with him, so it’s no surprise that he holds that night so dearly in his memories. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

 -> Muerte is extremely protective when there’s an actual threat to your safety, whether caused by someone else or yourself [like I said in P].

 -> Muerte has no qualms in killing someone for your safety, and honestly depending on how badly you were hurt/they planned to hurt you he’s liable to just going fucking wild. We all know that he enjoys the hunt and that he has a sadistic streak, so there’s a fair chance he’ll give them a similar treatment to what he did Puss, except this time there will be no mercy at the end.

If you weren’t hurt too bad he’ll just scare them away and [probably] out of town.

 -> Outside of threats though Muerte is pretty lax, he has an incredible trust and respect in your abilities. The most he ever really does outside of danger is check over you when he gets home, and that’s only after he’s been gone for a while.

 -> Now in regards to protecting him, well, you really don’t have to worry about that. He’s a force of nature, unkillable, and seldom ever gets hit, let alone hit hard enough to draw blood. And there’s also no way you’re scarier than him, so there’s really not much you can do. 

 -> Though Muerte does think that any and all attempts at protection on your part are incredibly endearing. Likes the idea that you want to keep him safe.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

 -> Muerte is a romantic in his own way, so there’s always effort put into everything.

 -> In regards to dates and even anniversaries I think it’s a very subtle effort. You can notice it and certainly appreciate it but it’s not in your face. It’ll never be anything that will drop your jaw, never anything extravagant. Once again, it’s all in the finer details. 

 -> Dates in general tend to be quiet and are never really traditionally romantic. He’s not a fan of candle lit dinners or parties, rowboats aren’t his thing, and even picnics are a hit or miss for him. The best way to describe dates are as domestic, he prefers a more homely setting.

 -> As for gifts Muerte doesn’t like buying you things. He views bought gifts as somewhat lazy and lacking any real meaning, so everything he gives you tends to be handmade, or in the case that it is something store bought it’s very small and is less to impress and more because it made him think of you.

 -> One of the most notable gifts he’s given you is an old journal, filled with sketches and poetry. Now this may feel cheesily ooc, but when he’s out a lot of things end up making him think of you, from flowers [some of which end up dried and pressed], to scenery, to passages from books he finds in the houses of those recently deceased. So he writes them all down, or in the case of scenery sketches them down. 

 -> It’s sentimental and even Muerte will admit that it’s sappy, but he has several of them. All filled with things you would have liked but weren’t there to see.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

 -> Okay here’s a funny one, Muerte eats animals. Muerte doesn’t really like human food you see, he can eat it fine but just isn’t the biggest fan of most of it. So the times where he does want to eat he goes out and hunts animals. That itself is perfectly fine, but here’s the problem: he brings the bloody carcass into your house and just. eats it on the floor like a dog.

 -> And it’s gross. It stinks and there’s blood and fat everywhere and sometimes afterwards he wants to give you a kiss or licks your face and his breath smells and there’s blood and augh. The only upside is that beforehand he cuts you off a leg of whatever it is he’s killed so you have food to put away [a massive bonus during winter], and he always picks the game completely clean, leaving only bones that he’s quick to dispose of. But yeah it’s just not pleasant. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

 -> Not very for the most part!

 -> Muerte, much like everyone, wants to look presentable, and with all that fur he has to put in extra work to make sure it looks and feels nice. 

 -> I do think he is vain in the sense that he likes looking his best even if he doesn’t have to, but he never puts in so much effort that it feels narcissistic or egotistical. More than anything Muerte just loves receiving compliments about his appearance from you. 

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

 -> Kind of?

 -> I don’t mean this in a heartless or cold way but Muerte doesn’t need you. He certainly wants you, but he has lived centuries without anyone. He is a person by himself, as much as death is capable of being its own being. You don’t make him complete, but rather allow him a way to be his true self, to show a tenderness usually [though not always] hidden.

 -> However Muerte would feel very lonely without you. His feelings for you will never really go away and though he certainly comes to peace with your leaving he will always carry a bit of you with him. Even after Muerte has lived another 30 lives of men he will still find something that makes him think of you, if only for a moment. A sort of nostalgia that never goes away.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

 -> I actually have two! 

 -> The first being that Muerte knows how to sew and often patches up his own poncho or any other articles of clothing he has. He doesn’t particularly like sewing, but when he has to or is simply bored he’s surprisingly good at it!

 -> The second one is that Muerte likes gardening. His appreciation for life is immense and on more than one occasion has led to him planting a few seeds and, when possible, tending to them. Muerte mainly plants trees and flowers and is almost embarrassingly happy when they start sprouting.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

 -> There are two main things that Muerte detests in people: a lack of appreciation for life and cruelty. 

 -> The former is very self explanatory. Muerte, more than anyone, knows the value of a life, how precious such a thing is, and so when people treat such a thing as worthless or disregard it entirely it makes his blood boil.

 -> The latter ties in with the former too. Having witnessed countless tragedy after tragedy Muerte is very much aware of how horrid life can be, how painful and unjust it is. So when people actively harm and step on others he - much like before - grows angry, because has there not been enough cruelty already?

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

 -> Muerte doesn’t really need to sleep. It’s not essential for him at all and though he can grow fatigued he only really sleeps to keep his mind sharp, and that’s only after months of being awake.

 -> Now despite the fact that Muerte doesn’t need to he certainly loves sleeping beside you. Sleeping is a way to kill time for him, and so if he can do that while being warm, comfortable, and with you? Sign him up. But as stated in M please do not expect him to let you get up easily, he absolutely will not.

 -> As for habits he doesn’t really have many. The main ones are that he holds things in his sleep and oftentimes curls in on himself during it, and if he’s extremely comfortable he may croon as well.

Taglist: @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this​ | Want to join the taglist? Send in an ask and I’ll add you!

#✧ library shelves ✧ #I got a little silly here #puss in boots #puss in boots x reader #puss in boots the last wish #muerte x reader #muerte #death #death x reader #death puss in boots #death wolf

[fromtheseventhhell]

I think the reason idiots say Arya never would have survived what Sansa went through in King’s Landing again is because of the show. In the show Arya is violent, impulsive, aggressive, and just eager to fight. Nothing like Arya in the books who is intelligent, calm, careful to avoid fights when she can, and just wants to protect herself and her friends. Honestly what Arya goes through in Harrenhal is just as bad or worse than what Sansa went through in KL. At least Sansa still got to eat good food, sleep on a bed, and take a bath. Arya didn’t have that. Gosh even in the show they had Arya say that she wouldn’t have survived that.

I think the show is certainly a factor, but it also seems people have this need to make things "fair" between the Stark sisters, so people really push the idea that Arya couldn't have survived in KL's because they think it takes away from Sansa. People want them to be this complementary pair to the point that they can't have any overlapping skills so all of Arya's intelligence, connections to the political plot, skills when it comes to reading people, etc. get thrown out the window to create the idea that Arya needs Sansa for those things. Arya undoubtedly could've survived KL's, and that's exactly why she wasn't stuck there; It would've stagnated her growth. Harrenhal is a more dangerous situation where Arya didn't have the benefit of being a highborn hostage and needed to carefully navigate her situation. She learns and grows a lot there. It also lets her be much more active in her situation, as shown by her helping the Northern prisoners and the coup.

For some reason, it's difficult for people to comprehend characters having overlapping skills (whether said skills are canon or fanon). Leaning back on Arya's warped show characterization just makes things simpler since people don't see her as her own, complex character. Her being someone else's sidekick is the best they can come up with.

#ask #whitedragonwolf4961 #arya stark #anti d&d #anti got #anti sansa stans #fandom nonsense #it's frustrating because everything is seen as a competition between her and Sansa. Arya can't just be smart and capable all on her own #I think people make way too much of Ned's sun and moon quote but that's a whole other post #in summation Arya is her own character and people need to stop reducing her to fit into their biased idea of what the story should be

[solitaire-sol]

22: Lineage

For: @prongsfoot-microfic Month: March 2023 AO3: Link Notes: Canon divergence, though right now it's just in the form of a soulmate AU (yes, another one) as encountered by little bitty James and Sirius, with a supporting appearance by a very displeased Walburga Black. Another first-of-several-connected-microfics.

It was strange to think that they might not have met were it not for pureblood traditions, though really, James and Sirius were barely related; courtesy of a shared ancestor from several generations back that made them cousins, probably, or possibly uncle and nephew several times removed. Regardless, there was just enough Black in the Potter line that the latter was invited when the former held the usual grand fête to announce their next Heir: Sirius Orion Black had just made seven years old, which meant that it was time for him to be propped up in front of various friends, relations and people of note as the future head of his House.

Sirius hadn't known who the Potters were, exactly, but it wasn't hard to assume that James was a distant relative, as at the time they looked much alike: The same ink-black hair, the same childish, doll-like features, dressed in similar formal robes for the occasion. The similarities ended there, however, as there was something about James that seemed distinctly novel to Sirius, a certain vivaciousness which an outsider might have largely recognized as the normal exuberance of childhood-- Something which was unsightly enough, to Orion and Walburga's brand of parenting, that it had been quickly trained out of their own sons.

James and his parents had waited patiently with the other guests – well, more or less patiently, in James' case – until they reached the front of the reception line. Their parents exchanged the expected greetings, cordially on the part of Fleamont and Euphemia and with barely restrained disdain from Orion and Walburga; James had bowed beautifully, then stuck out his hand with brassy fearlessness, hazel eyes gleaming with interest. Sirius, despite himself, felt that interest too, something stirring beneath his prematurely disinterested facade like green shoots beneath the winter's snow.

When their hands touched, the light that shone from between their clasped palms was unmistakable: Brilliant gold and deep silver, radiant and shimmering like a living thing, luminous ribbons winding around the two children as their magical cores sensed their fated partner. It was impossible to see that light and think it anything other than the meeting of souls, which was undoubtedly why Walburga had paled and yanked her son away, dragging Sirius towards the house with nary a word for the guests as murmurs of scandalized delight rippled through the crowd. Walburga was muttering under her breath, very unlike her usual dispassionate elegance: “It's bad enough we're related to them at all, however distantly; I refuse to allow my son to be weighed down by a blood-traitor 'soulmate!' This is patently ridiculous--"

Sirius barely heard her, head turned and eyes over his shoulder, struggling to keep James in view for as long as he could. In that moment, barely cognizant of what had just occurred, Sirius only knew that he and James Potter belonged together, that they were bound together by something deeper than blood, against which even his mother's venomous determination surely stood no chance.

#prongsfoot microfic #prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter x sirius black #sirius black x james potter #going through a bout of the ol' 'my writing is bland and insipid and i should never inflict it on the internet' #but also i've been writing a microfic every time tumblr shows me something i don't want to see #can't mash a downvote button? write the bad taste away #so here we are #fics by sol

[themculibrary]

Christmas Eve Masterlist

A Very Barton Christmas (ao3) - angelshotgun T, 5k

Summary: It’s nearly Christmas when Kate breaks her leg and Clint totes her back to the Barton Family Farm to heal. Hijinks ensue.

Christmas Eve Will Find Me (ao3) - kahn steve/tony T, 11k

Summary: Steve walked into his apartment to find Tony sitting on his kitchen counter, cross-legged, facing the door and flicking his thumbs against the screen of his futuristic phone in a way that meant he was either playing a game or hacking the security of some undoubtedly highly dangerous and deeply hostile organization.

“Hi, Honey!” Tony trilled without looking up. “Welcome back!”

Steve comes home.

Clint Barton and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Christmas Eve (ao3) - coulsons-hawk (allyoop) clint/phil, steve/bucky T, 6k

Summary: A holiday adventure with the Avengers in which nothing goes right on Christmas Eve; a dragon destroys an island, two boys from Brooklyn go missing, and all Clint Barton wants for Christmas is thirty minutes of peace on earth.

evergreen (ao3) - OnlyForward G, 24k

Summary: the story of how Tony Stark is Scrooge reincarnated and how Peter Parker is determined to change that

ft. civil war angst, tony being lonely as fuck, fun christmas activities and a nice happy ending perfect for the holiday season

Feelings at Christmastime (ao3) - nadir_zenith matt/foggy G, 1k

Summary: Foggy invites Matt to come to Christmas (Eve) Dinner with the Nelsons.

Fell For You (ao3) - sadsongssaysomuch steve/bucky E, 4k

Summary: Bucky and Steve have always been best friends, but on Christmas Eve, Bucky wakes up to realize that the way he feels about Steve is more than just friendly.

Find Ourselves in the Winter Snow (ao3) - rainpaint leo/jemma T, 6k

Summary: After a whirlwind of packing and rushing to the airport and literally running to board the plane, two small children who think the entire thing is great fun in tow, here they are. An hour from Jemma’s parents’ house, which is still too far for her mum, who doesn’t drive in a centimeter of snow, much less the several that likely cover every road between here and Sheffield.

So in all likelihood they're stuck at the airport. With two small children. The night before Christmas Eve.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like a Hallmark Christmas Movie (ao3) - cakeisnotpie clint/phil G, 13k

Summary: Phil Coulson is determined to get the big promotion; all he needs to do is spend a few days in a small town to close the deal then he'll be back in the Big Apple. Doesn't matter that it's two days before Christmas or that his best friend, Nick Fury, believes schmaltzy Hallmark movies are real life, he is not going to meet a handsome guy, fall madly in love, and move to the middle of nowhere.

Enter Clint Barton, dog trainer who runs a senior dog sanctuary and has biceps to die for.

Add a business mystery to solve.

Phil just might discover his happily ever after after all.

Memories that last forever (ao3) - ArabellaAM steve/tony G, 2k

Summary: Tony sighed, turning around all the way and asking with a tired, raspy voice, “Why am I hugging a pillow on Christmas Eve, Rogers?”

Or, Steve can't sleep and Tony asks him to tell him a story about his mom.

Mission - Steve and Bucky’s Best Christmas Ever (ao3) - LightningStriking steve/bucky G, 10k

Summary: Bucky has a plan. A carefully constructed, and meticulously plotted plan. Of how to give his best friend Steve the most wonderful, festive, and happy Christmas season ever. Culminating in a declaration of love, which hopefully will be returned. Can Bucky pull it off, and receive the best Christmas present of all - Steve as his boyfriend??

More Than Gravity (ao3) - JenTheSweetie steve/tony T, 20k

Summary: “Aw, time travel, no.”

On Christmas Eve, Tony came unstuck in time.

no sound, it’s all around (ao3) - winterkillz sam/bucky G, 9k

Summary: “They’re my relatives.” Bucky corrects bitterly and quietly. “I don’t… I haven’t had a family in a while.”

Sam pauses from his food and stares at Bucky. He would say that Bucky has always been an honorary Wilson, but he knows what he meant. Sam sips on his drink, making sure that he doesn’t drip orange soda on his newly dry-cleaned suit.

“You want me to go with you?” Sam offers instead.

(Or, Bucky gets invited to spend Christmas with Rebecca’s side of the family with Sam tagging along. Feelings ensue.)

On This Winter’s Night (ao3) - athena4lynn G, 6k

Summary: Five Times Clint Barton Found Something He Needed In A Church On Christmas Eve

Princess Perfect Pony Palace (ao3) -74days steve/bucky T, 3k

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve and Natasha’s daughter has just admitted to her parents that she asked Santa for a Princess Perfect Pony Palace. Which is currently out of stock in every store within 50 miles. It’s time for Uncle Bucky to step up and deliver the most wanted gift of the season - he just didn’t think he’d have to fight a hot blond for it.

Saved My Heart For You (ao3) - pensversusswords steve/tony T, 8k

Summary: Tony had been trying to propose for months, but it turned out that post-battle on Christmas Eve was the best time to pop the question.

Sorry About All The Sex Toys (ao3) - lola381pce clint/phil T, 2k

Summary: Clint draws Coulson’s name for the Avengers Secret Santa which in itself isn’t a bad thing. It’s just unfortunate he uses the same wrapping paper for Coulson’s gift as he does for Natasha’s. Regrettably, he doesn’t realise his mistake until the Secret Santa gift reveals on Christmas Eve with all the Avengers.

The Best Day of the Year (ao3) - orphan_account pepper/tony G, 2k

Summary: Tony finally mans up and proposes to Pepper on Christmas Eve.

Tony’s Christmas Carol (ao3) - kickcows pepper/tony G, 11k

Summary: Tony Stark was a mean, crotchety miser. He never felt he was doing wrong, until three spirits came to visit him on Christmas Eve, showing him otherwise. Or, a retelling of ‘A Christmas Carol’ set in the Marvel universe.

When the Snow Melts (ao3) - emptydistractions steve/bucky E, 4k

Summary: It’s the first time Bucky’s been off suppressants in nearly a century and all Steve wants is for his mate to be okay. Luckily, Christmas Eve has a little surprise in store for them.

You Are My Gift (ao3) - coeurlregina peggy/steve G, 757

Summary: 24th December, 1944

Captain America and The Howling Commandos were blessed with a moment's reprieve after their victory in the Battle of Metz (which came to an end on 13th December). They were sent back to Camp Lehigh to recoup and wait for further instructions, lucky for them, they were able to celebrate Christmas eve before being shipped off in the early morning.

#themculibrary #masterlists #marvel #mcu #christmas #christmas masterlist #christmaseve #christmaseve masterlist

[holdyourwine]

His Long-preserved Love。

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ featuring Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan, Omaticayan female self-insert character, 3.7k words, pure fluff, very slight angst, blood mentioned, kissing

HIS BEAUTEOUS BRIDE ;

ˏˋ(.n) Now therefore, while the youthful hue sits on their skin like morning dew, Neteyam will love to pour his unspoken love, and wish. ´ˎ˗

Oh, they said, happiness could vanish easily, hastily. At least it is what is ringing within the little head of that female Na’vi as a bunch of much bigger strange Avatars in camouflage suits cornering herself and her best friends; Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider, and poor little Tuktirey. How did they get into this state of affairs?

It begins merely with a regular walk amidst the forest, the maiden in Tsahik training who usually refuses to come exploring the forest that is pretty far from the Hallelujah Mountain; where they reside in since one year ago, sensing the need to take a walk for a refreshment. Not a bad idea, she thought, remembering how the Sully siblings have always stuck around her since they were little.

To have a laugh with Lo’ak, to assist Tuktirey on exploring pretty plants and flowers; which they end up gathering them to put in their hair, all giggle as they walk to the sleeping Kiri— putting the beautiful flower in between of her soft strands. It was so perfect, until the youngest son of Sully chose to stay near the Old Shack; a place where the Olo’eyktan forbids anyone to come near it.

A, “Please, there is Tuk. We can not be in danger.” from his older brother’s (secret) crush, and the results come not so long after.

“Look, we have got half-breed here.”

Small hiss comes from those ripe lips, when one of the bad guys forcefully pulls her much smaller wrist up in the air, alongside Kiri. It happens all so rapidly, comes to gripping that hair of Lo’ak, making the poor boy wince and growls, and undoubtedly, the horror injects itself within her veins as her big yellow eyes witness how the leader of that group lets out a knife.

Struggling from the stronghold on her body, trying to avoid the pain that shoots her scalp when the Avatar behind her grips her hair to keep her in place, (Name) lets out a shout raspily; throat sore from the previous yelps and shrieks. “Ftang nga! Do not hurt him! Take me instead!”

Scream leaves the boy’s mouth, as for now he is the one who tried to break free; watching how the Avatar they call with ‘Colonel’ walking closer to her, inching the knife away from her pulsating neck. No, the maiden knows better than not letting any of Sully members come back home with a single scratch; it is worth the hidden panic and fear when the blade threatens her.

It happens all so rapidly, during the endless chants of prayers, she does not realize the knife has retreated away during the call (shouting) from the human boy; Spider. She does not even realize that eclipse comes faster than yesterday, yet the ripple of raindrops against the ground sends the endless bizarre comfort, as if Eywa herself has sent a soothing package for Her children, fret not.

Only then, the roaring of gunfire brings her feet back to reality; dreadfully, she runs as haste as she can soon when the harsh grip on her arms is nowhere to be felt, run, run. Not even the pain when her thigh scratches the wild short branches can stop her, she needs to make sure Tuktirey is running safely in front of her.

Only then, her eyes are welcomed by the sight of little Tuktirey being in her father’s embrace that her feet stop its mobility. There is Neteyam too, there. “Oh, Eywa. Irayo.”

A soft sigh that follows the gratitude from her lips brings Jake’s attention, as the man lets the young miss be in his embrace too, alongside Neteyam. A silent comfort is there, voicing all relief, soothing the panic. Yes, she is still pursing her lips, not even sparing a glance to the boy beside her after the Olo’eyktan retreats his arms.

Under the dark sky, Jake Sully can witness it as clear as the water; the contorted face of his eldest son, and the furrow on the female’s eyebrows. Strange, he thinks, as for how he knows, he is Neteyam’s father, afterall, that he knows there is a peculiar affair in between these two teenagers at the moment.

Driving away from the family scene politely soon as they entered the camp, the young lady lets her feet drag her body away, hiding in her tent which lingers in flowers and herbs scent; letting out a puff of breath in dissatisfaction upon noticing the eeriness of silence engulfing her— this, supposed to be a family scene too. Maybe, if today is one year ago, the times her loving parents are still here.

Just before the woe can do more to her heart, she gently puts down the bowl that contains warm water she borrows from outside. Upon observing her very own body of hers, the sweet maiden spots the cause of stinging sensation on her thigh. Oh Eywa, it is worse than she thought.

How does she not come into realization soon? Ah, the dim lighting sky that roofs them before the lit of fire provides her the illumination and warmth. Ears down, she lets out a wince of pain whilst she touches the wound; two fresh thin scratches and one that reaches deep that it tears her skin. Fortunately, not so critical that it needs stitches— just, more ugly than the two ones.

As her hands seek a new piece of cloth in exchange of her dirty ones, she puts the pair of white fabric for top and bottom; as she is not so fond of revealing her breasts, she ought to tailor her own pieces. Being basic, her closet is most of white; her favorite shade. Carefully, she takes off the thing that hugs her body, dipping another cloth to the warm water before she brushes it on her body.

It is already too late to take a bath, so the least she can do is this, to get off the dirt and clean herself before she mends her wounds. Sighing softly, the wave of sadness comes to engulf her again whilst she cleans herself, putting the fresh and scented fabric on her body to give her comfort.

So lonely, she thinks.

Walking to the table, she starts to prepare the medical paste for her. Instantly, she just needs to mix water to the grounded leaves that she saves; by dint of her lessons with Mo’at, and the constant job of being Omaticayan’s healer. Soon to be Tsahik, huh?

“No.”

A soft whisper from her lips to be the answer of her own thought; a side in her brain that said it. Her arms dropping on each side of her body, leaving the paste as she exhales sharply.

She needs to differentiate between the things in reality, and in her head. But she can not, she can not. Not this time, not when it is regarding Neteyam. Oh, Neteyam. The boy that causes her weariness these past few days.

No, it is not his fault. It is the environment. The environment that keeps pestering upon matters in which is not their field of meding. Upon matters of their future Olo’eyktan, and his mate. After reaching their 15th year, and going to 16th in this time, it is agreeable that the People start to put interest regarding the future Tsahik. But then again, who are they to matchmaking the oldest son of Sully?

There are many fine females, ones that are capable of being a Tsahik; she too is. She is a Na’vi that spends no days with the absence of Neteyam’s presence, ever since they were little, yet the name of hers never to be heard from their tongue.

Oh Eywa, this rotting feeling that creeps her is agonizing. Under that delicate heart of hers, lies a little hope where she wants to hear her name, to experience the sheepish chuckle when people say she looks lovely with him; with Neteyam, with her love.

Her love; indeed she is in love. It burns her to the point, her love might turn, dissolve into words of poems before she can even speak, with her childhood’s faith. She does not see when it comes nor when it grows, all she knows is that, it is here, the love is here for Eywa knows when. Neteyam is the air that she breathes, to see her love mates with another female is just the equivalent of her being forced to breathe the oxygen she cannot inhale.

She knows better than not removing herself from his sight, when in fact, it is not his fault; Neteyam does not deserve this treatment. But how could she not? She is too terrified, to take a look at his handsome face, too afraid to find a different loving glint upon seeing a woman in front of her he may choose.

“Hey?”

Ah, not now. Ears flick up, a sound of him brings her attention to the entrance of her tent, yet she does not have the heart to push the boy away. He is there, staring at her in concern worth of every affection.

The maiden sighs softly, making a small curve on her lips. “Yes, ‘Teyam?”

Upon hearing the name, those stiff shoulders fall in ease. This time, Neteyam is sure she does not intend to run from him as she did these past days. Inhaling the sweet scent of her place, he lets his feet bring her closer, eyes scanning her figure before he notices the new trail of blood on her upper thigh. Ah, it seems it starts to bleed again after she cleaned it minutes ago.

“Oh, Eywa! You—“

He cannot finish his sentence, yet hastily, he places his hands on her lower back, assisting her to rest her body upon a wooden chair near them. eyebrows are raised, she watches in awe as Neteyam observes the table, finding the paste immediately and brings it to his hands. “Why do you not tell any of us?”

Bringing the bowl of water and the cloth which draped on the edge, he let himself fall into his knees, positioning himself in between her legs; she straddles on each side of stomach— low, remembering that the chair is a shallow one.

“I can do it by myself.” She weakly says whilst Neteyam ever so gently taps the wound with the wet cloth, wiping away the remaining blood in a gentle manner.

Shaking his head, Neteyam puts back the cloth after he brushes his right hand with the clean part of it. He reaches for the paste, scooping some in his pointer finger. “You always help us with the wounds, you are the healer. Yet, who will mend your wounds? Please, let me do it.”

His low and somber tone brings her lips to close, before she even says something to stop him. That is the longest he ever can say since she puts the wall between them.

Her ears fall back, eyelashes batting slowly as those sparkling honey eyes are latched onto his figure; she watches how Neteyam delicately blows the wound as he caresses it, applying the paste. She watches how a small smile comes to his face as he finishes, brushing his thumb across the skin near the scratches lovingly.

He raises his head up, meeting her face; she has a strange look, a mix of sadness, confusion, and something that Neteyam cannot figure out quickly, yet he knows the answer when a gentle smile adorns her pretty lips. Love.

That eldest Sully stays in his place, but now he retreats so that her legs are no longer straddling him. He is relaxed, in no way he can explain but he is. Those soft lips of him are parted, ought to let a voice out. “Now, can you stop pretending like you do not see me?”

A soft gasp leaves her mouth, upon the word ‘see’ that just left Neteyam. She turns her head, breaking the eye contact; only to make the male reach her hand, holding it within his.

“Hear me first, hm?” He fidgets her slim fingers, eyebrows are raised in hope that she can meet his eyes again.

A grasp from her hand and how she places her face back into his direction, even if her eyes are staring at her thighs, convinces him that she is willing to hear him.

“We are moving. To the reef, to Awa’atlu.”

Just that, her eyes are already on him. Furrowing in protest, Neteyam brings her hand to his chest before she can utter a word. “Dad wants you to come, the Sky People know you.”

Soft grunt leaves her throat. She cannot believe this. “Because I am targeted? Not because anything else, Neteyam?”

Oh, she cannot even believe her last question, she does not even know what it means.

Linking their fingers together upon his left chest, where his heart lies, Neteyam tilts his head. “Come with me, Flower.”

His voice is, intoxicatingly dizzying. The plea, the special nickname he gives regarding her love of flowers. But, no. She needs him to stop showing confusing affection that does not feel like what a friend gives to a friend.

“Why?” Shaky she leaves an ask.

Letting out a sigh, Neteyam inches his body closer to her, he places his lips on her bicep, pressing a kiss for seconds. She whimpers in response, “Teyam—“

“Do not push me away.” His low voice upon her skin brings shivers down her spine, as he takes eternity for him to rain her silk-like skin with his lips. The sounds he makes when he backs just for him to kiss her arm down, and down, pulling a breathy exhale from her.

As he reaches her knuckle, he holds her with his two hands, pressing his lips on it. “There, I shall not get the prejudices from not choosing those women they say, will make a perfect Tsahik for me. Forgetting your name, my love; the one whom my grandma loves to be her successor.“

My love.

“Oh, Neteyam,” She tilts her head in a gentle expression.

For Neteyam, he is just a male who is going to confront the world; that is a lie if he says he does not have the dreadful feeling, the fear of rejection. Yet, in the face of danger and the situation she puts them in, the undeniable love he has for 5 years is bursting all over his senses— ought to be spoken, out to be cradled in return.

And to say he has not tried to find the reason behind her behavior is such an understatement. He slowly noticed the sourness of her sorrowful face whenever she spotted him talking with the parents who offered him their daughter, he noticed how she spent more time with Mo’at, learning, learning, learning. He knows that his feelings are answered.

Neteyam puts her palm on his cheek, for him to find the comfort she can only provide. “There, I will be just Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan, not the future Olo’eyktan. And you, just who you are, not the future Tsahik. I promise my whole life to put you in safety through this— curse of danger which follows Sully, and with that I plead with you, come with me.”

“I see you, my flower. No days have passed in my life ever since I have your name, that I do not see you.”

She runs her thumb on his cheekbone, putting Neteyam in ease as how it can be seen from his fluttered close eyes. “I see you, my love.”

Hers come softly, ever so gentle he thinks it is the wind that cradles his hearing; to sway him in his fantasy of living together with his love. Sweetly smiling, Neteyam brings her wrist to his mouth, as he places a kiss on her invisible vein.

“Then, on our last night here, shall I bring you on a date?”

As their laugh from previous running-chasing-pulling tails drowns in comfortable silence, she lets her body fall onto him when he pulls her arm down after he rests his back flat against the rock. Yes— Neteyam’s Ikran, had rested not so far from them. His darling who has no Ikran is willing to come here, one of the flying mountains on Ayram Alusing, though it is not the first time she has a ride with Neteyam, it sure still feels sheepish for how they just opened their heart to each other.

She places herself on his lap, earning a soft embrace on her waist as those honey eyes of his lovingly stare at her visage. His fingers ever so gently brush her strands of hair to the back of her ear, hearing the very faint sound of jingle between the beads on her two small braids. The sky is dark, the whole Pandora is deep in slumber yet the two souls who are dizzy from the bursting emotion are here, showing each other the affection they always hold for years.

The moonshine has stolen the night, blended with the lights of her beautiful face, with blithesome eyes and modest grace; she gazes too fondly that it leaves a surge wave of delight on the pit of Neteyam’s stomach rising to his ribcage; to his heart. Her voice sounds more worthy than any singers, cradling his hearing ever so faintly.

“What is all this sweet work worth if you kiss not me?”

And kiss the maiden he does. Had the years passed Neteyam yearns for such attachment, to kiss and to be kissed under the moonlit night that certainly is elated. He has dreamt of her lips upon his, but Oh, Eywa— never he thought her ripe lips taste like this. All impulses of soul and sense have thrilled her Neteyam. The rich and balmy eve, wishes long subdued, subdued and cherished long by them.

Breaking the kiss for a mere minute of taking breath, she smiles with delight, blushes with love, and virgin-shame; and like a whisper of dream, Neteyam hears his name leaves her tongue, unknowingly brings him to lay her body on the ground, his towering body covers the dim lighting from her face yet the bioluminescent dots still shine ever so brightly, so beautiful.

“You are everything that the word beautiful can describe, love.”

Her bosom heaves in shuddering breath, with her timorous eyes, she gives everything that is equal in all affectionate acts and words in her stare. “My Neteyam, my dearest, you managed to make me the happiest tonight.”

A soft chuckle emits from his mouth, as he dives down so that his lips can be met with the milky texture of her shoulder. “Only tonight?”

Lovely giggle follows her teasing words, “Mmm, I do not know, yet.”

“Ho?” He sounds displeased (jest) yet that young miss can feel the smile on her skin as he wanders down, trailing her arm with small kisses until he comes to her stomach.

“You know I am kidding.” Neteyam always loves that loving smile of hers.

Those slim fingers of hers start to find his face, caressing him so gently as her lover presses his lips against the soft skin of her breastbone. “Then, I promise you my hand and promise me your hand.”

The sudden shift of mood brings a strange delicate feeling upon her chest, whilst Neteyam kisses down to her stomach, and down. Tender, it sweeps her to Heaven. “I promise you my life, to spend time together as a mate in the future. I promise you my body and soul before Eywa, in Utral Aymokriyä in times we go back here, in our home,”

“And here,” He puts his lips just hereinafter her belly button; her womb underneath.

“You to mother my children, in the future.”

Bright stars, shall you be the quies spectator of her glistening tears upon those rosy cheeks?

“Oh, Teyam—“ Her cradling brings his face up to meet her glossy eyes, somewhere in her face asks him to get up, and so does he, as Neteyam crawls back to her equal.

“Yes?”

Her lips are parted, and quietly coming to almost a close, following with the fresh stream of clear liquid that falls gracefully from those doe beautiful eyes.

Her head wanders in search of words that manage to channel her love, for how she thinks it is unspoken, it hurts her throat for it to be spoken yet no words can. And yonder all before she knew she desires him oh so badly, all needs to be spoken. The beauty of Neteyam shall no more be found in another female; the richness of his heart shall no more be found as for it all has been absorbed into her very being; she desires that richness.

“Have I ever told you a sweet dream of mine to mother children of my own?”

A laugh leaves her lips upon seeing the confused look on his face, but she spends no second in waste for her to grab his hand, placing it on her cheek. “Yes, I always want a family. To have a loving husband that I love in equal of my lung’s need upon the air,”

Amidst the sentence, his darling sends the long-preserved love in her eyes— Neteyam can see her dilated pupils, being the window to her soul as she drills his heart with that tender confession. “And a child that comes from the fruition of our love, that is so beautiful. I wish to have it.”

Upon hearing her dreamy wish, he lays his body next to her, unable to contain the bursting butterflies that break through his lower stomach. He lays on his side, taking every moment and breath to admire her astonishing face. He is so in love. So, so, so in love it makes Neteyam want to take her right then right now, to kiss her finger to seal their sacred oath but no, they are going to set their feet off this place soon.

“I pray to Eywa for the strength given to me for I can be the one whom you dream for.”

Oh, her giggle sounds like Heaven. “Did we just not make a promise for that life?”

Happy, a happy smile adorns his handsome face. “Indeed.”

This future talk is no crime, though no souls can say what in the future. But then, these two will sit down, and think which way to walk, and pass their long love’s days ahead.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ [] is this too cringe … like whatever i’m only mastering this kind of writing and neteyam’s character suits it so yeah. btw, for the first scene, i didnt write the full incident bec im lazy lmao and it’s not for explanation it’s just only for giving the image/brief scenery of what happened before ARGH WHATEVER bye hope you enjoy this one

oh btw, i read many classic poems before writing this and some inspired me, like “To His Coy Mistress,” by Andrew Marvell and “Love,” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge as i listen to a local love song— so that all pieces of my hopeless romantic comes back just for today lmao so this one better not be flopped or else i SCREAM jk

#anthology: his beauteous bride #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #neteyam sully #lo’ak x reader #jake sully x reader #atwow #awow #avatar

[shatcey]

Yoichi (part 2)

I finished the romantic ending of Yoichi and decided to combine my thoughts about his story and about the man himself, just to be completely fair. My previous impression wasn't quite right, there were still a lot of things that I hadn't considered at the time (just didn't know yet).

But before I start talking about Yoichi (I prefer to pronounce his name with a soft "chi" at the end… the closest to Korean 치)… It's just a whim of mine. I'm weak to soft diction and hissing sounds… And if it's both… Now I have an idea why I like some voices so much…

So...

This was my first route in IkeGen. And I involuntarily compare it with another Cyber game - Ikemen Sengoku, also historical. So, the most significant differences between these games are (magic aside):

1. MC from IkeGen is local, she has lived all her life in the city ruled by…. I'm ashamed, I still don't remember his name. Yorimoto, I guess… so… She accepts him as the ruler. And for her… the rebels are the enemy. It plays a huge part in her perception. All her actions are based on a strict friend/foe separation. She just cannot detached herself from it the way Mai (IkeSen MC) does.

2. In IkeSen, the warlords are so noble, and the war is shown to be honest and somewhat naively primitive. They fight according to some rules, don't use dirty tricks, and so on. Yes, there is a third party and even a fourth, which is not so noble, but the two main armies are definitely are. In Ikegen it's a f*** nightmare. Each side is doing its best to win. There is always fire, sword fighting, bows, magic on the battlefield… They trick, threaten, or kill… they stop at nothing at all. And probably because there's more sincerity in their actions, more determination to go to the very end it's really scary. I've never felt like this in Sengoku… Sengoku is just a child's play compared to Genjiden.

So… based on these two simple facts… Dating a guy from the rebels doesn't just seem difficult, it's impossible.

And here we are… stuck with Yoichi, who is undoubtedly trying to trick her and using her… She is aware and very cautious at first. And it would have stayed that way if it hadn't been a couple of things. Yoichi doesn't always pretend. She surprises him by telling him what she really thinks, and his mask disappears. She acts selflessly, and he undoubtedly feels very conflicted. And when she finds herself in death/life situations, he always comes to save her. And looking at all this it's really hard to believe that he's the bad person he claims to be.

I would like to ask… what is your definition of a "good person"? Because I don't really see anything wrong with you. Yes, I don't know Japanese, and there were probably some descriptions of your "terrible" behavior outside of a relationship with our girl. But I don't remember any of that. And yes, I understand that the fact that you are incognito in enemy territory means that there is a reason for that… and probably not just spying… But… I still can't say that it makes you a bad person.… It's just a job…

I got distracted defending him. I'm aggressively defensive, as always.

So...

The more time they spend together, the closer they get. She knows him probably even better than his allies. And he feels more at ease with her than with any other person. In fact, she described him quite accurately.…

At that time, we didn't have the opportunity to check this on our own… But we will later.

In the middle of this so Shakespearean impossible love romance, they both already realize that it won't end well. But only Yoichi understands his feelings.

This slow and calm story suddenly collapses when Morinaga (fluffy haired) detect these two. Yoichi doesn't deny that he tried to use her. He wasn't trying to lure her to his side… And he could do it… he could easily sweet talked her. But he just let her go because it's safer for her… And don't tell me it wasn't noble…

At this very moment, she finally realized her feelings… As they say… you don't appreciate it until it's too late…

They are both heartbroken, but continue to live their lives as if nothing had happened. They have returned to their armies and are fulfilling their duties. But everyone around can see that something is off. They've both changed, and it's hard to ignore.

And then suddenly the war started. On the sea. It was very loud, with fire and smoke, arrows and fights… with a lot of small effects, visual and sound… With a big announcement of Yoshitsune and Yoichi… To be honest, it looked like a very expensive advertisement.

And again their lives collided (how strangely correctly I posted the previous screenshot). Yoichi with MC and small parts of both armies find themselves on some island. And our couple had a very long conversation…

Yoichi tells that it was Yoshitsune who believed in him…

He was always unnecessary, unwanted for his family. He meant so little to everyone around him. And finally, someone believed in him, gave him a new name and with it a purpose. Yoshitsune has changes his life so significantly… And it hurts Yoichi that this particular person was betrayed… and killed…

And he couldn't save him at that time. So now… he dedicates himself to his lord. He doesn't think his life has any other value…

A smart, reliable, brave, very talented person in various fields does not see value in himself… It's actually very sad. And reminds of Hideyoshi for some reason…

They only have this last night before the war starts again, so they finally confess their feelings to each other… Because they were absolutely sure that there would be no other chance.

He asks her to stay away from the war, he doesn't want to be her enemy, he doesn't want to be forced to kill her. But she disagrees…

There is some logic in this… If I stay on the battlefield, we'll be together… even if we're on the opposite sides. And again… their love seems so tragic and, undoubtedly, doomed to death...

But we wouldn't be here if there wasn't a third party… They have gone too far, so the two armies must join forces to destroy a common enemy.

They meet again and again… indeed, how not to believe in fate.

And as a result of the victory, something like a truce was concluded and to strengthen ties… let's just say they sold her out. Of course, after asking her opinion on this matter. Which is strange... at that time, women didn't have voice…

That's so sweet...

And finally… finally we found ourselves with the rebels. Jeez… Why did it take so long? Two chapters. They only give us two damn chapters with them (including the epilogue). And there wasn't much interaction with them, and that just makes me want more… It's not enough!!!

And in the epilogue, there was a very sweet meeting with family and a friend, and I almost burst into tears. It was really touching…

In addition

The translator calls Yoichi "give" or "gifts". Then Yoichi talked about the meaning of his name, he said that this is a person who provides. Who gives people what they need. And, in my opinion, his hobby is quite suited to his name. He's a potter. There is a translation of this route to 8ch. I started with this, and because of it the auto translated text began to make at least some sense.

Yoichi doesn't like how young he looks. Baby face (reminds of someone). When he's not wearing armor, he always wears loose clothes. Like show off: "Look, I'm really an adult, I can demonstrate my breast". It's hilarious.

He only lets his hair down in the last CG's. Even when he sleeps, his hair is tied in his usual ponytail.

On this route, the love rival was Morinaga (fluffy haired). I figured it out somewhere in the middle, there was too much of him.At the very end, he confirms his feelings to the red-gloved guy. But he assured that if he noticed any gap between Yoichi and MC, he would use this opportunity to win her over. Actually this is the first time the rival doesn't give up… I'm quite suprised. And despite how cute he is… fluffy hair, green eyes, very friendly behavior… I don't really like him. To be honest, I don't really like anyone from the Yorimoto's gang. And it's strange, because on this route there were plenty opportunities to get to know them better… I guess the ginger stolen all my attention.

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

So… After Yoichi's route, these nicknames (first mentioned in the prologue) were changed…

Without a doubt, the name of ginger cutie is Yoichi. But he's still ginger and still a cutie, so maybe I'll call him that when I'm in the mood.

Not-long-haired guy is now Strange magician. Sorry... he is strange and he is magician.

Zombie is completely forgotten, but I will occasionally called his creepy look as "zombie mode". But aside from that, he's a sweet, adorable Yoshitsune.

And black-tits demon… Yes, I know his name is Kurama, but the translator calls him War Horse… and for some reason I like that. It suits him well.

#cybird ikemen #ikemen series #cybird #ikemen games #ikemen genjiden #ikegen #ikemen genjiden yoichi #ikegen yoichi #Nasu no Yoichi #Minamoto no Yoshitsune #ikemen genjiden yoshitsune #ikegen yoshitsune #kurama #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen mc #ikesen mai #ikemen sengoku mc #ikegen mc #ikemen genjiden mc

[gale-heart]

So I haven’t had much success with making post-timeskip art for Ilyssae (I have a bad habit of sinking too much time into my sillier warm-up doodles) but now that I’m getting active in RP again I wanted to rework a few aspects of her backstory!

——

Age: Bumped up from early/mid 20s in chronological years to the ever-nebulous elven equivalent of that age as of Dragonflight. In hindsight I’m not really comfortable with her being as young as she was during some of the stuff I put her through—this way she’s still young by elven standards, but not “holy SHIT this is practically a BABY” young. She still never successfully integrated into modern kaldorei society or culture, and still does did lots of dumb and reckless shit due to an unfortunate mix of hubris, a low wisdom score, and having easy access to powerful magic.

Shadowlands: Rewrote Ilyssae’s involvement with the Shadowlands entirely. Her attempted portal to Argus still imploded due to the shockwave effects of Sylvanas destroying the Helm of Domination at the same time. She spent the majority of the expansion trapped in a nebulous state of limbo between death and life, and only popped out conscious into Ardenweald after the anima drought was resolved. Eventually she was located and brought safely home to Azeroth through the combined efforts of her mentor/matron Eoselle and many other friends. She’s still foggy on the details of whatever the heck else happened while she was out, but all things considered it could have gone a lot worse!

Angst: Ties into the previous plot point. Being stuck in an existential long nap and cut off from contact with the universe gives a soul lots of time for introspection and healing. By the time she woke up again Ilyssae had largely come to peace with the losses and tragedies she’d been through, and with a little more help from therapy her mental health is far more stable nowadays. (She hasn’t stopped being a show-off or holding a few grudges, but, you know, other than THAT she’s chilled the fuck out.)

——

Present Day:

Ilyssae took things easy for a while after returning from the Shadowlands and joining the Fence Macabre, but the last three years saw her dive headlong into her new connection to natural magic with a fervor untapped since her university days (though, blessedly, she was better about sleeping and taking breaks this time.) She rapidly established an affinity for the sea and weather spells as an extension of her pre-existing talents, and as a fresh-trained Squallshaper she’s now just as capable of guiding the Fence’s mercantile flagship safely through a tempest as she is of turning that storm against her foes.

She also spent many months harassing any druids of the Talon she could meet for guidance on tinkering with the shape, size, and capabilities of her bird form. She’s a deft flyer now, and can even adopt a battle form with minor storm magic abilities, but still prefers to take on the shape of a simple silver raven in most occasions.

Conversely, she ran up against the limits of her magic in her experimentation. Although adequate at healing moderate wounds, she was never quite able to achieve the same mastery with it that she has in manipulating the elements. Further, plants refused to so much as twitch for her despite her best efforts (she did accidentally freeze or wither several in the process of trying.) All things considered, though, she’s not too fussed about those shortcomings. She’s always excelled in grand, flashy shows of power—now she’s even more justified in showing off!

These are undoubtedly the best years of Ily’s life so far: sailing the seas with a job she enjoys, putting on some actual muscle, kicking ass, helping people, belonging to a tight-knit community (and lovingly annoying a certain sindorei port warden!). She’s even started using (if with no great hurry) those piles of gold she inherited from her brief disaster marriage! Her cats have never been more spoiled, her hoard of plushies grows, and her new wardrobe and beauty regimen have her feeling like an absolute baddie. However…she still doesn’t feel completely whole. After literal centuries of isolation and being made small under someone else’s power, she vowed to never again let herself be trapped in one place—to embrace her new freedom and fight tooth and nail against those who would bind her down. She still has every intention of doing so…but lately she’s been reflecting on her old apartment, and how good it felt to have a physical place to call home, a place that was entirely her own to do with as she pleased. She’s realized she misses that, and wants to have that again. At the very least, it would be nice to have someplace permanent to keep all her books (her cabin on the Fiona’s Pride ran out of space months ago, and saltwater isn’t exactly friendly to paper). Now it’s just a matter of deciding where, and how ostentatious—assuming of course that she survives the guild’s current adventure on the Dragon Isles!

——

Perhaps someday soon I’ll find an excuse to break Ily’s brothers out for use, or Elune forbid bring out her mother to make other characters’ lives worse. But I’m pretty happy for now with how my main is shaping up!

#OOC #rp things #epsilon rp #wow rp #I only RP with friends on a private server these days #but I’m hella hyped for the new campaign my guild’s officers are running! #at this point I’m kind of staying out of retail and making up new stories w/ people I trust

[mimuranda]

BKDK fic recommendation

23/09/2022

And now that I've expressed all my frustration in previous post, I am going to talk about BakuDeku and THE recommendation of the month.

So, yes, as already stated I love this ship (call me basic, but the rivals to lovers dynamic is one of my favorites) and more since Bakugo seems to have a REAL evolution in the cannon story.

He is exactly the kind of character I love (I accept I have a problem with secondary bad boy characters).

But, as usual, that does not mean I accept everything. My criteria for any prompt -including ships - to be sold to me is it to be well-written. If you are to tell me their relationship, I want you to convince me. And so I am particularly strict with fanfics.

I am a big fanfic lover, and I've been reading fics for SO LONG that I've now come used to filter them so I can find the hidden gems under the high amount of not-so-good stories. I know that fanfics are usually underestimated, and I want to fight that misconception, even if it comes from the fact that, as anybody can write fics, the level is not always that high (still very legitimate for these fics to exists, anybody should write fics if they want too). What I mean is that I am very exigent regarding fics.

And it has been a long time since I read an excellent one. Who could have told me that the first one I would look for in the BNHA fandom would be so PERFECT?

I've already talked about this fic (I shared the first chapters comics one marvelous user made- thanks @twyutd) , but it is time to talk about it properly:

THE WAY YOU USED TO DO , by edema_ruh on Archive of Your Own is the MOST AMAZING THING I have read in a while.

It had me completely scotched to my computer 3-days-long. It is so beautiful, well-written, and the pace! The scenes! The battles! The characters! Their development! The slow-burn love story! The longing! The friendships with the other members of the academy! The angst!!! I WILL REPEAT IT: THE ANGST!!

It is undoubtedly and INCREDIBLY well-written story, but of course, what your preferences are will have an impact on how do you like it.

For me it was perfect jam. Long, very long fic, with slow-burn love story, bkdk-centered, with changing point of view, and with A LOT OF ANGST and a happy ending. AND THE IDEA IS SO ORIGINAL. It is a soul-bound story and I just could think that if one day I want to write a romantic story it should be inspired by this one.

If you like any of this elements, you'll immensely enjoy it.

I am frankly obsessed, only can think about is drawing my fav scenes (omg the bkdk moments... ) I think the author really mastered their personality all that while telling an entertaining story.

The only thing I did not enjoyed that much was the least chapter, I found it too long, but I'll accept it anyway because this is 30 long chapters of GOLD.

Just seriously, if you like BNHA and ship BKDK go, now.

The fic:

Art from @YukarietD on twitter .

"We're really sorry," his father says, in a teary-eyed, wobbly way. "But your friend, Izuku, he's... He's gone, son."

Katsuki can do nothing but blink up at them for moments that feel like an eternity, eyes darting between both his parents in obvious confusion, disbelief, and, more than anything, indignation. "What the fuck are you two talking about? The damn nerd is standing right beside you!"

During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Stuck in a ghost-like state, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in this state is no one other than Kacchan.

Alternatively: Deku and Kacchan are soulbound.

The link:

What are you waiting for? I on my own will going praise the author for such an amazing piece of art:

@edema--ruh thanks, thanks, thanks for this!!! I cannot express more my admiration to your AMAZING story.

And if you guys happen to discover and enjoy this story because of me please let me know and share impressions!

(I will maybe create a whole tumblr account for sharing my fav fics... still thinking about that possibility).

#bnha #bnha fanart #boku no hero academia #anime #fanfic #fanart #fanfic recommendation #fanfics #fanficlover #bnha fanfic #fanfiction #bkdk #bkdk lover #the way you used #perfect fic #bkdk ship #bkdk shipper #angst #I LOVE ANGST #angsty fic #souldbond story #seriously everybody should read this jewell #i have not been this in love with a fic in YEARS #my hero academia #my hero academia fan #bakugo x izuku #deku

[livingforcoopsandoknutzy]

⚠️CONTENT WARNINGS ARE IN THE TAGS PLS READ⚠️

link to fic on ao3

☆☆☆

Remus Lupin has been best friends with James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Lily Evans since Year 5. He’s been friends with Sirius Black even longer. When he turned five his family moved from their old house in Merthyr Mawr, Wales to a new one in Yorkshire, England. It was nothing extravagant but enough to get by for the three of them. He was just old enough to join Alexander’s All Boys School. It was a private school that held Years 1 through 13. His family definitely couldn’t afford the tuition but his father taught history there so they got a rather hefty scholarship.

Remus had never been more excited about anything in his life. He was practically vibrating and Hope couldn’t help but laugh at her young son’s excitement. Lyall just shook his head fondly and gently reminded him that he needed to calm down so Hope could help him get ready or they’d be late. Remus pulled a distraught face before shaking himself and giving his mother a rather determined look, well as determined as a five year old could be. “Iawn, iawn.” Hope clicked her tongue and shook her head.

“Remember, cariad, no Welsh at school. Otherwise they won’t be able to understand you. Try your best to speak English.” Remus nodded vigorously. “I know, sorry. Got excited.” Hope smiled affectionately and ruffled her son’s hair who let out a distraught sound at the move. “Na, mam.” Hope tutted at the Welsh but put her hands up in surrender. “Alright, little man, I’m sorry. You’re all ready. Did you make sure to pack everything?” Remus nodded and jumped up to grab his backpack. “Backpack.” Lyall laughed and nodded. “Alright, buddy, let’s get in the car then.”

Lyall had to ask Remus to stop moving six times before he settled enough for Lyall to buckle him into the carseat. Hope kissed him on the forehead, cheek, and nose before Remus leaned away giggling. “Mam, na!” Hope chuckled and gave him one last kiss on his forehead. “I hope you have a great day at school. I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it.” Remus smiled and nodded, his small hands coming to grab her cheeks so he could smack a kiss to her cheek. Hope squeezed his hand before letting it go and waving as her boys drove away.

Remus was undoubtedly excited. That much was clear in the first five minutes of him being in Mrs. Barlowe’s class. She was glad that he was one of the excited kids. The ones that didn’t want to be there were typically the problem. Kids such as Sirius Black. Their family were very important to the school and to be quite frank they were as snobby as they were rich, which was truly saying something. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect of the young boy. Sufficient to say he was quite whiny and quite stuck up. Determined to speak only in French because apparently it made him much better than the other boys. Much smatter, apparently. At least that’s what his mother had told him.

When Remus walked in and took the seat next to him, nearly bouncing in his seat, Sirius had simply glared and stayed silent. Remus had ignored it and eagerly introduced himself. Mrs. Barlowe winced as she listened to Sirius let out a harsh breath. “Ne me parle pas.” Remus gasped and Mrs. Barlowe got ready to step between them as she had had to do between Sirius and a lot of the boys. He was a very… unfriendly sort. “I can speak another language too!” Remus squeaked. Sirius made an outraged sound and pouted. “No you can’t.” Mrs. Barlowe’s eyebrows raised as she listened to the boy finally speak English.

Remus giggled. “Course I can, silly. I can’t lie. That’s bad.” Sirius watched him pensively. “Prove it.” He demanded. Remus looked at him funny and shook his head. “Mam said I can’t. Have to speak English.” Sirius laughed at him and Remus frowned. Mrs. Barlowe sighed deeply. “You’re lying. You only know English.” Remus shook his head, his little eyebrows furrowed. “No. I speak Welsh, Mam just told me not too.” Sirius patted his head condescendingly and smiled smugly. “D’accord, petit menteur.”

Sirius went back to drawing. Rather well for a five year old, Mrs. Barlowe couldn’t help but think. Remus let out a frustrated grunt. “Na. Dwi'n siarad cymraeg. Rydych chi'n bod yn gymedrol. Dydw i ddim yn hoffi chi.” Mrs. Barlowe stifled a laugh when she saw Sirius’s perplexed expression. Suddenly his eyes narrow. “That’s not a real language. You’re making things up. Petit menteur.” Remus let out a sound startlingly like a squawk. “W-But- No. I proved it! You can’t call me a liar just because you don’t believe me!”

Gray eyes met and amber. Defiance clear in both before Sirius’s hand shot up. He hadn’t broken eye contact. Mrs. Barlowe let out a sigh and counted to five before she made her way over. Sometimes she really questions herself as to why she thought teaching a whole bunch of five year olds was a smart choice.

“Yes, Sirius.” Sirius finally broke eye contact with Remus when she reached them. “Is Welsh a real thing?” Mrs. Barlowe’s eyebrows raised. “The language? Yes.” Sirius nodded and Remus looked at him with a see? expression. Sirius huffed before giving Remus a contemplative look. Eventually, Sirius nodded firmly. “Okay, you can be my friend then. I guess we are equal.” Remus beamed at him before turning his bright smile to Mrs. Barlowe. “We’re friends.” Mrs. Barlowe gave an impressed nod. “It looks that way. Now you just have to make sure he is nice to other people too.” Remus looked between her and Sirius before nodding firmly. “I will.”

And so he did.

_________________________________________

Remus and Sirius became a THING after that day. You never really found one without the other. When you did, it meant trouble. Their teachers knew better than to sit them anywhere near each other after the first day of school. By the time they reached Year 5 they were notorious for their pranks and silent conversations. Most of them were under the impression that Remus followed Sirius around like a lost puppy but they had it completely wrong.

Sirius didn’t quite know what to do without Remus. He had changed a lot over the years. He had to unlearn a lot of what his parents had taught him about people ‘lesser’ than him. Remus had been there to help him every step of the way. Sirius was a lot more outgoing than he was and Remus was a little quieter than he used to be. Four years of having the boys at their school talk down to him took away most of the excitement that was there at the beginning.

When they got into Year 5 they met James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. The four of them bonded almost immediately when someone made a remark on Remus’s second hand book and James immediately hit the kid with his own book before telling the kid that had been a very rude thing to say. Peter had shown more of a silent support by slipping into the chair on the other side of him, the one not taken up by Sirius, and getting his own second hand book out. Sirius had immediately approved of them and it was finalized when James had mentioned something about pranking the boy back. Sirius and Remus had shared a smile that was full of hidden words and that was that.

The Marauders were born.

☆☆☆

Lily Evans moved into the house next to Remus a week after the first day of school. He had spent the week with James, Peter, and Sirius. He wanted to spend as much time as he could with his new friends and Sirius practically lived at his house so that was already expected.

Sirius had just left when someone knocked on the Lupin’s door. Remus went to open the door, assuming it was Sirius coming back for something he forgot. It was not Sirius. Instead, a girl around his age stood at the door holding a rather gross looking pie. She smiled brightly when he opened the door.

“Hello, I’m Lily Evans. My mother and I just moved in next door so I thought I’d bake something for the neighbors. I have a feeling we’ll be best friends. I’m very excited to have someone my age living so close because I didn’t have anyone at my Dad’s house that was even close to my age.” Remus liked this girl. She talked a lot and she reminded him a bit of Sirius. He took the pie from her and waved her in. “Well, Lily Evans, I am Remus Lupin. I am very excited to meet you and I think we will be very good friends.”

Lily nodded firmly. “I can predict the future so I can definitely tell you we will be friends.” Remus laughed at that and went to answer but his mouth beat him to it. “I do believe everyone should have a friend that can see the future. My name’s Hope, I’m Remus’s mother. You’re our new neighbor, right?” Lily nodded and bit her lip shyly. Remus found her sudden switch up rather amusing.

“I’m Lily. I brought a pie over.” Hope nodded and moved from her spot in the door frame to leave. “We appreciate it, dear. Let your parents know I appreciate it.” Lily winced slightly but nodded nonetheless. Remus made a mental note to tell his mum that Lily only lives with her mum.

Remus went and pulled out two forks. “Care to share some pie?” Lily scoffed. “Aren’t you supposed to eat it yourself?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you don’t want any pie? I can definitely eat it all but I just thought you’d want some.” Lily seemed to debate something for a moment before she shrugged and took a fork. “Alright, but you offered.”

They each got a piece of the pie and Remus tried to hide the grimace after the first bite. “Mmm.” He said rather unconvincingly as he tried to think of a way to spit the bite out without making Lily feel bad. Lilt took a bite and immediately started laughing. “Oh my god. I thought Tunie was joking when she said this tasted like death. This is so bad.” Remus shook his head. “No, it’s good.” He said weakly. Lily laughed even harder and shook her head.

“Oh, my god. Don’t lie, Remus. That’s horrid.” Remus threw his head back and joined in laughing. “It’s quite bad.” Lily nodded. “I should have mentioned I’m not the best baker.” Remus shook his head, already feeling quite fond of the girl. “It’s alright. Who’s Tunie?” Lily’s face faltered for a moment before she regained control of her smile. “That’s my sister, Petunia. She’s a few years older than me. She lives with my dad but she’s helping my mum and I unpack.”

Remus nodded. “I don’t have any siblings. I always wished I did. I’ve always wanted a sister.” Lily makes a face and shakes her head. “Trust me they aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” Remus pursed his lips as he thought. “That’s fair. I just want someone who would listen to my music with me, I guess. Doesn’t really matter if it's a sister or brother.”

Lily made a face of approval. “What music do you listen to?” Remus hesitated. The boys all laugh at him when he mentions his love of Taylor Swift. Well, everyone except Sirius. He figures she won’t judge him too much.

“I quite enjoy Taylor Swift.” Lily claps her hands excitedly. “Remus Lupin, I love you! I knew this was going to be a great friendship. I LOVE Taylor Swift.”

And thus another friendship began.

Combining his friends proved easy. Lily had fit seamlessly into their little group of friends. She had come over one night with snacks in hopes that Remus was free. Hope had opened the door and welcomed her in but she quickly realized that Remus was in fact being tackled but three other boys. She knew of them of course but she had yet to meet them. She had stomped her way into the living room and wacked each of the boys on the head with a book she had picked up on the way in. “Move your arses, Wheel of Fortune is on.” None of the boys had questioned her and she had been welcomed into the group after that. The boys were all slightly scared of her but she figured that was a good thing.

_________________________________________

When Remus turned thirteen he started getting sick. Unsurprisingly, it was Sirius that first noticed it. Sirius was over at his house for their weekly Friday night movie. Sirius had been spending more time with Remus and his family and Remus was growing increasingly more worried every time he showed up with faint bruises up and down his arms.

Sirius always brushed it off but Remus had a pretty good feeling he knew how Sirius was getting them. Especially when Sirius started bringing his brother Regulus to their hangouts. Regulus more often than not had identical bruises but he wouldn’t talk about it either.

They were about halfway through Captain America when Sirius noticed Remus’s bobbing head. Remus never fell asleep during Friday night movies. Especially, when it was Marvel. When Remus’s head fell on his shoulder, he left it there and let his friend sleep through the rest of the movie. Once the end credits started rolling, he gently shook Remus until he woke up.

“Beth sy’n digwydd?” Remus slurred. He had barely managed to sit up before he slumped against Sirius again. Sirius’s eyebrows furrowed and he moved to run a hand through Remus’s hair. “English, chéri.” Remus made a faint sound before sitting up again, much slower than the first time. “Are you alright?” Sirius asked softly as he ran his hand through Remus’s hair again.

Remus sat still for a moment then turned to look back up. “Fine, just tired. Got a bit dizzy.” Sirius frowned and felt Remus’s forehead with the back of his hand. “No fever. Have you been feeling bad for long?” Remus shrugged which did nothing to quell the ever growing concern Sirius was feeling. “It’s been on and off. I guess I just over did it.” Remus murmured as he took a deep breath. “When did it start?” Sirius asked as he cupped Remus’s cheek and slid his thumb under his eye. Remus leaned into the feeling.

“I’m not sure. It’s not that bad honestly.” Sirius huffed a little before he released Remus and placed his hands in his lap. “Alright. I need you to let me know if it gets worse, okay? I mean it. None of your bothering people business. You won’t bother me.” Remus smiled softly and nodded, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he yawned. “Okay, I promise. I am pretty tired though so I think I’m going to go to sleep. Are you staying?” Sirius shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” He murmured.

Truthfully, there is nothing he would rather do than stay at the Lupin’s. They always welcomed him with warm smiles and open arms. Nothing like the cold looks and harsh hands of his own parents.

Remus scoffed. He would never admit it but Sirius made him feel safe. He made him feel uncomfortable in the best way, his stomach always fluttered. Lily called it a crush and said there was no way someone could relate to so many Taylor Swift songs and not have a crush but Remus knew better. He was just really close to Sirius. That was all, Lily just didn’t have a bond with anyone that was like the one he had with Sirius.

“Like you could ever overstay your welcome. I’m fairly certain my mam has forgotten you’re not actually her child.” Sirius let out a laugh. He really did love Hope, she was the kindest woman he had ever met. “Only if you’re sure.” Sirius really hoped he was. Remus gave him an exasperated look before he grabbed Sirius’s hand, ignoring the tug in his chest, and pulled him up the stairs. “I am very sure. Now let your parents know and come on.”

Sirius didn’t bother telling his parents, they wouldn’t care. He sent a quick text to his brother before turning his phone off and joining Remus in his too small bed.

☆☆☆

Remus seemed to get progressively worse after that. Bad enough that Peter, James, and Lily had all tried to breach the topic.

They were all walking to Remus’s house after school one day, the walk only took about ten minutes but Remus had had to stop twice to catch his breath. He was looking progressively more annoyed by the fact but all of his friends were feeling rather worried.

Eventually, when he had to stop a third time within about twenty feet of his house, Sirius had stood in front of him and waved their friends along with the promise that they would catch up in a moment. There were a few shared looks but no one protested.

Remus sat down rather abruptly and Sirius kneeled in front of him, bracing his hands on Remus’s thighs. “Alright, chéri, what’s going on?” Remus continued breathing heavily and rested his head on Sirius’s chest, a wave of relief washing over him when Sirius brought one hand to hold the back of his head. It made him feel safe which was hard with the anxiety running through him. His chest burned and he was fighting a strange floaty feeling and everything was just off.

“Can’t,” He paused again to take another deep breath. “Can’t breathe very well.” He said softly. A shiver ran down Sirius’s spine and his grip tightened on Remus’s thigh. “What do you mean?” Sirius asked softly. His heart was racing and he was dreading the answer.

He didn’t get one because all Remus was able to get out was a small whisper, dizzy, before he slumped completely onto Sirius.

Sirius was screaming for Hope in seconds.

☆☆☆

They found out that day that Remus had a very severe form of Anemia.

Hope had sat them down that night while Remus was sleeping and told them that Remus may have a little trouble keeping up when they were doing outdoor activities and even indoor ones. She told them that he’ll probably get dizzy more often and he’ll get tired much easier than before. She told them that he’ll need to be careful from now on but he’ll be fine. She had to explain that it’s something he’ll have to live with and there isn’t a solid cure yet.

Lily, James, and Peter had lots of questions. She was glad to answer them and quite honestly relieved that it hadn’t sent any of them running. She hadn’t expected it would but she was glad to have the proof anyway. Sirius sat silently through the whole ordeal and stared down at his hands. She didn’t miss the way James pressed against his side and she couldn’t help but thank the gods for the friend group her son had found. Not only were they wonderful to her son but they were wonderful to each other. It was rare to find that, especially to find it so young. She didn’t have a doubt that they were going to truly be friends forever.

After she had taken everyone home she got back to hers and smiled at Sirius. He looked tired and his eyes were red rimmed. He had sat in the hospital with them all day and she didn’t doubt he was tired. “I just wanted to make sure that it was okay for me to stay before I went to Re’s room.” He said quietly. She sat down next to him on the couch and held out an arm. He immediately collapsed into her side. She pressed a kiss to his hair and rested her cheek on his head.

“Course it’s okay, cariad.” She felt more than heard Sirius’s breath hitch. She wrapped her arm around him more firmly and didn’t mention anything when she felt the warm tears on her shirt. “He’s going to be okay, right?” Hope nodded and ran her hand up and down his arm comfortingly. “I promise he will. This isn’t something that is going to make his life miserable, Sirius. He’s going to be okay and he’ll be able to do the things he used to. He just has to be a bit more cautious now. He’s going to be just fine.” Sirius nodded and they sat in silence for a while, both of them basking in comfort.

Eventually, Sirius pulled away and wiped his eyes. He gave Hope a watery smile and hugged her. Hope pulled away and placed one last kiss on his forehead. “I hope you know that we love you so much Sirius. Not just because you’re such a great friend to Re. We love you because you are such a brilliant young man. We’re so proud of you and how much you’ve grown. We will always be here for you just as much as we are for Remus. That means you can tell us anything.” Hope looked at him firmly and Sirius couldn’t tell if he should feel dread or relief. She must know, or at least she knows something. “We want nothing more for you boys to be happy and safe. I want you to always remember that.”

Sirius would remember that talk for years to come.

_________________________________________

When Remus turned fourteen things started to make sense. It took about two months to really come to terms with the fact that he was gay. The fact that he liked guys. It only took a week to realize he liked Sirius.

He realized that it wasn't just his and Sirius’s bond that made him stare. It wasn’t their friendship that made his stomach a jumbled mess. Butterflies, as Lily put it. He realized that friends don’t look at friends the way he looks at Sirius. He and Lily listened to a lot of Taylor Swift while he tried to figure it out.

You Belong With Me and Everything Has Changed was played a lot.

Lily was brilliant and he loved her a lot. They weren’t as close as he and Sirius were but she was the closest thing he’s ever had to having a sister. She’s not afraid to take the piss and she’s blunt enough that it makes Remus consider just about everything she says seriously.

Telling the boys wasn’t hard. He wasn’t scared that they would leave him. They were all way too far into this friendship to let Remus being gay ruin it. He was a little more nervous to tell Sirius but it had nothing to do with being accepted or not and everything to do with the fact that he liked Sirius a lot.

The boys all hugged him tightly when he told them. They reminded him that they loved him no matter what and that there was nothing that he could do to make them love him any less. Remus was once again struck with the thought that he had the best friends he could ever imagine. There was nothing about any of them that he would change. He loved them so much.

He loved how James was so unapologetically himself. He loved how strongly James loved people and how loyal he stayed when he decided that you had deserved his loyalty. He loved how James wasn’t afraid to tell people off if they were bothering any of his friends. He loved how James always made sure he was feeling good and drinking enough water and making sure Remus never pushed himself too hard. He loved James a lot.

He loved how Peter was always there to listen to him if he needed someone to talk to. He loved how Peter wasn’t afraid to smack them if they were being stupid. He loved that Peter was always willing to talk about books with him and never once judged him or called him a bookworm. He loved that Peter was always ready for a game of chess and never made fun of Remus when he lost. He loved everything about Peter.

He loved how Sirius never let him feel alone. He loved how physically affectionate Sirius was and how he was always always in Remus’s corner. He loved how Sirius would let him braid his hair when he was feeling anxious or shaky. He loved how Sirius would always keep an eye out for him when they were doing something as a group. He loved how Sirius would look at him when something funny happened or when he made a joke. He loved how much Sirius loved Hope and Lyall. He loved Sirius.

He loved Sirius.

Well fuck.

☆☆☆

Remus spent the next five years silently pining. His friends would send him sad glances or worried looks every time Sirius voiced his most recent crush. Remus would just wave them off. Sure, it hurt but he knew there was something there. He just had to be patient. And if nothing ever came from it…

Well at least he still had Sirius in some way.

_________________________________________

Everything came to a head on the day of Sirius’s 19th birthday. They had a surprise party ready at Remus’s house. There was Remus, Lily, James, and Peter, but there were also a few of their other friends who had managed to wiggle their way into their friend group through the years: Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Alice, and Frank.

They had planned the party for 5 pm. They had told Sirius they were going to have a study group. He had complained about having a study group on his birthday but Remus and Lily had just rolled their eyes and told him to grin and bear it. They had put on a rather convincing performance.

Which is why they were all concerned when 5 rolled around and Sirius wasn’t there. 6, 7, and 8 came and passed without a word. Eventually, it was only the original four left. Hope was sitting in the kitchen with them as Remus paced and the others sat at the table. James had eventually made him sit down when his breathing started getting too short.

It wasn’t until 10 that James got a message from Regulus saying that Sirius was sorry but he couldn’t make it. It left everyone with an uneasy feeling but they started filtering out one at a time until it was just Hope and Remus left. Remus stayed sitting at the table with his eyes fixed on the front door. Hope sighed and kissed his head as she walked to her room. She didn’t think it was worth it to try and fight with him to get him in bed. He wasn’t going to when he was worried about Sirius.

So, Remus stayed there. He sat silently staring at the door and listened to the rain that had started to fall a little after 11. Remus’s eyes were trying their best to close but he just kept pinching himself until he wasn’t on the brink of sleep.

It was a quarter til 1 when there was a knock at the door. Remus was up in seconds, pushing past the dizziness and yanking the door open.

Sirius was standing there shaking like a leaf on the porch. He was drenched from the rain and his teeth were chattering. His lip was busted and his eye was swollen. He had a dark red patch on his cheek that Remus had no doubt would bruise. He was holding his arm weird and Remus could tell his breath was hitching. Remus felt his own eyes start watering.

“Oh, fy nghariad. Come here.” He whispered and he held his arms out to his friend. Sirius was in his arms sobbing in seconds. Remus walked them backwards slowly so he could pull him into the room and shut the door. Sirius was leaning completely on Remus and Remus sat them both gently on the floor, being mindful of Sirius’s arm.

Remus wrapped his arms around him and pulled Sirius closer to his chest. Sirius hid his face in Remus’s neck while Remus rocked them slowly. “They w-wouldn’t leave me a- I couldn’t- S-She- Remus.” Remus shushed him softly and kissed his temple. “You’re okay, fy nghariad. You can explain later but right now you’re here, you’re safe. I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Love you too much for that.”

When Sirius had calmed down enough to stop choking on his sobs, Remus led him quietly to the bathroom. He helped Sirius sit on the counter and opened the cabinet next to him. He pulled out the first aid kit and some bruise balm that he bought specifically for Sirius. He wanted to be prepared if the time ever did come. He was glad he did.

He got everything together and grabbed a wipe and ran it under warm water before pressing it gently to Sirius’s lip. He looked at Sirius apologetically when he winced at the pressure. “I know, I’m sorry.” He handed Sirius the wipe and made sure he was applying pressure before he moved on to the bruise balm. He stepped between Sirius’s legs and rubbed his thumb gently under his slightly swollen eye. When he finished he leaned forward to rest their foreheads together.

He lets his eyes fall closed and listens to the soft sigh that Sirius lets out. “Maddeu i mi.” Remus said weakly before moving back slightly and lowering Sirius’s hand so he could grab both of them. “You need help, fy nghariad.” Sirius took a shuddering breath but he didn’t interrupt. Remus took that as a good sign. “You can’t just keep going back, Siri. This is bad. You can stay here o-or with James. Just somewhere safe.” Remus was a little embarrassed to say there were tears on his face now. He loved Sirius so much and he didn’t deserve anything this life gave him.

Sirius stares at him for a moment as if he can’t figure something out. He brings his hand up to Remus’s face slowly and wipes the tears that are falling. Remus leans into the touch and closes his eyes. He kisses Sirius’s palm lightly and Sirius just watches him.

Sirius doesn’t quite understand how Remus can love him and care for him so freely. He doesn’t ever want anything from him. He doesn’t expect anything from Sirius. Not like his mother and father do. Not like all the people at school. He doesn’t have to be fake with Remus because Remus never gave him a chance to. He loved him when he was a brat of a child. He loved him when he was trying to sort through what he was taught growing up. He loved him when Sirius felt like no one ever did.

He’s always loved Remus. It’s never been a question. Always and forever, unconditionally.

He loves how forgiving Remus is, how understanding. He loves how Remus’s eyes light up when he talks about something he’s excited about. He loves how Remus snorts when he finds something really funny. He loves the embarrassed look he gets after. He loves how Remus always looks at him softly but never underestimates him. He loves how Remus takes Sirius’s need for physical affection so seriously, never once pushing him away. He loves how Remus looks at him when they’re in a crowded room. He loves how Remus always smiles when he sees Sirius as if he can’t help it.

He loves everything about Remus. He just loves Remus.

And, oh. Oh. He loves Remus.

He thinks he may remember this moment forever because how could he have not noticed that he was in love with his best friend. He’s known him for fifteen years and who knows how long he’s been in love with him. It could have been-

“Sirius?” Remus asked softly, and god has he always sounded so soft? “Siri, are you okay?” Somehow they've made their way to Remus's bedroom. Remus bends down slightly to catch Sirius’s eye. Sirius doesn’t think he really has to try. He doesn’t know how to look at anything other than Remus. Remus, who smiles uncertainty at him. “You with me, fy nghariad?” Sirius nods, unblinking. He let's Remus guide them to the bed until they're both laying down facing one another.

“What does that mean?” Sirius asked, his voice trembles slightly and he hates himself for it when Remus frowns. “That’s not important. You left for a moment, where’d you go?” He questions as he runs his fingers through Sirius’s rain matted hair. Sirius leans into the touch and feels his cheeks head when Remus smiles fondly at him. “Just had a bit of a revelation?” Remus huffs a laugh. “Oh, really?” His face falls into something more serious. “About leaving?”

Sirius looks down for a second before meeting his eyes again. “I don’t know yet.” Remus nods at that and leans into Sirius again. Sirius gladly welcomes the embrace and pressed a kiss to Remus’s temple when Remus rests his head on his chest. “I love you.” He says tenderly. Remus smiles happily and squeezes his hand a little. “Love you too, S.”

It’s not as hard as Sirius would have thought it to be when he shakes his head. “Non, je t'aime. Tu es plus que mon meilleur ami Remus, tu es tout pour moi.” Remus is watching him closely, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows that Sirius finds endearing. “English, fy nghariad.” Sirius chuckles. “Hypocrite. I love you,” He raises his hand to cup Remus’s cheek. He can tell Remus is catching on because he’s gone deathly still but his eyes are still soft. “You’re more than my best friend, Re. You’re everything to me.” Sirius lets his gaze fall to Remus’s lips as he says the next word. “Everything.”

There’s a moment of silence but Sirius doesn’t freak out. He’s not nervous. He thinks he should be but he isn’t. “Holy fuck,” Remus says softly and Sirius can’t help but let out a startled laugh. An affectionate smile taking over his freckled face. “It took you long enough, huh?” Sirius lets out a wet laugh and pushes his shoulder gently. Remus only moves closer. “I’ve loved you since I was fourteen.”

Sirius didn’t think it was possible to love him anymore. A comfortable silence settles over them. “What does fy nghariad.” Normally Remus would laugh at his terrible pronunciation but he just runs his hand down Sirius’s neck and hides his smile in the pillow. His voice is slightly muffled when he speaks.

“My love.”

#cw: cursing #cw: child abuse #cw: walburga black #wolfstar #wolfstar supremacy #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #brief mention of regulus black #hope lupin #bamf hope lupin #hope lupin being everyone's mom #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin has severe anemia #anemia

[sunflower-butch]

I’m posting Cyberpunk Ronance thoughts because it’s my blog and I can do what I want

I’m just, I know the game isn’t the best in the world, but god if the storyline didn’t break me, okay?

If you care about Cyberpunk spoilers (not including the show), do not read any further

I think there’s a lot of different ways this au could be played

I think Nancy being V makes good sense if you look at V’s characterization as this badass, ambitious person who ends up in a shitty situation but keeps fighting because it’s all she’s ever known. Bonus V and Nancy and GUNS and general badassery. In this version, perhaps Robin is Johnny—chaotic mess of a human who’s life went to shit, although I see her being less of an overall bastard. Robin in aviators? Robin in aviators. The banter between them with Robin literally stuck in Nancy’s head and apologizing over and over for literally being a sentient brain tumor? Kill me now. Bonus, Barb is Jackie, the good natured friend who helps Nancy and gets killed early on as a consequence of her and Nancy’s ambition. As much as my sad little heart loves angst, I like to think the ending could be twisted, like maybe they find Robin’s body so her engram can be put back into it and Nancy can survive. I just don’t want the ending to be sad, damnit. Panam could be Max maybe? Hmmm. Or maybe El.

I’m also fond of the idea of Robin as V, however, and it boils down to the V/Johnny relationship. Picture with me for a moment: Eddie as Johnny. He fits the bill too well. Bastard of a rocker boy who did drugs and has pretty hair. He gets stuck in the head of one Robin Buckley, and it’s instant wlw/mlm hostility (but it morphs into solidarity, I promise). In this version, I think Steve is heartbreakingly Jackie. Their personalities line up too well. Throwing a bone to the Steddies tho, Steve could be Kerry and all the Johnny/Kerry moments become Steddie. Then Barb could still be Jackie? Or Steve is Jackie and Barb is T-Bug, RIP. Who is Nancy, then? Well, I think Panam or Judy are both excellent options. Just think, Nancy Wheeler, the tech genius who reports and edits brain dances on the side, an ex member of the baddest girl gang in Night City, the Moxes? Sick. But! Nancy Wheeler, badass mercenary who strikes out from her clan on her own to follow ambition and independence, but eventually coming back as a leader. Tbh I’m leaning more the Judy route, as much as I love Panam. The underwater date? Nancy finally being vulnerable, showing Robin her flooded home? Memories of Mike—long since moved away—and her family? Nancy saving Robin from almost dying because of Eddie’s damn chip? Robin being so soft with her afterward? Nancy giving Robin her key? Also Nancy is a vengeful woman and the whole Clouds arc would be something she could do, I think—and Robin helps because ofc, it’s Nancy. THEY’RE GAY YOU’RE HONOR. And, because of course I’m choosing the ending where you leave with the nomads, Nancy leaves Night City with Robin, and she promises to help Robin find a cure (and they do because fuck you ambiguous game ending). I’m thinking this is the ideal scenario for me.

Or the above but it’s Eddie as Johnny, Nancy as V, Robin as Panam, I like that too.

Chrissy is undoubtedly Misty in any version, only she’s not dating the Jackie character because she’s a lesbian in my mind and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands. Maybe Vickie is Victor (heh, Vic, same nickname) and they have a little tension going on with Chrissy’s Esoterica being right outside Vickie’s Clinic.

Maybe agent Owens as Takemura? Henry is Yorinobu, Brenner is Saburo. The female agent who’s name I can’t remember is Hanako. I feel like these all fit scary well.

Ofc Hopper is Saul, you can’t tell me he doesn’t fit that role damn near perfect. Most of the rest of the Hawkins crew are probably Aldecaldos as well. I’m thinking Jonathan is Mitch and Argyle could be Scorpion (I know that one is a bad fit but fight me on it, Jargyle boyfriends and also Scorpion/Argyle gets to live because it’s my au and I can do what I want). Thinking about El as Panam more now actually, her stubborn personality and whatnot. It’s vibes, okay? It’s 1 am, let me enjoy my brain worms.

Beyond who’s who: think about Nancy Wheeler with mantis blades. Need I say more? She’s a badass with a katana and throwing knives, and REALLY scary good at hacking. She has a professional cyberdeck and all the best tech. I think she’d be a Corpo background V. Don’t put her in hand to hand combat though, she is small and will get her shit wrecked.

But! Robin Buckley would have less tech. She doesn’t trust it—maybe she’s a conspiracy theorist, sue her. She’s a Nomad background V, and she is really good with bigger guns and weapons that require less finesse. I’m picturing her with a trusty baseball bat and a shotgun that she alternates between. When she does hack, it’s usually cameras and whatnot for stealth missions—but we all know she’s bad with coordination and most stealth missions turn into guns blazing missions. Oops?

#guys I’m thinking so fucking hard about this #idek if any of you have played this game #and if you haven’t this is probably mostly gibberish #so sorry about that #cyberpunk ronance #cyberpunk 2077 #ronance #robin buckley #Nancy wheeler #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #look the game has its issues #but the main story has me in a chokehold #and I love V and Judy and Panam #and the whole V and Johnny coming together as a matched set of chaos causing besties #except this time it’s Robin and Eddie #idk man #it’s late #I had thoughts

[agentravensong]

Since you're asking about the Beginner's Guide...

How do you interpret the House level (the one with the housekeeper and the repetitive chores)?

I find it interesting that this is the first level Davey specifically mentions that Coda "called him up to see," which Davey interprets as Coda simply being proud of that level and wanting to share it. However, it's a bit of a theme that Coda's work is frequently misinterpreted by Davey, and it seems to me that this Coda is commenting on their relationship as friends through the chat system and (would be) endless chores.

Additionally, what do you make of the opening to Mobius, the game where it tells you to keep your eyes closed, when doing so makes it nigh impossible to win? That's one of the ones I think about the most when this game comes up - leaving the player in ignorance of their impending demise, surrounded by a few horrified mute NPCs who've gone blind, everyone about to be killed, the whole thing stuck in a loop. It's all very interesting, though I'm not sure if it's a simple comment on how Davey ought to respect Coda's work despite what he might miss or if there's something deeper there.

(I'll be honest and say that this game makes me feel bad for asking about interpretation considering that it's partly about an artist asking you NOT to overanalyze their work/themselves - makes it very hard to talk about).

Oh, and happy birthday!

Thank you anon! Sorry for getting to this late, it's been a busy week and I wanted to make sure I gave myself enough time to think through my response, because I just love this game that much.

As a bit of a disclaimer, I tend to be of the opinion that Coda didn't start making their games to be about Davey and their relationship until The Machine (which in my mind Coda undoubtedly made after Davey shared their games, not before), or maybe Island. Like, Machine and Tower are so clearly messages to Davey, obvious in their intent in a way most of the rest of Coda's games really aren't, and so between that and Coda's whole point at the end being that they wish Davey could just "let [the games] be what they are", I prefer to just take the rest of the games at face value in terms of Coda's intent (or, more aptly, lack thereof).

That being said, I definitely think the real-life Davey Wreden intended the games to reflect all the stuff going on in the narrative between Davey and Coda, so we can look at both of these games through that angle. And I'd encourage you not to feel bad about reading into the game and "overanalzying" it, or asking others' readings. Wreden himself has said he didn't want the game to make people feel that way. It's about being careful and consientious when drawing conclusions, minding the separation between the work and the author, and recognizing the difference between what's in the game and what you bring to do it.

With all that out of the way...

House

I partly agree with the idea that the player and the cleaner NPC reflect the Davey - Coda relationship. The cleaner reflects Coda in how they find joy from this activity that, through its looping, seems to have no clear purpose. And I think it's worth noting that these endless chores are portrayed as something earnestly enjoyable, not a burden - after all, this game was made in the period where Coda was, to quote Davey, "grossly happy".

On the other hand, if you ask the cleaner how they got into this job, they talk about how a friend dragged them into it and then say,

Never did like cleaning my own home. I might've got some demons I ain't ready to face yet.

If you combine this quote with the cleaner's later suggestion that "one's house is a lot like one's soul", then we see the cleaner as someone who tries to fix other people's problems because they don't know how to deal with their own. Aka, game Davey to a T.

This is the one game Coda called Davey up and asked him to come look at, and I think that's because it made Coda happy, and they thought it might make Davey happy too. But right as Davey cuts the game off, the cleaner shows a bit of awareness and asks the player, "Do you enjoy this?" Coda is not so naive not to realize that their games aren't for everyone. (I mean, in a literal sense, they're not meant to be for anyone but themself.)

And clearly Davey didn't really get the point of this game. For one, there's the way he describes Coda's happiness in this period of time as "gross", and how most of his praise for this game is phrased more as "I'm happy Coda liked it" than "I liked this one". Has a "I don't get it but you do you" type of energy. And then there's the fact that he bases his interpretation of the game entirely on a change he made. He cuts off the game and says the point, of both this and the puzzle doors, is that "you can't stay in the dark space for too long ... sooner or later you have to pick up and move", knowing full well that Coda made the game to loop forever. To Davey, they are just chores.

(We'll get back to why he didn't get it at the end of this post.)

Mobius

The framing of this game is certainly interesting, though I'm not sure I have a distinct Take on it. I def think your idea about how "Davey ought to respect Coda's work despite what he might miss" makes sense. It reminds me of Davey's last line of narration in Ready, Set, Fish, the game that introduces the puzzle doors and then has all the hidden hallways floating in space:

Most of the time you don’t get to know what you’re missing, or that you’re missing anything. That’s not your role as a player. So if your role here is not to understand, then what is it?

The puzzle doors themselves can be vaguely tied back to the idea of blindness, with how the way to get through to them is to lock yourself in the dark space between with the blind faith that a new solution will become apparent. Maybe that's why the threat in Mobius is the puzzle door, something Davey notably does not comment on at all.

Blind faith as an idea also appears in the final prison game, where the past you just has to trust that talking and being sincere will help them escape. And that ending parallels Mobius, where the solution is also telling the truth. The motif of sincerity and truth, as a subset of the game's themes of communication and perspective, really is very prominent in the second half of the game, starting with Lecture... but that's a whole other discussion.

The idea that you're not supposed to be able to "win" Mobius while abiding by its rules is certainly not a new thing for Coda's games either. It's famously one of the things he and Davey most disagreed on. You can even see it in House, where Davey forces an end condition, a win state. Davey is all about solutions, about moving towards a goal, about progress, whereas Coda is more than willing to stay in place, to just be, with no rush toward any destination.

Coda enjoys the dark spaces. Davey puts lampposts in them.

#thanks anon! #the beginner's guide #davey wreden #been watching a lot of videos on the game over the past few days #might have stolen some ideas from them and included them here #it can be hard to tell past a certain point #oh the irony