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cdragons · 3 months

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 2

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But silver linings exist in the sticky toffee pudding Mrs. Gavey made for you.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix is Felix (a ho), Reader finally eating some good fucking food, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: BRUH??? HOW DID I GET SO MANY NOTES IN PART 1??? Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive. I received so many questions and comments, which have all been great! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that this part lives up the first one. Also, this is technically a Christmas fic bc it just fits with the story's timeline. I would like to thank Grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

Christmas Eve - Saltburn 2006

“Oh! Oh – y-yes, yes, yes! FUCK!”

Fucking the girl underneath so hard to the point where she likely saw stars. Meanwhile, Felix was trying to finish as soon as possible.

“So big! God, you’re so fucking big – FUCK!”

He brought her to his room and in his bed because he thought her hair just barely matched yours, and if he didn’t think too much about it – her voice sounded a bit like yours too.

But he made a mistake.

The girl – whatever her name was – sounded nothing like you. Her hair was nowhere near as pretty and shiny as yours, and her nails were fucking long and sharp that they were digging for his blood. Her makeup too – fucking hell, it was like she trying out for the opera with how much she caked onto herself.

Every time Felix saw you – whether in the library or under a tree – your nails were trimmed short. And from what he remembered, you didn’t plaster yourself in cheap cosmetics.

No, you never needed to. Your style of choice was simpler and more elegant than most girls he knew, including his sister, Venetia. Granted, he loved his sister to bits and pieces, but the girl loved her spray tan in the winter.

But worst of all – she didn’t have your eyes. Her gaze was too mindless and soft, a mix of adoration and unparalleled lust. Your eyes held vivacious rage and

“Felix?” What’s-Her-Face asked. “You okay?”

Fuck, he was getting soft.

Closing his eyes, Felix knew the only way he would get to finish was to think of you. He thought about the last time he saw you. He remembered how hard the wind blew and how cold it was that night. He felt himself harden at the memory of how alive your eyes were right before and after you broke his nose. His back still had the welts from the blows of your notebook. Every time he saw them in the mirror, he would lovingly stroke each bruise because they were the only evidence that you were real.

That you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Letting his mind run wild, Felix imagined you here instead of this imposter. He’d imagine you on top – no way a woman like you would let anyone be on top, not even him. Fuck, you’d be the most wild thing ever to exist, he’s sure he’d let you do anything to him.

His heart, his soul – whether you cared for him or wished to crush him under your shoe – everything of his would be yours.

He wondered if you were the type to be into using a riding crop.

Regaining his vigor with his eyes still closed, he imagined you riding him until oblivion. Your breasts would fit perfectly in his hands as you would still be bouncing on his cock. Your head would be thrown back, and his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your pussy tightening.

Oh God, he was going to blow.

Quickening his pace, the girl that wasn’t you was full-on howling in unbridled pleasure. When she climaxed, he could finally let go and come. Ropes of his cum spilled into the condom as he shouted out your name.

Falling to his side, he hadn’t bothered to check if Lady Not You remained in the sheets. It didn’t matter if she did; Felix was too exhausted to care. Finally feeling like he could rest, he fell into a dream about the day he felt his life truly begin – the day he met you.

First Week of Oxford University Michaelmas Term of 2006

Felix remembered the first time he saw you – it was after the first week since the term began. He and his mates were fucking around in Radcliffe, and the old bag running the desk was having a cow with them. He was bored out of his mind when all of a sudden – he spotted you on the upper level. You wore dark wash blue straight-leg jeans with rolled-up cuffs and white high-top Converse sneakers. It looked like your shirt must have been at least a decade old, given how the black-dyed cotton was faded to dark gray, and the paint looked cracked and chipped. Your thick locks were gathered in a loose but simple braid. Unlike everyone else, your eyes weren’t focused on him – but on the structure and life around him.

He had to know more.

Slipping a tenner to one of his friends to cause a distraction, he used the diversion to make his way to your spot on the second floor. Having a closer view, you were the most vividly gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was worried that his movement toward you would alert you of his presence, and you would only scurry off – and away from him. But judging by the slight bobbing of your head, you wouldn’t be able to hear him since you were listening to whatever was playing through your earbuds.

All the better for him to keep observing you.

As he inched closer, his eyes caught the tiny wisps of your hair that weren’t contained by your messy braid, creating a lovely frame of your face while also bringing out the shine in your eyes. You had a simple gold chain around your neck with a circular locket hanging. From the side, Felix could faintly distinguish the words “Bon Jovi” in blue cracked paint and “1989” underneath a skull wearing red aviators.

He didn’t know who the fuck Bon Jovi was, but clearly, he was someone pretty fucking important to you.

But what captured Felix’s interest was how engrossed you were with the scene unfolding underneath you. Your eyes very rarely broke away from the view – only to quickly glance at the hardcover sketchbook you balanced on the white-painted railing. Whenever you glanced down at your sketch, Felix could see how long and thick your eyelashes were. Each time you blinked, it was like his mind broke down the movement of your eyelids frame by frame as if he were editing a Garry Marshall film. He wished he could be your cheek at that moment. If only to feel the gentle flutter of your lashes’ touch. Deep in your concentration, your lips were slightly pursed in a way that brought out their luscious fullness.

He couldn’t help but imagine how they would look around his cock. If he came inside your mouth, he was sure that some of his spunk would leak past your lips before you tried your best to swallow it down.

He was so lost in the fantasy of you and him that he hadn’t realized you had been calling out to him. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down to see you right before him. And you looked downright pissed at him.

“Hey! HEY!” you exclaimed while waving your hand to his face to catch his attention.

You were American. How adorable.

“If you could stop staring at me like a fucking serial killer, I think your ‘mates’ are trying to get your attention.”

You pointed your finger at his group of friends still on the first floor. It seemed that they successfully drove away the grounds' warden. The old bat was now fixated on putting away all the returned or misplaced books on the shelves.

Must have been Farleigh’s idea.

Anyway, back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, can I get your –” but you were gone by the time he turned back to you.

Instead, he found himself alone on the second floor. He quickly glanced around to see if you had just moved to a different area. But you were gone. Racing the stairwell, hoping to catch up to you, he found that you had already walked too far for him to call you out without seeming completely desperate.

Except that he was.

He watched you walk away – shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high – and thought at how utterly unfair it was to him that you walked away from him so beautifully without giving him your number, or at least your name.

Felix woke up in a dark room; he was confused as to why the maids hadn’t drawn curtains – until he realized that Mum had likely sent them for their holiday after the party was finished.

It's too bad that he wasn’t there to see everyone out like a good son. But he wouldn’t beat himself over about it too much – chances were that his parents were also hungover off their asses too. He didn’t even want to imagine V’s state right now.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Felix dug into his closet to find whatever someone wore the morning after fucking a completely faceless stranger to scratch an itch meant for someone else. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a little note on his nightstand. Swiftly plucking it with two fingers, he could barely make out the words written in swirly cursive.

My name’s Cassie. Just thought you should know for next time. Call me: XXXX-XXXXXXX 💋

Felix scoffed before tossing the dingy paper to the floor – destined to be forgotten before the next hour came – before locking himself in the bathroom to take a piss and wash off the smell of booze and cigs off his skin.

By the time he was finished, it was probably close to noon. He would have made his way down to the kitchens to fix something up – but he was immediately met with Farleigh as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. Bastard startled him up so bad that he practically jumped a foot off the ground.

“Fucking – really, Farleigh?” he asked. “Practically gave me a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

“It’s almost one so that ship has sailed.” He quipped back. “Aunt Elspeth and Uncle James were quite distraught when their golden son wasn’t seen by any of the guests when the party ended. It wasn't good when the Carltons’ daughter was gone for almost an hour. But at least she returned to her loving parents’ arms by the time it was to go home.”

Farleigh shot his cousin a curious look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I’m pretty sure her name was Cassandra.”

Felix just shrugged.

“Don’t know about any Cassandras. Fucked a Cassie last night, though.”

Farleigh snorted a laugh as they went to the kitchens to see if any food was prepared.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

A few minutes of companionable silence passed before Felix asked his cousin something important.

“Hey, do you think she’s thinking about me?”

“Cassie or Cassandra? Because the answer’s probably yes anyway.”

“No, not them. Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

Farleigh immediately stopped. He genuinely wondered how Felix managed to get into Oxford sometimes. Sure, he was a legacy kid, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“You really think,” he slowly began, “that the girl who dragged you out of the library in front of everyone, broke your nose, beat you bruised with only her flimsy-ass notebook – because you ruined her painting – would be thinking about you?”

Judging by the look in his cousin’s eyes, yes. Sighing at the incredulity of it all, Farleigh could only shake his head before finding something to eat and drink away the migraine he could feel was coming.

Watching his cousin walk away from him, Felix knew he thought he was fighting a losing battle. But he wasn’t too worried. Everything would change during the upcoming term. Oxford was its own world – broken away from everything else. All that mattered to anyone in Oxford was this world's history, present, and future. And now – as it was made clear now to Felix – you were also part of that world. He would get to find you again and make sure to bring you to the point where you would look for him the way he would look for you.

Still, a selfish part of Felix hoped that you were even just the slightest bit miserable being away from him as he was being away from you.

Manchester, December 2006

You were having the time of your life.

Michael invited you to his home in Manchester for Christmas to spend the holidays with his family. You refused, at first, the idea of being a burden to your best friend during a time when it should be spent with family. Michael liked to put up a big front, but you knew that he was just as – if not more – excited to spend Christmas with his folks than you were before the “incident.”

But he insisted, and you could not have been more grateful for the invitation. But you wish you were a tad bit more graceful with your reaction when he first brought it up.

Oxford Dining Hall December 2006

You were angrily shoveling pasta into your mouth at the time. Sadly, the appallingly bland marinara sauce paired with the overcooked spaghetti and dry meatballs was the university's most flavorful dish.

“Come home with me.” He told you one evening during dinner time at the dining hall.

Caught off guard, you half-choked on the mountain of overcooked noodles in your mouth. Immediately, you reached for your glass of water to wash it down and to prevent a truly horrifically dull death.

“What?” you croaked out.

“Come with me to my house for Christmas.” He clarified, utterly unfazed by your near death. “Come on, you’ve been complaining to me all week about not being able to fly back for the holidays. And no one should have to spend Christmas eating whatever slop they’ll end up serving.”

“Michael,” you began, “I am not going to impose on your family like that. And you seemed to have forgotten one key detail: I can’t leave until I re-do the painting.”

“So, come over after you finish,” he reasoned, “I know you remember what to do, and that already cuts the time you originally spent on it in half. You won’t need a whole month to do it again, so come over when you finish. Plus, you don’t have your other classes to worry about.”

You knew that he was right – he was right about a lot of things – but the offer still made you uncomfortable. Scholarship student or not, you were no one’s charity case. If there was one thing you hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied by people who didn’t know you. That wasn’t the case with Michael, but the feeling made you feel small.

You hated feeling small.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I would be imposing on your family. Your mom’s a nurse, right? She’s probably been looking forward to your homecoming for ages now. Informing her that she should be expecting a complete stranger, who would be staying for two weeks, would be a huge burden on her. She shouldn’t have that kind of stress burdening her during the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes at your concern.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I already have one in my life, and I’m genetically attached to her. And you’re hardly a stranger. Mum’s always asking when you would be visiting anyway. She’s worried if you’re eating enough or getting enough sleep. She’s a bit looney like that.”

You shot your friend a glare. He was trying way too hard to keep a cool, nonchalant façade. Michael Gavey was a total sucker for his family but in the sweetest way. During the long study sessions that stretched into the night, Michael’s defenses were lowered, and you could get more information about his life and home.

His mom was a Manchester Royal Infirmary nurse practitioner, while his dad was an accountant at Pearl Lemon. They met at a coffee shop. He was working as a barista to pay off his student loans, and she was a nurse just starting her residency. He wowed her with his terrible jokes, and she charmed him with her infectious smile, and the rest was history. Three years into their marriage, baby Mikey was born, with the addition of his baby sister Lilypad a decade later.

When you remained silent, Michael knew your stubbornness would give him endless headaches. But you were his best friend, the only person he saw worth befriending in the infinite sea of prats and slags that overpopulated their university. You laughed at his shitty jokes, and he snorted at yours. You would try to trip him up with out-of-pocket sums; he’d laugh when he answered them before your calculator. You had his back when some rugby bloke pushed him around, and he had yours when some fake tanned bitch called you a tramp.

“Look, I can’t promise it’ll be anything like your home. I know you miss your mum’s cooking and your dad’s drunk stories. But my parents already made me promise that I would get you to visit because it’s Christmas and no one should be alone and you’re going to die without me here and blah blah blah. Just say you’ll come? Lil’ will murder me if you don’t come. She’s been dying to hear all about the Great Apple and Broadway.”

“…It’s actually called the Big Apple.”

Your comment brought a loud and rather unattractive snort to leave his mouth. And the chuckle that came after brought a small and tentative smile on you.

“Look, are you coming or not?”

You had to admit, the invitation sounded welcoming. You were dying to put faces on the people that made Michael Gavey, well, Michael Gavey. He rarely talked about his family, but his tone was warm and soft when he did. It was such a sweet contrast to the snarky little shit you were used to, and so temptation won in the end.

“…Fine.” You agreed after dragging out the tension. “But I am bringing presents for all your family members, and you have to help me. And any funds that were spent on me are going to be paid back before summer. Got it?”

A true, genuine smile crept across Michael’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“…Will I be seeing any baby pictures of you?”

“Don’t push it.”

You weren’t sure what exactly to expect from Michael’s family – maybe they were wonderful, or maybe the idea of an American that hailed from a city with some of the highest crime rates in the US gave them hives – but you were sure that you wouldn’t be alone if Michael were with you. Safe to say, your expectations were set way too low.

His dad's arms immediately enveloped Michael after you two exited at your stop and the station. You had always assumed most British father figures to be a bit cold and distant, but it seemed that stereotype didn’t apply to his dad. You went in for a handshake but were also caught in a warm hug. You introduced yourself while expressing your gratitude to him and his wife’s generosity.

“Oh no, please,” he insisted, “please call me Greg. Mr. Gavey was my father’s name, and I don’t think I’ve grown that many wrinkles yet.”

When you arrived at his home, it was a medium-sized red brick building in the suburbs. After entering the door and Greg announcing your arrival, quick footsteps ran down the stairs, and a young girl with golden honey curls in pajamas and a pink tutu ran to Michael.

“MIKEY!” she exclaimed. “YOU’RE HOME! Did you miss me? Why did it take you so long? You said your tests were done by the third. It’s the fifteenth today!”

“Lily, Lily,” Michael breathily laughed, “calm down. Of course, I missed you. But I had to wait for my friend because she’s hopeless with directions.”

“That is not true!” you blurted. “It’s not my fault I come from a grid system!”

“Anyway, this is my very good friend, Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N, this is my little sister, Lily.”

Lily turned to you with a big smile and curtsied like a perfect ballerina.

“Hello! My name is Lily! I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April!”

You almost squealed at how adorable the sight was. You crouched down and mirrored her smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lily! I’m Y/N, and I’m turning nineteen this coming b/m! Your brother here told me so much about you.”

“He did?” she asked with wide eyes.

“He did! He told you how smart you are in math and that you’re an amazing ballerina.”

Lily shyly looked down as a massively cute blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“I wanna be good at sums like Mikey. That way, I can help Daddy with his work like Mikey did when he was my age.”

“Ok!” interjected ‘Mikey,’ cheeks equally flushed at the slipped detail from his baby sister. “Time to find Mum. She in the kitchen?”

“Yep! She’s making roast chicken and mash with peas!” She turned to you. “Is Y/N allergic to anything?”

“Nope!” you replied, “Only dust, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be in the dishes.”

Meeting Michael’s mom – who was absolutely gorgeous, by the way – was another huge highlight of the break so far. Hearing you three entering the kitchen, she immediately turned off the stove and dashed over to hug you and her son.

“Oh, Y/N!” she warmly greeted you. “I’m so happy that you were able to come. Michael has told me so much about you. Have you adjusted well in Oxford? The time difference isn’t putting too much strain on you, is it? You both look so skinny – are they feeding you at all at that school?”

“Careful, Mum. You might scare her off.”

You shot him a mocking glare before answering his mother.

“Don’t be mean! And I think I’ve adjusted well enough to the university. Jet lag wasn’t too much of an issue because my parents made sure I moved into my dorm early and adjusted to the time zone changes before classes started. The food they serve at the dining halls doesn’t compare to homecooked meals, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But after walking into the kitchen, I think I’ll be able to regain it once I have your cooking!”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I’ll let you get settled. Greg and I cleaned up the guest room for you. It’s next to Lilypad’s room. She’s excited to hear any stories you have about New York. It’s just on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

Walking back to the entrance to grab your bags, you were just in earshot of Michael and his mom’s conversation.

“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful! I thought she was a model from Vogue when she first walked in! Are you sure nothing’s going on between you two? Should I expect any grandchildren in the near future?”

“Mum!” he loudly groaned as you softly chortled.

Christmas with the Gaveys was so much fun. You played a dozen board games. Michael was a beast in Poker and Uno while you cleared the board with Scrabble and Black Jacks. Mrs. Gavey was a fantastic cook – you couldn’t remember the last time you had any meal that had more than salt as a seasoning since coming to England. You tried sticky toffee pudding for the first time – you almost cried at that first bite. Everyone was so warm to each other and showered one another with so much love. Most of the neighbors watched Michael grow up, and many shared his childhood stories. It reminded you a lot of the Christmases at your parents’ apartment back in Queens.

The community and camaraderie- it was like you were back at home with your family. Your mom would pick up a roast duck from Peking Duck Sandwich Stall in Flushing while you and your dad would go to Eileen’s to wait in line to pick up your favorite cheesecake. The building would have a huge potluck on Christmas Eve, and everyone would bring a dish. Your neighbor, Mrs. Wong, would bring out everything necessary to make her famous dumplings. Everything was made from scratch. You and the kids of the building would learn how to wrap the fillings in the wrappers while the adults made the wrappers and fillings. You would play White Elephant with the other kids on Christmas Day, which usually ended in a fistfight.

You still missed home. You missed your parents and cat. You missed making cookies with your parents because Christmas was the only time when both of them had time off from work. While his school was still on break, you and your dad would take advantage of your mom’s employee benefits and watch a bunch of live Broadway shows.

When your parents skyped you, you cried after seeing their faces for the first time in so long. School was so stressful, and you were starting to regret traveling so far when you could have easily gone to a school so much closer to home. You tried your best to reschedule your flight, but round-trip flights were expensive, and they increased exponentially during the holidays.

You cried for an hour after seeing the prices online.

But thanks to Michael, you felt so much less alone than you would have if you had stayed at Oxford for the entire break. You introduced him to your parents during the call, and they loved him. It was such a massive relief that they liked your friend, especially because of how much his friendship meant to you. When he left the room, your parents basically forced you to ensure he would come with you to stay with you when you returned for the summer. They were shocked when you told them he had never had fresh jianbing or a decent slice of pizza. After the call, you were confident they were making a list of every store and stall you and Michael would visit during his visit.

Classic Queens’ family behavior – showing love by forcing food down your throat whether you like it or not.

At the moment, you were at the window in your room and looking at the moon. It was about three in the morning, and the rest of the household was asleep.

Well – everyone except one.

Michael had crept in about half an hour ago, and the two of you were just looking at the stars. You hadn’t expected to see so many – you could only see the lights from planes and aircraft at night back home. There wasn’t any talking, only comforting silence. The scene outside your window with the fresh snow on top of the rooftops and ground. Each house had a slight outline of their Christmas tree lights shining from their lower windows.

Your fingers itched for your pencil and sketchbook to immortalize it.

Ever so softly, Michael broke the silence while looking at you.

“So,” he began, “how would you rate your first English Christmas in the Gavey Household?”

You looked back at him with the biggest smile that Michael had ever seen on you.

“Ten out of ten. Would pay to see lightsaber reenactment again.”

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

Suburban Prescot, Liverpool December 2006

In a well-established suburban home in Prescot, a short boy with crystal blue eyes and inky black hair locked himself in his room. The noise and babble from downstairs gave him a headache. He hated his parents. He hated his sisters. He hated being invisible and being from nowhere.

He had to get out of here.

In his backpack, a photo of a specific heir of a manor was safely tucked in the bottom. The new term was going to be different for him. He would make sure of it.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @valeskafics, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by commenting!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

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puripurin · 2 months

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Idea from @littlekohai77. You are the real G for this. It was altered so that it could fit this story, BUT there will be one where cute yan monster's darling meets his mom. Reader is female.

— Sometimes, you wish you had the balls to say no to your friends. This was seriously not cool of them... along with the other times. This time, though, you finally had the realization that your friends are shitty people because you are tied up to a tree. In the middle of the forest. For like, 4 hours now.

Darkness was starting to set in, and you were hungry because before this, you only ate granola bars and drank water. You were also in pain from when you decided to escape and tried to break free, but all you got were rope burns that were painful.

You sighed as you knocked your feet with one another out of sheer boredom. There was no way you were going to make it out alive. Even if you tried screaming (which you'd have done and your throat is extremely hoarse), you were deep into the forest, and you haven't seen a single soul pass by you.

Well, that was until you heard the crunch of leaves, and it seemed it was heading towards you! How lucky you were! You made sure to move around a lot and tried to use your weak voice to bring the person over to you. You were happy until you realized the person you were luring to you wasn't exactly a person.

A horned monser stood in the corner of your eyes. If you could scream, you would've, but you looked away and closed your eyes. It was like it instantly burned into your eyes, with its deep red eyes and short black fur.

As you waited for death, it never came with only a wet nose being pressed on your cheek, and it went lower and lower until it reached your crotch which you closed your legs and twisted your lower half away from it. The monster growled lightly before slasch at your bindings and carried you in his arms. You momentarily celebrated before realizing you were going to probably get eaten to death by this monster. You sighed and thought about your family and not your ex-friends, which made you fall asleep in the monster's arms.

"WOAHHHHH!" The 7 year old boy said in amazement. He was bouncing around in excitement and made you giggle.

"Daddy is super cool! He saved mommy from danger!" This was your son, Aimilios, the child you had with Kaiser, the monster that had saved you. It was a bit too early to put this out there, but Aimilios was too excited and interrupted.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, don't you want to know what happens next?" You reasoned with your child, which made him stop before sitting down close to you in silence and staring like a puppy. You pulled him closer and rubbed his head.

"Now, what happened after...? Oh right!" You chuckled as you reminiscence on the past.

When you woken up, you were covered in a fur sheet, and there was a fire to the side of you, warming you up. It seemed you were now in an abandoned building. Looking around, everything was worn down, but it was clean.

"You. Awake." A low gruff voice made you jump in fear. The monster appeared with a fraying picnic basket in its teeth. You scrambled behind you, only to hit your head on a broken table leg.

"Fuck... that hurts..." You rubbed the area and brought down your hand only to see blood. Looking back, there was blood on the area that your head it, and it was slightly sharp.

"Human. Hurt. Self?" It spoke once more before dropping the basket near you and going back into the darkness for something.

When the monster came back, there was a scratched up med kit with a dried blood splatter in its mouth. It sat right in front of you and placed down the kit to take out the bandages.

You carefully watched the monster as it slowly wrapped your head in bandages and then used medical grade tape to make sure it wasn't going to come off...

"And the rest is history. It took a while for me to warm up to your daddy, but when I fell in love, it hit me hard." You kissed his head, but your child had something on his mind.

"But... what about mommy's bad friends?" He looked up at you with his cute little doe eyes.

"Well, it was a couple of months later when you were still in mommy's belly."

You yawned as you walked through the hallways of the abandoned building you were living in with Kaiser. At this point, your pregnant belly was obvious even with the loose clothes you wore. It was 1 pm, and you had just woken up. Kaiser was out hunting food, and you stayed here cleaning up and making the abandoned building more like home.

What you weren't expecting was a bright flashlight being shined in your face. There were a lot of shocked gasps as you covered your eyes.

"Heh, is that really you, [Y/n]?" Now that was one of your ex-friend's voices. He lowered his flashlight and saw your pissed off face.

"Hooo! You're massive now! Huh, look, guys, the skeleton has turned into a whale now. Who's the bum that impregnated you? Hahahaha!" One of the girls joked and mocked you.

"You guys sure have a lot of balls coming back to the forest where one of your ex-friends could have possibly died, and the first thing you do is mock my body and its father?" You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

"Hahaha, you're just a waste of space. Why should we care?" It was almost comical with the way they acted. Were these people humans or cartoon characters?

"Okay, since I don't want to be the one to get blamed when you die, please get the fuck out of this place. Now." You crossed your arms and made your voice firm. Even if they were acting like bitches, you still wanted them to live on with their mistakes.

"Oh? Is this cunt speaking back to us? Guys, should we teach this pregnant cow a lesson." To which all 4 persons agree in unison. The tallest punched you in the face before grabbing you and taking you outside and tied you to a tree. You sighed and shook your head.

"Back to where you were, huh? Not so fiesty now, eh?" One said, and you were contemplating things. Too bad you didn't need to think that far as one of them got thrown to the ground and got badly injured.

"I won't go into detail of what happened, but the aftermath was bad for me. I wasn't able to leave my room until I gave birth to you, only to find out that I couldn't interact with other people and leave the house to get supplies. Ridiculous, right??" You huffed and puffed out your cheeks to make your son feel angry as well.

"But you never step foot outside because you wanted to! They forced you outside!" He pouted and crossed his arms, making him look extremely cute.

"But, if he wasn't there, I would have never gotten to see your cute face. Now it's time to go to sleep. Mommy will make your favorite food in the morning if you do." Instantly, he hopped into bed and snuggled into the sheets with his eyes closed shut.

"Goodnight, Amy." You kissed his forehead before turning off the light and leaving the room.

As you walked down the hallways, you heard footsteps. You smiled and turned around behind you to run towards Kaiser, only to get hit in the head by a hanging piece of metal. Tears pricked your eyes as you bent down in pain.

"Ah... my clumsy wife hurts herself again. How foolish of her..." You slapped Kaiser's leg as he made fun of you again. "You're such a bully!" You sniffled.

"Oh? But don't you like taking this so-called "bully's" cock?" You face flushed in embarrassment, and as if the pain disappeared, stood up and started hitting him in his chest. "Now you're really making me regret teaching you english!!" You turned away from him and pouted.

"Oh, you regret it now? Let's see if you'll regret when I stuff this thick—"

"AHHHH--- LALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!" You said as you ran away from him.

Anyways 🐀,,, for the introduction for his papa, it is tame because this (y/n) was obscuring most of what happened because be realistic here, are you going to tell a child how you saw one of your friends get mauled in front of your eyes. So, there will be the actual intro post for Kaiser without Aimilios being told the story of how they met.

I thought it would be a fun exercise to do because,,, why not? Belehhhh.

Nir proofread.

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader

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teyamsatan · 11 months

Text

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀: ℍ𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader

synopsis: you decide to make Neteyam pay for all the hurt he's caused you, but what will happen when your own plan comes back to bite you in the ass?

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, strong language, mentions of violence, blood, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol

wc: 5k words

a/n: i'm so flabbergasted by the incredible response to my first enemies-to-lovers fic, you don't even know! thank you so much, it means so much to see you besties enjoying it and being excited about it. I will reiterate once more than this is a trope suuper outside of my comfort zone, so i hope you enjoy me wracking my brain to figure out the plot as i go along hahahah. enjoy, and as always, thank you for every like, reblog, reply, it means the world x (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)

na'vi compendium: syä - bitter, yawne - beloved, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, 'itan - son, 'ite - daughter, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, tsamsiyu - warrior, muntxate - mate, 'eylan - friend

: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)

Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt, this lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer, souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time, you and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time, hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

Just like most Na’vi, you’ve always felt comfortable at night. It always felt to you like the best time to be alive, is when the plants came to life alongside you, in iridescent hues and kaleidoscopes of vibrant colours. You’ve always liked how the village quieted, much like your mind, and how you were able to almost disappear in the dead of the forest, your body perfectly camouflaged in the trees and shrubbery surrounding you, glowing lights reflecting on your lustrous skin. It was heaven on Pandora, and it was yours to take, yours to enjoy, yours to experience.

It didn’t feel like that right now, as you were stalking towards the village with a hand around your neck, tears falling down your face, a forlorn disposition plaguing your mind, fear protruding uninvited through the stalks of your thoughts. You kept glancing behind you, trying to see if Neteyam was following you, and felt mildly soothed when the village came abruptly into focus. You let out a breath of relief that you felt has been lodged in your throat for too long and started running towards your tent, exalted when you reached it and pushed the flap closed, almost considering glueing it shut with the sap from the tree Na’vi use in building furnishings for the village and their homes. You couldn’t stop the scream that escaped you as a voice you didn’t expect to hear in a home you thought was deserted spoke up, filling the much needed silence.

“Is everything alright, Tanhí? Why are you so jumpy?” O'ì'en’s calming tone did very little to soothe you, but you knew you needed to settle your mind, so as to not raise suspicion. Any hint of what transpired between you and Neteyam would lead to complications you didn’t want to have to deal with, not when you had it all under control. There was no need to bring anyone into a war that only concerned two people, that would lead to destruction and ache you didn’t want anybody you cared about to have to experience. You had it all under control.

The reason for your unsightly fight with Neteyam brought back the conversation between yourself and Mo’at, that you tried your best to push away from your mind, that now came back in full swing as you finally took him in, as you knew you would have to tell him, and deal with the consequences of Eywa's vision and your decision to not talk the Tsa'hik out of it as a way to get revenge on the man who hurt you deeper and deeper with each day that passed. You and O'ì'en never made your relationship official, and never really even talked about it seriously, but there was no need - it was obvious enough. It was quite clear to most people that although undefined right now, your future was shaping up before your eyes, and its shape looked a lot like mating before Eywa, it looked a lot like kids and laughter and happiness and all the good things you thought you wanted, that you wanted to want every day of your life. You didn’t know whether you were convinced, deep down, but either way, you were always willing to try. Now, it seemed you wouldn't even get the chance.

“Everything’s fine, yawne. Just didn’t expect to see you here.” You thanked Eywa silently for the darkness in your home that hid your new-found bruises and closed the distance between you two, smiling as genuinely as you could bring yourself to, and reaching out to stroke his cheeks, the smile didn’t feel as forced when he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and almost purring in comfortable contentment.

“I just came to check on you after the mission. You were… impressive. As you always are. It means so much, watching you out there, seeing what you’re capable of, how incredible you are, knowing the future moth-“ his eyes widened as his words registered in his mind and he stopped, and your expression couldn’t have been far removed from his in this moment, that felt all of a sudden thick with anticipation and nerves, with tension and fear. You didn’t know which emotions came from you.

“Ma O'ì'en…I…”

Both your heads snapped in the direction of the entrance, that was pushed open aggressively by a tall, muscular figure that you would recognise in every dream and every nightmare, in every waking moment, that you wished you didn’t. Neteyam stilled in his tracks as he noticed the scene in front of him, intimate and personal and clearly not for his eyes to see, and you felt a growl blossom in your throat that you had to swallow, if not for anything, for your still unflinching desire to keep this whole ordeal a secret for as long as you could.

“I’m interrupting.”

“Yes, yo-“

“No, Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan. Is there anything wrong?”

“I need to talk to her. About the… mission.”

“I shall leave you to it, then. Please give your family my regards.”

“Thank you, O'ì'en. I appreciate it.”

“No, yawne, you don’t have to leave. I can talk to Neteyam tomorrow. It’s late, anyhow.”

“Tanhi, we’ll… resume our conversation tomorrow, alright?” He gets close to you and his lips find your forehead for just a second, before he takes his leave, and you sigh, dread filling you at the thought of being in such proximity with the man that took so much space in your mind, the man that hurt you beyond words, that you would never be able to forgive.

“How touching.” his voice is filled with contempt and malice, and it hurts, still to this day, this tone you knew so familiarly, that you never managed to get used to, like a shadow following you in the night you would never be able to escape.

“Get the fuck out of my tent, Neteyam.”

“He seems to have taken the news of our impending doom of a mateship very well. I’m impressed.”

“Leave, Neteyam.”

“You would think he would leave out of here kicking and screaming, that he would punch me and challenge me to First Blood for the chance to keep you… maybe you’re not as big a catch as I thought.”

His steps were quiet, but determined, as he traversed the length of the tent and got close to you, until he took up your entire field of view and you hissed aggressively, your tail twirling so much it was almost hurting, as did your ears, pushed back until they were flat, and you removed your knife, resting in a sheath on your chest and held it a couple of millimetres from his neck.

“I said… leave.”

“Oh.. yawne, I doubt you’re going to kill me, but you’re more than welcome to try.”

He had no time to say anything else as the knife made contact with his smooth skin, and in one fell swoop, a thin stripe of blood emerged from his chest, and started dripping down his body. You looked at it, at the clean, bright red liquid spilling, then raised your gaze to his face, that wasn’t shocked or scared, or even angry, but alive with a glimmer of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes and a lazy smirk on his face. He shrugged.

“Guess I deserved that.”

“So… why wasn’t your little boyfriend upset about our arrangement? Cause the way I see it, this means either you just conveniently left it out of the conversation, or it’s because you are actually planning on talking yourself out of it to my parents.”

Your heart was booming in your chest as his eyes bore into yours and the intensity in them scared you, but not because of any elicited fear, but of how your body reacted to it and how you didn’t know what those feelings plaguing you were, or how to make them stop.

“Leave.”

“Now why would you not tell him about it? Are you scared? Scared he’ll find out you’ll finally get to be with a real man for once?”

You chuckled.

“Is that supposed to be you? That is funny, Neteyam, congratulations! I will let Lo’ak know that you managed to actually make a good joke for once in your life. He’ll be floored.” His expression darkened momentarily, but he regained his composure as quickly as he lost it.

“If that’s not it, then, that means you will talk to my parents. I knew you couldn’t be dumb enough to accept this stupid little forced deal.” You wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid little smirk off his face, and fortunately for you, you knew just the way to do it.

“Well, why, Neteyam, as much as the thought of being mated to you horrifies me beyond my wildest nightmares, it’s nothing compared to the joy I get thinking of how miserable you’re going to be if I don’t talk to your parents and have to watch the choice slip past your grasp, not that it was there to begin with, or the joy of - ah, there it is - the joy fading from your eyes as you realise you will have to tell your stupid little girlfriend that you and her, will never, ever happen, and she will never be Tsa’hik, and watch as you realise that everything I foretold is, in fact, true.”

It was your turn to smirk, widely and cruelly, as his smile faded a little more with every word you spoke, until it was completely removed and replaced with a snarl, deep scowl and menacing canines on full display for you, but you were no longer scared. No, pure adrenaline was rushing through your veins, heightened by the desire to hurt him, to see him crumble in front of you, to see him suffer a sliver of all the hurt he’s caused you over the years.

“Listen me very carefully, Neteyam. For one reason or another, you have made it your life purpose to make mine miserable, and only mine. I don’t want this to happen, I really don’t. I would rather be with any other man on this planet before I even considered looking in your direction, but I will make you pay for all the hurt you’ve caused me. And I have no problem burning in the pits of what Jake calls Hell, if I get to watch you burn with me.” You smiled a sweet smile, running your finger over the cut that was still leaking blood, trailing it down his abdomen, over his abs, and you ignored once more how the feel of his muscular body made shivers emanate from your fingertip, propagating throughout your whole being. You also ignored how his body shuddered under your touch. “So you and me, we’re stuck together, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And I will enjoy every moment of my life in which I get to see your life fall apart before you and know that I made it happen. So this little charming act you’re pulling, it’s all in vain. It’s all in vain. Now get out.”

You didn’t wait for him to answer you, but turned around and started preparing for bed. You removed the silk top covering your chest, and heard a sharp inhale as his eyes took in the scene, and your breath ceased, wondering if he was going to leave, like you told him to, wondering if you wanted him to. Eventually, the cold sting of the wind blowing hit your back, as he opened the flap to your tent and exited it, and all at once, it all hit you and you felt more alone, more forlorn than you ever have, and less sure than ever about your crazy, all-consuming schemes.

You woke up with doubt filling your mind and the headache to match, and you wondered if you did in fact have to leave the comfort and safety of your tent for the life that you knew would be waiting to tear you slowly at the seams as soon as you left it. Dreams plagued your subconscious last night, floating in the ether, waiting to be grabbed and inspected by an uncertain mind, and in your state, they were, and turned over onto each one of their pretty facets, bringing back memories you struggled to forget, that hurt you in their innocence and beauty, in their absence, in their contrast to your life right now and the relationship you still mourned to this day on odd occasions, on harder days, like yesterday, and like today.

In those dreams, Neteyam’s eyes gleamed with excitement and love, instead of annoyance and hatred. In those dreams, his hands were warm as his fingers intertwined with yours on the practice grounds, instead of bruising and calloused as they snuffed the breath out of your throat. In dreams, his smile brightened your whole world and made the pain of training and the struggle of excellence not only bearable, but barely-felt. You couldn’t even remember the last time Neteyam smiled your way, a true smile, a gummy smile, a playful smile he still flashed most people, he still flashed his family, and friends, and clan, all of which you used to be, none of which you still are to him.

You wondered sometimes, very rarely, if he ever thinks about those times, too. If in his undivided quest to hurt you and one-up you, in his desire to see you fail and the joy he seems to derive from it, you wondered, did he ever think about those times, too? Does he ever remember you, innocent and young, full of spark and happiness, looking up at him like he was a planet and you were just his moon, trapped in his gravitational pull, circling his orbit, offering him solace and safety from the rest of the universe, from all the meteors that always tried to take too much out of him, too quickly. He used to love you, and want to protect you, he was there when your parents died, he was there to help you mourn and heal. Does he remember what you used to mean to him?

As you made your way to the Sullys' tent, you were greeted by shouting and a seemingly unending back-and-forth, but the voices involved in it weren't the ones you expected - not when they weren't Lo'ak and Kiri's, who you found bickering almost on the daily, who you were used to having to mediate peace treaties for, but instead, Neteyam and Jake's, both angry and raising above the peaceful chatter of the village that was just coming to life in light of a new day.

"- and this is just the way it is, Neteyam. This isn't like you! You, more than all the rest of your siblings combined, have always been able to see the bigger picture, to understand that sacrifices sometimes are necessary for the greater good. You have always been the one who was able to have perspective. What the hell happened, son?"

"What happened is you're trying to get me to mate with someone who I hate, who I will never be able to accept. I had a chosen mate! I had a life, and a plan, and now it's all over. Now you're telling me I have to give her every part of me, the most intimate parts of me, my children, my future. Her!"

You cringed at the way he said your name - like a blasphemy, like a curse. Spitting it like it was blood and bile mixing together on his tongue, coating his mouth, like the vile word hurt sitting in his throat. and he desperately needed to get it out before it could do any more damage.

"This isn't my decision, son. And it's not yours, either. It's Eywa's. You know she's never wrong, you know there's a reason for this. She seems to see it, too, why can't you at least try?"

There was silence in the tent and you felt guilty for prying, your body crouched next to the tent and your ear against its woven fabric, but not guilty enough to stop. Jake sighed loudly. You heard Neytiri's calmer, more even tone take over.

"Ma 'itan... you used to love this girl. She used to be your best friend, you used to do everything together. I know things have changed between you, but deep down, you're both the same two people you used to be. You both can find each other again, you just have to try. Why won't you try?"

Neteyam huffed and the sudden commotion made you jolt back, hiding in the corner as he pushed passed the closed flap, muttering mostly to himself as he left the tent, and his family, behind.

"You know damn well why."

You let out a breath you've been holding for the entirety of the conversation, as you came out of hiding and entered the tent, trying your best not to look like you overheard the entirety of that conversation that although about you, clearly was not intended for your ears to hear. Even if you hadn't heard the whole thing, it would still be obvious you were on their minds and on their lips as their eyes scrambled in shame and embarrassment, the room drowned in awkwardness and heaviness none of you could quite shake, none of you could quite swim in gracefully. Neytiri spoke first, her motherly instincts kicking in as she noticed your pained expression, that as hard as you tried, you couldn't hide from the people you loved so much, from the people that knew you so well.

"Ma 'ite, come, sit. We saved you food." she took you gently by the shoulders and pushed you to the middle of the room, and then down until you sat next to Lo'ak, who gave you a pitying look and a half-smile, an underwhelming attempt at telling you he's heard the news, and he feels sorry for you. Lo'ak more than most people knew how it felt to be stuck to Neteyam, how it felt to know that, no matter what happened or where life took him, he'd always live in his big brother's shadow, unable to escape his majestic, adept, irritating grasp. It seems you were now in a similar boat, bound to be known as no more than Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan's mate, and eventually, the Tsa'hik of the Omaticaya. It was a good title, a worthy title, a mighty title - just not one for you, and Lo'ak knew this all too well.

"I didn't get to see you after the mission, kid. I wanted to tell you you did a phenomenal job. Neytiri and I are very proud of you, you are genuinely better and better every day."

You felt annoyance build in you at his comments, but pushed it down. They were being nice, and it wasn't their fault. None of this was their fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was Eywa's will. And Eywa knew best. And still, still, you couldn't help feel it, the frustration that gnawed at you at this situation, at the way none of it would matter soon in their eyes, how it would all be forsaken and forgotten, your skill, your prowess, everything you worked for for 19 years.

So, say something. Tell them you don't want to do it. That you're meant to be more, was born to be more than just his mate. Say something.

Nothing came out as you chewed your food apathetically, trying to focus instead of little Tuk who came to sit next to you, and you pulled her closer, sharing your food silently. She smiled up at you, and you couldn't help reach down and peck her on her forehead. It's been a while since you went out, just you girls, and you felt guilty for abandoning Kiri and Tuk for Lo'ak's training sessions and your own, and made a mental note to organise a foraging trip soon.

"Kid, you are one of the best warriors I have ever seen in my 19 years of being Olo'eyktan. In fact, you are one of the best I've ever seen, even back on Earth. You should be very proud of yourself and what you've achieved. I know there's so much still there for the taking, whenever you're ready."

"There's nothing left for me to take, Jake! Not anymore. Don't you see that? You all stand here, talking about how great I am, what a great warrior I am, but how the fuck does it matter anymore, huh? When I'll have to give it all up to become Tsakarem, to exist here, in the village, for the rest of my life instead of out there, where I actually belong, to exist to interpret Eywa's will, which I will never be able to do, because I will never be able to understand why she would ever think I could ever be this, all of this for the people, how she could think it's fair I have to give up all of me to belong to someone else who hates me, who'll get to shine in my stead, and fight in my stead, and fulfil the destiny I was bound by, that belonged to me just as much as him? I trained my whole life, side by side with Neteyam, to be just as good as him, to be just as good a tsamsiyu as he is, and now it's all in vain. So please, spare me the compliments, since they are just as wasted on me as my talent on the battlefield is."

You were no longer hungry, it seemed, and with one last kiss to Tuk, you got out of the tent, hearing a faint "Well, that could have gone better, with both of them." coming from Jake, accompanied by a deep sigh that mirrored yours. You heard footsteps follow you, but couldn't find it in you to stop, to care, not when more and more, it seemed like the ground was turning into quicksand beneath your feet, pulling you under with each moment you considered all you were giving up to get revenge on a man who you meant nothing to, who probably didn't care regardless, who was going to hurt you in this forced relationship more than you could ever hurt him. Maybe it wasn't worth it. Maybe your peace of mind, and your ability to reach your full potential was more important than the desperate, idiotic need to get Neteyam to suffer for the 7 years of indiscretions that clawed at your heart every day of your life.

"Syä, come on, don't make me chase after you."

You ignored Lo'ak, and continued walking until you hit the tree you both liked to go to think and vent, to talk and complain about anything and everything - his subjects always revolved around his father and his sisters, yours revolved around your lack of parents and the pressure that you felt to be great, the responsibility you shouldered, and you both shared one subject in particular, that occupied most of your time spent here. He climbed after you and you both settled on the branch you usually laid on.

"I'm sorry, syä."

"What about?"

"Everything. This whole thing. You don't deserve this."

You scoffed.

"I deserve what I got. That's why I got it. The Great Mother doesn't choose sides, and she's never cruel or unjust. So I must deserve this."

There was silence weighing heavily on the air around you and in both your minds. Lo'ak didn't have the most developed emotional maturity, so you knew better than to expect more. You appreciated the little he did say, because it did matter - it always will. You and Neteyam might be as far apart as two galaxies on opposing sides of the universe, but you and Lo'ak were adjacent stars in the night sky, there to shine together. You might not have a family, not truly, but he would always be your baby brother, and you would always be his big, bitter, best sister.

"I have to tell you, though... I feel bad for you and all, but it's so good to know I won't have to call that little scared, mindless yarik of a girl sister. She truly is the most dull, vapid, odious person I've ever met, and even with Neteyam's bad track record in girls, this one still shocks me to this day. Imagine her being Tsa'hik, ew."

You laughed a little. She really was bad. Not what you would have ever imagined Neteyam's type to be like, but more and more it seemed Neteyam's type was anyone who had absolutely no resemblance... to you. Like consciously or subconsciously, he just needed to make sure the person he was kissing, or touching, or fucking, had nothing of you that could hinder the experience for him. The thought hurt and tilted to balance back in the favour of your original malevolent, callous, rotten plan.

"Have you told O'ì'en yet? Can't imagine he'll be very pleased. That guy's whipped for you, for real. I've never seen someone literally have those heart eyes that you see in those old cartoons my dad used to show us when we were kids."

You sighed another bottomless sigh as you thought about yet another person who had to suffer as a result of this scheme. Your boyfriend for all intents and purposes, the man you once thought you might spend the rest of your life with. A man who was good and pure, who treated you well, who put you first. You realised with a small chuckle that, much like Neteyam, you, too, subconsciously found the opposite of him and held on for dear life, only to now have to let him go.

"Not yet."

"You should, syä. He deserves to know."

"Yeah. He does."

Lo'ak's words rang in your ears as you were walking through the village in search for the one person you needed to see, and you knew where he would be, where he always was when he had spare time, dutiful as always, responsible as he would always be. You smiled a half-smile as you saw him with a gun in hand, peering through the visor, full focus as he was aiming for one of the targets nailed to a tree 500 metres away.

"You're aiming too low." his eyes snapped to you, and the smile he gave you, so genuine and wide and comforting hurt you, it all hurt your heart that was struggling to maintain itself whole in the face of everything that it had to endure in time, and more so recently.

You joined him, motioning for him to resume what he was doing, and you placed a hand on the underside of the sniper he was holding, inching it upwards.

"You have to adjust for the distance and the gravity pulling the bullet down as it flies towards the target. Like with an arrow."

"An arrow I get. This, I don't think I ever will."

"You will, O'ì'en. I know you will." I just won't be the one to teach you anymore.

"I was hoping you'd come." He dropped the weapon on the ground, finding better luck in counting the stars on your face instead, and with a caress of your lips, you shuddered under his touch, leaning into it, exhaling softly as his own lips found yours in a soft, intimate exchange. "I missed you, and I wanted to tell you something, I needed to tell you what's been on my mind from the moment you first appeared in front of me during my first lesson."

Your heart was pounding in your chest and in your temples, the words that you knew were coming scaring you, their weight, their implication dizzying you, turning you into a breathy, untethered mess as you spoke words with barely enough strength to be heard.

"O'ì'en, I -..."

"Please, let me get this out. I love you, tìyawn. I love you, and everything about you. I love your beauty, and your strength. I love how incredible you are, and how skilled. I love how despite your tough exterior, you have a gentle heart. And you are kind, and good, and I just know you'd be the best mother one day. I just hope it's to our kids. I want you to be mine, to mate before Eywa, to finally have the lo-"

His words and the erratic beating of your heart in your ears, the tears glossing over your eyes, dulled your senses to the man who was approaching you, and you suppressed a hiss at the interruption, at the one who instigated it, at the one who always seemed to conveniently find a way to do so. Neteyam walked until he was so close to you his hips were brushing against your waist, that, much to your unadulterated shock and disbelief, he circles with his arm, holding on to you tightly as he spoke.

"I have been looking everywhere for you, ma muntxate. Father called an emergency meeting and he needs you there immediately. He asked me to go find my love, so typical of him, don't you think?" His smile was sweet and innocent, but you knew better, knew that he just ruined the last pure thing in your life, the one thing you tried to hard to protect, the one thing you were just reconsidering this whole ordeal for, once more. O'ì'en...

"What did you say?"

"Oh, ma ‘eylan, haven't you heard? Her and I are to be mated soon. Isn't that just great?"

The sound of both your and O'ì'en's hearts shattering all around you and the swift melody of Neteyam winning yet another battle is the last thing you heard before the man you cared for turned around and left, taking the future and the hopes he held safely within his soul, leaving you with more guilt and shame than you would ever know what to do with.

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heartmii · 2 months

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TOA 01

✮⋆apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: angst, mentions of blood, anything else anyone sees and is uncomfortable with please let me know!

✮⋆˙ woo chapter two!! I'm excited to release this but also super nervous because I added a twist that I'm not sure everyone will love but I mean, it's a story about mythical beings so I decided to just have fun with it!

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“What did you do?” Anger seethed through the ex-god, his shaky breath competed with the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. Apollo’s eyes snapped to the now smug smiling emperor, the fury in his chest growing.

“Oh? Are you not happy with what you see?” Caligula asked, voice laced with fake concern. He clicked his tongue, his eyes surveying his servants in dissatisfaction. “The gods,” he sighed, shaking his head. “So hard to please. You surprise them with the dead love of their life, and still, it’s not enough for them to say thank you. Such egos, it’s a shame, really.”

Apollo swallowed, an attempt at soothing the dryness that was now overtaking his throat. “That’s not possible. It’s an illusion. It has to be…” he faltered, his body deflating as he dropped onto the ground.

Apollo was a god turned mortal. He was from the mythical world and saw many things, things that one alone could not comprehend, things that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be able to happen because it went beyond the natural order of the mortal and mythical world. Yet, somehow, you being brought back from the dead was not an acceptance that came easily to him.

It’d been years, years, since your death, but you lived. Alive in Apollo’s mind. There was not a day, not a century, not even a millennium, that Apollo did not think of you and the bittersweet memories you two shared. Your grace and your beauty, along with the essence of your soul, were immortalized for eternity in his heart, where he could forever nourish your memory and honor your legacy.

Please… Who was he kidding? Honoring your legacy? Him? Apollo had done nothing but trash on everything you stood behind! If anything, he went against what you fought so desperately for. There was blood on his hands. The blood of many innocent lives he so easily discarded with no regard for their being. The option of others having a choice was previously nonexistent in the ex-god’s mind. He’d force many people to do his bidding and castigate them if they rejected.

Including those he loved after your time.

His heart clenched as Daphne’s horrified face filled his mind. Her expression contrasting his hopeful one as he chased her through the forest surrounding mount Olympus. It was Eros who, so full of spite, caused her to hate the mere thought of Apollo’s face. So much so that she begged her father, Peneus, desperate for help. He’d heard her prayers and granted her salvation.

But even after the last branch formed from Daphne’s outstretched arm and she had fully become a prospering laurel tree, Apollo did not allow her to rest peacefully. He had plucked the leaves from her branches and formed what was now known to be one of his most notable symbols. The laurel reef.

Daphne didn’t love Apollo. No, she despised him so much that she believed death was better than remaining on earth with him, but even that he had stolen from her.

Just like you, Daphne was immortalized in the memories and stories of people but met the tragic fate of being forever tied to the very god that she had died escaping, tainting her name with his own and taking away her right to a peaceful death. Apollo may not have been the one that forced her to take her last breath, but it was he who pushed her to such a state of helplessness that she felt there was no other option.

Perhaps that was why the thought of you being alive was so agonizing to him, because then you would learn about the monster he had become and how all of those promises he made to you under the moonlight had become nothing but empty words he spewed under the drunken spell of love.

How could he look you in your eyes now? Eyes that always glimmered with determination as you spouted your ideals and all the great you planned to do in the world…how could he look at those same eyes and say that he failed to do what you had dreamed, what you both dreamed. Even if that dream died for Apollo a long time ago.

Caligula considered Apollo for a moment before grabbing your arm and moving you back into his line of sight. He turned back to the ex god, his smile now wicked and sadistic, vastly enjoying the conflicting grief in his eyes.

“You haven’t taken a proper look at him. As he was once your lover, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ve memorized his body. You should have no trouble deducing if he’s a fake or not.”

How odd was it that Apollo, who had been literally fighting for his life these past few months and wanted nothing more but to evade conflict, wished he was dodging swinging swords, and running from giant monsters that chased him and his friends instead of being here, simply standing and being forced to stare at the person most precious to him.

Yet, he had succumbed to the small part of him that was a tad curious if it truly was you.

His breath staggered, and he stood on wobbly legs, anxiously meeting your stare, only to regret it immediately.

There they were, those eyes. Hypnotic as they had willed Apollo into your grasp, and enchanted him with an infatuation that ran deep in his blood. The same hunger swirled within them in a way that could only be described as honest passion. The intensity made Apollo’s heart skip a beat, and he trembled under your gaze.

It was said that one’s eyes were the window into their soul, a quote which honestly was quite dated and overused, but as you searched deep within Apollo, he felt his own soul stir in response. His body had recognized its missing piece and, like a magnet, it fought to connect again.

Your souls were bound to each other. The fates decreed that the moment you two met. There was no way Apollo wouldn’t have known if you were a fake.

In case he was completely wrong and in over his head, he took action to make sure he was absolute in his observation. It hurt to tear his sight away from your face, but he allowed himself to survey the rest of you, as Caligula suggested.

His eyes roamed your body with a frown.

How strange. You appeared to be… out of this world.

Your aura, although it had always been charming, was different in a way Apollo could not put his finger on. Something about you filled him with an irresistible sensation he had never felt with you before.

Could it be Lester’s human hormones could not handle the gorgeous sight of his past lover and therefore appeared to be more appetizing than usual?

No, that couldn’t be it. Yes, mortals could definitely be extremely tempting creatures, but they didn’t hold the same weight and power as they did with gods. Many felt enchanted just by the mere sight of one. It was not a simple task to break away from their inviting aura and fight the urge to give in to their desires.

Your aura was similar; An inviting force emitting from you. But how? You weren’t a god… were you?

Apollo gagged internally at the thought, his insides twisting at the possibility of you being a deity.

Being mortal was the very essence of your existence. It was nauseating how you nurtured the role like it was your life’s purpose, facing no fear towards things such as death or illness, claiming that these tragedies were simply just a part of being human and running from it would do nothing but force you to live in a world of clouds where you’d constantly be lost amongst the fog.

Becoming a deity would’ve made your death a vain sacrifice for what you believed and enduring an eternity of grief would’ve been for nothing. Days of forcing the sun to shine upon the earth when Apollo himself was lost in the overwhelming darkness of his heart as his guiding light, his sun, was gone. Constantly, he searched for another you because the void left in him hurt too much, but of course, none had come as close to his heart as you did because in the end, all he wanted was you and he caged his heart behind iron bars out of fear of experiencing grief on that level ever again.

There was only one who had been close to unlocking his heart again after you. His dear Hyacinthus. Oh, how the boy had reminded Apollo of you in so, so, many ways. The both of you were graceful, heads held high as you smiled at all that you loved. Adored by many as anyone who came to meet you was always enthralled by your allure and hearts of gold. But alas, love was never in Apollo’s favor, and his precious Hyacinthus met a tragic fate when he was murdered by the conniving and envious wind god, Zephyrus.

It was almost comical how similar your deaths were. A sadistic joke played on Apollo. All hope he ever had for another love as great as you and Hyacinthus went out the window and following that was a now numb and manipulative god who allowed himself to know his lovers but never allowed them to know him.

All of that guilt he felt for abusing his authority and refusing to see his lover’s as equals, all the shame for not living up to par with what you wanted, would’ve been for nothing. Along with the stab of knowing that you didn’t choose HIM over your ideals when he would’ve burned the world for you, was all too much. No, you couldn’t be a deity because then Apollo would never forgive you.

He could not bear these thoughts and, for once, Apollo was glad when Caligula spoke to him as he had distracted him from the fogginess building up in his eyes.

Caligula waved his hand in the ex-god’s face, surveying him. “I’ll take the dumb look on your already idiotic face as confirmation that you’ve recognized that this is the real deal.” He turned to you, “I know how, uh… different…Apollo must look to you. Surely, it must be traumatic to come back from the dead and your once powerful and radiant lover is now pathetic, weak, and ugly. Do you believe this to be the god you once loved?”

Apollo huffed, once because he could not deny that Lester’s face was, in fact, idiotic and again because of Caligula’s question. Your eyes were good, but they weren’t that good. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been blessed with seeing beyond the mist, a trait that could’ve saved your life.

“You ask him a question he cannot answer. He would not recognize me in such a body—“

“Yes.” You cut him off and stepped closer. Apollo sucked in his bottom lip as your hands had come up to run your fingers through his hair. Oh, how he missed your touch. The way you handled him like he was a piece of glass. Then you spoke again, your voice being in that delicious and melodic tone that made heat travel up Apollo’s neck to the tips of his ears. Damn this body.

“Although in a different body, your scent remains the same… how bizarre. Might it be your soul I smell?” You muttered, your fingers dragging down Apollo’s cheek.

Apollo shuttered at your touch, the coolness of your finger soothing his warm face. But as much as he wanted to allow you to continue your exploration of his body, he could not shake off what you had said. “My scent—- What does that mean? — How is your nose even that good?—“

“Bravo! It appears love truly conquers all!” Caligula clapped, pulling you away from Apollo and making the ex-god frown. Something wasn’t right about you, besides being a walking corpse. Death was not his domain, but as far as Apollo was aware, coming back from the dead did not include the nose of a hellhound.

“What did you do to him?” He asked Caligula, pinning his arms to his side as they had once again trembled.

Caligula stared at Apollo questioningly. “What did I do?” He laughed. “You are funny, dear. This fiasco was not my idea. All I want from you is to squeeze out the final essence of godhood that’s left in that lanky vessel. If you were smart, you would’ve directed your attention to the only witch in the room.”

Apollo’s eyes swiftly met Medea’s sadistic ones. She had silently been watching the previous conversation from the side. Gods, he was so caught up in the sight of you he had forgotten all about the Wicked Witch of the East.

“How rude of you to put me on the spot. I haven’t prepared my speech.” Medea purrs and approaches, circling around you before landing her hands on your shoulders. “On the contrary, love does not, in fact, conquer all.” She said, referring to Caligula’s earlier comment.

“Instead, it leads people to their doom. It makes them think with their hearts and not their heads. The most powerful beings,” Apollo cursed himself for flinching after she had eyed him with a knowing look. “Have been brought down onto their knees in the name of love. As you all know, I, myself, have been a victim of this. After Jason betrayed me.”

“I don’t understand.” Apollo interjected. “I had nothing to do with Jason’s betrayal against you.”

“Oh, I am aware. But that is not why I brought him up.”

“You see, my heart had never bled as much as it did when I was in love. I yearned to serve Jason. To become half of his soul as his life, his goals, had become my own. I was high on that feeling. A feeling you must know well, yes?” The smile on her face was one Apollo did indeed recognize.

A smile that did not reach one’s eyes, that was all for show to hide your true misery. He hated sympathizing with the witch, but he knew exactly what she meant.

It seemed his face wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings either, as Madea had nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction. “I needed something against you, Apollo. But what was something that would hold such great power over an ex-Olympian God? It couldn't be physical, no, that would be too merciful. I needed something, or someone, that could cause such turmoil within you that the thought of even fighting against it would cause you great sorrow.”

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Putting in all that effort into destroying little ol’me.”

She sneered, her eyes narrowing. “I studied you. Studied how I could control you, and imagine my surprise when I found out about an unclaimed lover of yours.” Her hands go to you, caressing your arms and making Apollo livid. “It seems not everything made it into the history books.”

Grime stained Apollo’s face, becoming one with the hot tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands ached as he pulled apart dirt from the ground with none other than his fingers. He could’ve called someone and ordered them to do the laboring task on their own. But he refused. He had to do this alone. He had to bury you himself.

No one should be able to see you, to touch you, to be around you. Not anymore. You were too sacred, too precious for this cursed world. But Apollo was selfish. He took you away from the earth, took you away from the rest of your family, just to have you rest under his domain.

The god’s choked cries turned into loud sobs as his fingers dug deeper into the sacred dirt of Delos, shimmering gold tainting the soil. He welcomed the blood seeping from his hand; the pain was deserved. It was nothing compared to what you must’ve felt when his father had struck you down, but he needed to feel something. Anything that would compensate for the agony you went through before drawing your final breath.

Delos, where he and Artemis were born. The land that had once been his aunt, Asteria, who had transformed herself into a floating island to get away from the advances of Zeus. Where she provided sanctuary for his mother as she ran from the wrath of Hera on earth. This is where Apollo would bury you, a place that would now provide you sanctuary as it did for his family. A place where you could rest unbothered by the world.

The hole was deep enough now, and Apollo had pulled himself out of it. A coffin waited for him and he involuntarily walked towards it, dragging his hand against it. The coffin had been turned from a simple block of stone to a grand piece of imagery. All along its sides had Apollo carved into it, creating depictions of milestones in your relationship. The first time you met, along with the time he revealed to you he was a god followed by the countless times he’d let you play on his lyre and of course, the first ‘I love you.’ Amongst many more.

He was gentle with the coffin when he picked it up, moving slowly when he brought it over to the open ground. Apollo bit his lip, holding back his weeping so that he could focus on lowering you into the hole.

It was done. You were really gone, and Apollo would never be yours again.

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes bleak. He was sitting on the ground, painting a gravestone.

Grass crunched behind him as someone approached. “You’re burying him here?”

Apollo’s wrist kept moving, his brush creating faces on the gravestone. Still, he answered, “Cut the crap, Artemis.”

Artemis crossed her arms, frowning at her brother’s words. “I was born here too, Apollo. I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Apollo snapped, the brush falling from his fingers.

“Knew what?” Artemis asked.

“Don’t lie to me Artemis.” Apollo stood, finally facing his twin. “You knew father would kill him!”

Artemis flinched as she caught wind of Apollo’s face, the puffiness under his eyes red and throbbing. Yet she recovered quickly, shaking Apollo’s arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He placed his hands back onto her, gripping her in more of a desperate plea than before. “Please, sister, tell me the truth. Did you know that father would kill him?”

. “I…” she started, her chest growing heavy as she felt Apollo’s fingers shake against her. Swallowing carefully, she moved her eyes to your grave. “Yes, I knew… we all did.”

Apollo’s grip on her tightened, his eyes becoming glassy at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sworn to secrecy? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Father is frightening. I understand if he forced you to swear on the River Styx—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.”

“What…?”

“Oath did not bind me to not say anything to you. I simply chose not to.” Artemis stated, throwing Apollo off of her once again. Her head held high as she watched for his reaction.

Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. “You knew how much I loved him, you knew father was going to kill him and you didn’t tell me! I don’t understand, Artemis. You are my sister, my twin, my blood. How… how could you?”

“That is exactly why! Apollo, you are my other half. We are two sides of the same coin. We might be related to the others, but their bond is not like ours. That boy was leading you to your demise. I have nothing against him, but you are who I care about most. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I didn’t want to see my brother subjected to an eternal punishment, either.” Artemis finished, her own resolve fading as she too shook at the thought of Apollo being hurt.

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Well, sister,” he started, malice seeping into his voice, “It seems you’ve failed anyway because a life without him is the worst punishment I could ever endure.”

“Demigods!” Medea yelled out, bringing awareness to Meg and Jason’s presence in the room. They couldn’t speak anyway, not while they were stuck in the wind tornadoes Medea had stuck them in. “This is important. Pay attention.”

“Delphi was a known city-state of ancient Greece. A city state where you, Apollo, were the patron god of. But the Delphi that lives in myths, the one that we know, is not the Delphi that has always been.”

Through the corner of his eye, Apollo watched as both Meg and Jason’s expressions formed into one of confusion.

“Once upon a time ago, Apollo betrayed Zeus. However, that’s not a surprise, that is a story that still lives. What didn’t make it, though, was the entire punishment your father had you experience. The gods said you were forced to build the gates of Troy alongside Poseidon. But what they failed to mention was the part where Zeus took everything from you. Your lover and your city. Isn’t that right?”

Apollo opened his mouth to speak, eager to defend his story. He knew where this was going and dread filled his stomach.

Medea spoke before he could. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part! The original Delphi had its own royal family, a family that your boy-toy had been born to.” She comes to your side, raising your hand up. “Here stands the last prince of Delphi before its initial destruction. After a few years, Apollo rebuilt Delphi and got rid of all the evidence of its history. But thanks to my digging, I could uncover all of this.”

Behind him, the Pandai were ready to lunge forward and capture Apollo as he had taken on a defensive stance against Medea. “Who told you this? The only person who knew about where I buried him was my sister.”

Medea scoffed. “Oh, please, if you want to hide the body of your dead lover, do it somewhere that’s not your famous birthplace that everyone knows about. It was the first place I checked.”

Apollo’s eyes ripped away from hers as blood rushed to his head. She was right, and he was an idiot to think that if someone wanted to find your body, they wouldn’t look on Delos. In his defense, it had been four thousand years since your death.

Medea smirked at the red dusting Apollo’s cheeks.

“Everything fell into place for me after that. You preserved his body well, I expected dust only to find that his body was enchanted to stay in good shape. It was perfect for my plan. I needed to bring him back from the dead without actually bringing him back, as I did not want to deal with Hades. He needed to be undead. I looked for spells beyond Ancient Greece and came upon the perfect solution within the dark arts—

“I’ve had enough of your talking,” Apollo sneered, glaring at the witch. “What have you turned him into?”

“Patience.” She hissed, “I sacrificed my rarest properties along with human blood to create an elixir that would wake up this sleeping beauty. It took days to restore him to full health. But finally, when he did wake, he was radiant. No longer was he a meek mortal. His senses had heightened as he was now strong and blessed with speed, his ears picked up on sounds from miles away, and a nose made for hunting. There’s more, I'm sure of it, but he is still fresh and needs time to develop. So what did I turn him into, you ask?”

Medea sent Apollo one last wicked smile before dropping information that made the ex-god wish he was dead.

“I have turned the long-lost Prince of Delphi into a vampire.”

#pjo x reader #pjo x male reader #trials of apollo x reader #apollo x male reader #apollo x reader #trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus

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lynxgriffin · 3 months

Note

Under blue skies

Within a forest of gold

Lies a thin veneer of lies

Some black, some white, though mostly old.

What rises to the wind,

whether houses or trees

Families so close, love shines ever clean

Ah, or so it would seem

What rises to the wind

Whispers and dreams

One family, north of all else

Their home houses something beyond compense

It's skin is strange

And eyes too red

Wherever they walk

A glance would be shed

In good company

Where worries are shared

One stands tall

Though whispered with glares

"why are they so different ?"

"why so mouch trouble ?"

It's strange for one to think

That gossip would not bubble

They act like it can't hear

Though perhaps they know

They hope in secret

It would better itself, somehow

It hopes, but sees

All of their peers think the same

Oh woe be to the one

Who bares all the blame

It knows it, it sees that.

The soul they bear is so guilty

So red.

"why" they ask

"why couldn't it have been white?"

White as a lamb, no harm, no foul

Red is hate, a predator on a prowl

Pencil to paper

Crayon and crawl

The one they hope to be

The palest soul alive

A vain wish, destined to die.

Years pass and times are rough

One who held them close

Left them to wilt

A darkened rose

Days bring no joy

Sleep is too plentiful

One day a tormentor comes

They grow ever more pitiful

And then

Darker yet darker

The shadows grow

A world of new wonder

Unveils it's row

Now they walk together

The picker and the picked

A world of fantasy

Where dreams come true

Or be they shadows

Whom come to collect their due ?

The one veiled in purple

They find their destiny

A lonelines crushed

By a blue ball of loyalty

But they

Their red soul within

They find a shadow,

A mirror so thin

It's fur is white

(I wish to be them)

It's smile is wide

(I wish to be happy)

Manners are gold

(I wish to be good)

It's eyes shine pink

Theirs glow red

So slight is the difference

What cost...

for it...

to be...

....shed ?

Stranger of feathers

Master of creation

Answer one question :

Of whom do I speak

And of what do they reek ?

Your poem about Kris is very interesting, and I've been mulling over what to do with it! So, I guess I can share it again for other folks to mull over!

#ask lynx stuff #bit of a dash stretch warning #gosh I never quite know what to do with asks like these #like it's fascinating but I feel like I'm the wrong recipient!

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viridwns · 2 months

Text

Short drabble I will write into a fic.

Tw: Douma (I think I'm so funny for doing this)

You lived in a pretty isolated village. It was ik the middle of a forest with the neighboring village being a good 5 day travel distance.

Everybody knew each other, and your community was pretty tight.

You loved the place that was your home. Being the village doctor's daughter, you knew your way around the woods and the many properties it possessed. Like healing herbs and poisonous plants. You knew them all by heart.

There was only one problem with your village.

It was plagued by a monster. A human eating, demanding, blood thirsty monster. It comes at night, haunting the streets that were full of energy during the daytime, now deadly silent.

This monster has been torturing your village since before your time. There is no record of it, no visible evidence of how it looks. There has been only one witness to the monster who killed himself only mere days after coming into contact with it.

He said it was the devil. A monster wearing human skin to allure maidens into its den and consume them while they're still breathing.

It had a honey sweet voice, giving you a false sense of security. And that never faltering grin of it, showing off its pearly white canines that have carnaged hundreds.

The man was left alive to send a message.

The monster would leave the village alone if they could provide him with a, preferably female, sacrafice every full moon.

This agreement was set long before you were born. The village chiefs had tried everything to avoid it, but carnage would fall upon the village if it got broken.

To avoid civil war, the village chief made a sacred rule on who would be chosen as sacrafice.

If anyone broke a singular law, they would become the sacraficial lamb.

Of course, there were times unfortunate souls came stumbling upon your lovely village.

They would never make it home.

You found the whole ordeal awful. Although you never worried about being picked, you did pity the souls who were.

The sacrifices ranged from wife beaters to children stealing bread because they were hungry. Even speaking up against the village chief and his family could get you a free ticket to the afterlife.

Trying to leave was of no use. In one way or another, you'd winde up dead. By a human hand or a monster's, it all would end in the same fate.

Even if you could leave, you couldn't bare the thought of abandoning your duty as a medic.

You held too much value for your village.

They, apparantly, didn't hold you close to their hearts as you were forced out of your home and tied to a tree.

The village chief's son was standing opposite of you, laughing.

This couldn't be because you rejected his romantic advances, right?

Oh that petty motherfucker.

Night dawned, and you were still trying to wriggle yourself loose. The chief, his son, and two other men were keeping an eye on you. They made sure the package got delivered.

You tried to stiffle your pained groan as you pulled both your thumbs out of their socket to glide them through the tight rope around your wrists.

The sun had set, and you bolted.

You knew you couldn't outrun them and, of course, the fear of running into the monster had you searching for a hiding spot.

It began to rain, both an advantage and a disadvantage.

You eventually hid under a tree. The roots sticking above ground far enough for you to have forced yourself under.

You held still when the four men were right next to the tree you were hiding under. You could only hear their voices, the rain making them almost invisible.

You noted a new voice joining the conversation. The others seemed to freeze at this person's presence.

You waited for the first rays of sunlight to come out of your hiding spot.

You were tired, tense, dirty, and hurt. Adding dehydration and hunger to the mix made you collapse in the middle of the woods. An area you were not familiar with no less.

You were found by people in strange robes. You couldn't even protest as they took you to their home.

They nurtured you, gave you a place to stay and recover. It didn't take long for them to tell them about the cult they were in, where you were housed.

You didn't really care for it. As long as you could stay, get fed and be away from the village that betrayed you, you didn't mind.

In return for their help you stayed as the cult's nurse. Playing along with believing in their founder was a small price to pay, you just wanted to do your job again.

It wasn't for weeks until you actually met the leader of the cult.

You couldn't help but stare a little.

He had outwordly eyes and strange hair, but by the lord was he handsome.

He wanted to get acquainted with the new nurse. It would be rude of him not to officially welcome new members.

He was strange to you. Always smiling, childish, but caring.

You didn't know what to think of him.

He seemed familiar though.

You swore you have never seen the man. You would surely remember someone as charming as him.

But his voice, you swear you've heard his voice before.

It was honey sweet, and whenever he talked to you, you felt safe.

Maybe it's just your mind playing tricks on you.

#viri can't help it #yandere kny #yandere kimetsu no yaiba x reader #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere douma x reader #yandere douma #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demon slayer #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #douma #kny

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gaymurdersalad · 4 months

Text

[ Hello everypony! Don’t mind the ritual robes. Dress for the job you want, ya know? And all I want to do is serve our lord and savior Godred!

I thought as a fun little thing to do in between sacrifices, I would give out some headcanons— well. These are my guys, are they headcanons? Not really. Uhm, facts, I guess— on how they do their holidays! Take ‘em or leave em, you’ll soon find I love rambling about the guys. You might regret this.

———

Peter and Caroline used to do the whole Catholicism thing, so they definitely did celebrate a good Christmas! However after the whole “disappearing for several years and coming back with a phone for a head” thing that Peter did, all faith in God was lost, but they still like to give eachother presents. The star on top of the tree is a grim reminder of a lordless plane. Except for the almighty Godred, mind you!

Steven sits alone in his restaurant with vague feelings of something or other. The establishment doesn’t even close— because why would it, it’s a Fazbender’s— so he has plenty of time to sit in an empty restaurant and think about nothing. Peter has invited him to Christmas but quoteth Steven, “That sounds great and all, but I’ve actually got my own plans.” Of which are trying to remember what the fuck a “Christmas” is and why it has any value to people other than market value. If it piques your interest at all, him and his boyfriend semi-celebrated but not really, as Steven was raised Christian {LONG since abandoned} and his boyfriend was Muslim. That’s all gone now, though, unbeknownst to the phone-man in question.

Dee spends time with the souls in the Flipside. She enjoys it very much, despite the grimness of it all. Even though she would much rather being alive and spending time with her family, she knows she has responsibilities.

Henry works. On stuff. He’s just sitting in his office right now, I could totally waltz in there and sacrifice him to Godred. Just pick that bastard up and get goin’. Oh, he’d be kicking and screaming, but he’s a midget with small hands and can’t do nothin’ against an ethereal phone creature with a complete and utter devotion to almighty Godred... Maybe after this.

Oscar doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and actually hates it. Finds every bit of Christmas decor annoying to his astigmatism and just grating anyways. Oh, fucking shit, the jingle bells never stop. Everything is annoying. He cannot enter his beloved coffee shop— Fazbucks; it’s like Starbucks but they don’t donate to stupid bullshit! The CEOs just spend the money on bribing health inspectors throughout Fazbender chains! What? No, no, they still pay their workers in faztokens— without being utterly assaulted by MIRIAH. Even if Christmas wasn’t annoying, he wouldn’t celebrate it anyways, because he’s Jewish. So is his family! Where the hell is his family? Where does— Where the hell does Oscar live, does he have a house? I- I’m realizing I didn’t get to know him that much, I think he just… Showed up here. You- Uhh, you get the point.

Dave has a ritual and has been performing this ritual for three years straight. First, he wakes up in the dumpster of the week, gets dressed, and climbs out of that disgusting sucker. Normal morning routine ensues, Y’know, he takes a couple random pills for the hangover and pops a thing of LSD if he’s feelin’ chipper, shaves with a switchblade he usually finds in the Fazbender Ballpits, and sets out onto the world. Since it is a special day— not in accordance to any religion, but to his own fucked up morals and values— he breaks into a liquor store and takes what he pleases! All assortments of liquors and cigarettes, and he stuffs them all into a duffel he usually manages to scavenge for beforehand. Once he’s a proper Santa Claus with a bag of stolen substances slung over his shoulder, he jacks a piece of shit car— he figures he’s doin’ them a favor, ‘cause who would want to own this shit box anyway?— and drives 90 to the Old Sport residence. Once he arrives, parking his car in the yard and fucking up the grass with those giant fucking tire tracks, Jesus Christ, Sportsy’s gonna have to fix that, he stomps up to the door with the duffel and knocks fifteen times with the palm of his giant fucking hand. If Sportsy don’t answer, more knocking ensues, probably followed by several obscenities and slurs. Eventually, Old Sport opens the door, and before the stout fucker can beat him with the baseball bat he stole from a bar in Las Vegas, Dave slips in and throws the bag down on the floor. Sportsy, after experiencing this for the past couple years, holds his head in his hands and groans. Loudly. Dave wraps Old Sport in this big hug, pickin’ him up off the ground all while Sportsy frowns in discontent. They spend the rest of the evening sitting on the couch boozing and watching shitty Christmas specials, and Dave crashes on Sportsy’s couch at 8 PM.

Until the arrival of Dave, Jack sits in bed. Don’t even bother to put on makeup. In the back of his head he kind of knows that the wretched purple beast will show up at his house, but he maintains a little hope that he won’t. He always does. He supposes it’s nice to have a day where Dave isn’t spending a day with him solely to recruit him into the whole kid-killing business again, but… Man, when the liquor hits, he realizes just how sad it is that his only consistent friend is a child murderer. Fuck. Once Dave crashes, Jack is usually stuck underneath him as some sort of pillow, and at this point, he’s so burnt out and sad and happy and bitter that he just lays there. Watching those shitty Christmas movies. He’s going to wake up with the worst headache tomorrow.

Legacy does not do anything special and David stopped trying to a while ago. Business carries on as usual. Maybe David would like to go out and do something or have Legacy sit still for one measly second so he could give him some kind of gift, but knowing the Orange Bastard, he’d likely reject it or throw it out. Maybe spending time with Legacy is a gift in of itself, David thinks, incorrectly.

———

Was that everyone? There are so many of the guys! Good lord, half of them are maniacs too. I couldn’t be prouder!

Well, I’ve got some sacrificin’ to do! Goodbye! Remember: Godred Loves You! ]

~ Mod Chribs

#not salad #salad lore #blood #blood tw

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dearly-dreaming · 2 years

Text

•𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒•

Title: As the soul dreams.

Paring: Dream of the Endless x reader.

Word count: 1,771.

Warnings: Patriarchal society (sexism, men having more power than women, mentions of women being “objects”) Arranged marriages.

Summary: Most had given up on finding their soulmates, allowing themselves to love but to always long for something more. Your family was the same and you knew that by the end of the night’s party you would be engaged to a man who wasn’t yours. It’s good thing the Endless have been invited, and among them, your soulmate.

Author’s Note: This is my first time posting on Tumblr and of course it’s a dream fic (He’s so beautiful, I had to) I hope you all enjoy :) And the gif isn’t mine, credits to whoever made it!

Part two here

•𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒•

𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

Soulmates.

Such a strange concept.

Knowing, that out there somewhere someone was the other half of your soul, someone the stars knew would be yours. But also knowing that the chance of meeting them was almost impossible. You would wait your entire life for them until death, when someone may finally take pity on you and give you the person you've been searching for.

Almost impossible

Therefore, most had given up. They hide the words marked on their skin, their soulmate's first words to them. They allow themselves to be married off, loving their partners, but always longing for something more.

Your family was the same: siblings married off to whoever would be most beneficial for your family name - or, more to the point, your father.

Oh, your father was one of the fourteenth century's greatest warlocks. Magic sparked in his veins, he knew of things the ordinary person would never believe and yet he still said that soulmates were entirely ridiculous.

Not you, though.

Yes, you knew you'd probably never meet whoever your soul called for. Yes, you were perfectly aware of the man your father had already agreed for you to marry. Yes, you knew you were being foolishly hopeful.

You sighed, the gentle wisping of the wind passing by with soft words as you sat in the gardens, hidden deep within the maze of overgrown trees and bushes, contemplating.

You clutched your arm closer to your body, and you felt it hum softly. The words written there wanting nothing more than to be paired with your first words, imprinted on your soulmate.

Your lips quirked up for a moment, contented fingers pulling up the sleeve of your dress, allowing you to gaze upon the most beautiful set of words you had ever seen.

"I have waited for you for so very long."

Heart warmed at the sight, skin shivering, soul fluttering, your fingers glided across the tender words of your soulmate.

And suddenly sadness crashed down upon you like a tidal wave. Soon, you'd be married to a man who wasn't yours, and your heart cracked.

"My Lady! We need to get you ready for tonight's party!" An old voice, called out, one you knew all too well.

Dread filled your stomach, your father claimed it was merely an event for him to learn more about the supernatural and further his influence and it was. But it was also an engagement party, your engagement party, where you couldn't say no to the man asking for your hand.

You shook your head.

"Mary!" You called and the woman who had been by your side your entire life appeared, her hair was greying, wrinkles sinking into her skin but her eyes were more alive than anyone's you'd ever seen.

You supposed that came with meeting your soulmate.

Mary was one of the lucky two.

Two people in your entire town, the population quickly nearing two thousand and yet she and her husband were the only soulmates. That certainly put things into perspective.

Her gaze slipped down to your arm, words peeking out from behind your sleeve, a pitying smile escaping her lips, "I'm sorry, dear."

You could already feel it, building in your soul, aching at your heart, before the night was over your tears would spill.

"Yes," You swallowed harshly but she had already caught the quiver in your voice, "So am I."

"I do not why you are so infatuated with this, sister."

And truly Dream did not.

His sister had come into his realm of the dreaming with a large smile and gleaming eyes. Immediately, he knew that she would try to drag him into something.

He was right, of course.

After courteous greetings, his dear sister pulled out a white scroll, stark against her dark skin, with a grin. It was an invitation, she had told him, to a mortal's party and she wanted him to join her.

Naturally, he shook his head and refused.

That, of course, led to their current conversation where they both knew she would pester him until he eventually agreed. They both knew he would agree but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and make it difficult.

He gripped his arm softly, calming himself.

Her brown eyes glimmered, "Because I think it'd help you understand humans if you interacted with them."

He rose a brow, "In case you have forgotten, dear sister, there is a man you made immortal by the name of Hog whom I meet once every century."

His sister huffed, nudging his shoulder with hers, golden neckless glinting, "Oh, please! Once every century! And even then, you two only talk for a few hours, and that's pushing it!"

She had a point.

He shook his head, he refused to give in just yet, "Why don't you ask Desire? They're much better suited for this. Besides, I am occupied with running my realm."

Death narrowed her eyes, "I think they can handle you being away for one night, Dream," Then, she tilted her head, gaze fixated on the hold he had on his arm, "And who knows, maybe your soulmate will be dancing among the crowds."

Dream froze.

He was aeons old, older, and he had long since given up on his soulmate. That's what he tried to believe. Whoever they were, they were most likely dead and buried, a bloodline of their own passing through the ages. His heart ached at the thought, soul whining because it knew how very wrong that was to think.

Saints, he had even taken lovers and yet...no matter what, his gaze always ended up on the words written on his arm.

Such peculiar and wonderous words.

"I am so sorry-- and you're...very beautiful."

He sighed.

His sister smiled victoriously.

They both knew she had won.

"Don't you look stunning!" Mary gasped from behind you.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, noting how Mary had taken extra care to make you look presentable. Can't have your future husband having second thoughts, can you?

Oh god.

Through your open window, you could hear the guests arriving. Witches and exorcists and sorcerers and fairies and so many others. You knew that somewhere in the lively crowd, he was there, Alexander Knight.

Naturally, he had come from a long line of knights and was one of the most sought-after men in the country. He was attractive, skilled, courteous and completely and utterly horrible.

You heard the way he talked about women like they were objects of desire and it made you sick. So very sick.

You found your hands gripping the wooden table, lip quivering, eyes watering. In an instant, Mary's hands were on your shoulders, head resting upon yours as she stared at you through the mirror, sadness glittering in her eyes.

"You look just like a dream," She whispered, "That man would be mad to not treat you like one. And if he is mad enough, he'll have to deal with me."

A gentle laugh escaped your lips, despite the fact you both knew Mary could do nothing against him. You lived in a world dominated by men, but gods, you prayed the fates were readying to change it.

"Let's get this over with," You sighed, hands wiping your tearing eyes, silently begging that none slipped from them, tainting the ground, revealing you and your storm of emotions.

Mary squeezed your hand, "Yes, my Lady."

Within moments you desperately wished to run back to the confines of your room, tear off your cream-coloured dress and cry the night away under the comforting stars.

It seemed that you were not the only one aware of what the truth behind this party was. Men and women grinned at you, the men with especially devilish grins.

You felt sick.

"Daughter," Your father called, stern voice ringing sharply over the crowd. Swallowing, you walked up to him, waiting for his next words, "Alexander wished for you to be in his company for tonight and I have agreed, I will be busy with the two of the Endless."

Saints, two of the Endless had actually responded to his invite.

The Endless, the beings that would stretch across eternity, all-powerful and mysterious. they walked above humans and all other creatures, their embodiments flowing through all that lived.

Two of the seven Endless were here, but who?

You did not have much time to dwell, your father's hand pushing you forward, toward the boisterous laughter of men, tiring of your presence already.

Through his slightly drunken eyes, Alexander's gaze caught yours and something you didn't like flashed deep within it as he motioned you over.

And you had intended to go over, you really had.

But the words on your arm prickled, soul screaming at you that this was wrong, to get away and go in search of your other half.

Your breathing picked up, hands trembling as you saw his face shift into something of confusion and then into blatant annoyance. He beckoned you toward him once more, or rather, commanded.

You took a step.

And suddenly you were running.

A breath of cold, night air welcomed you as you burst out of the house, feet hammering against the stone path. Behind you, the chatter and music quietened but you did not dare stop, not even when the hush of night was all to be heard, not when your lungs begged for air and your heart screamed.

In fact, you didn't stop until you collided with something.

Someone.

You froze.

And then you scrambled to apologise.

"I am so sorry--" You finally looked up at him, your breath hitched, and the word came spilling out of your mouth, "And you're...very beautiful."

And gods, he was.

He was beautiful.

His midnight hair was unruly as a raven's feathers, and his alabaster skin almost seemed to glow under the moonlight, making him look all too more ethereal. Sharp features, highlighted and regal made him look like a king, a god, greater than a god. Lean and mysterious was his figure, shrouded by a cloak wrapped around his shoulders, fine and confident. His hands were long and nimble, callous by the art of sculpting, the art of creating.

And his eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

So blue they were almost silver, the stars themselves glinted within his eyes, thousands of stories shimmering, so piercing it was hard to breathe.

He was so beautiful not even the gods could have crafted him.

When your words reached his ears, he went rigid. Eyes growing wide, pupils dilating. Breath halting entirely. His gaze was fixated on you, he was staring at you like you were impossible, like not even his wildest dreams could have created you.

It made your breath catch.

And then, the most beautiful words escaped his lips, voice as smooth as the skies, as deep as the seas.

"I have waited for you for so very long"

Your heart hammered, soul laughing with elation for it had finally found its home.

Words could not be formed as you stared at the god of a man, he was your soulmate. The person who would complete you perfectly, he would fit your every crevice and curve just as you would his.

You found yourself smiling.

And for the first time in a long time, so did Morpheus.

Somewhere, the fates grinned in triumph, and in suspense, for tonight was supposed to be your engagement party, where Alexander would ask for your hand and you would have to accept.

But for now, they'd let you forget about that and bask in the presence of the soulmate.

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itzfloater · 5 months

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What if when Imogen tried to reach out to Laudna, Delilah responded instead...

CR Campaign 3, Episode 78 Spoilers

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

The tunnels underneath Whitestone Castle were dark and expansive. A place where sound seemed to travel forever, but also be consumed into the shadows in an instant. A voice with a southern lilt echoed throughout the halls.

"Laudna? Where are ya, darlin'." A few more steps echoed out. "Darlin'?"

The purple-haired sorceress sighs, leaning against the rock wall with her hand and focusing on the person she is looking for, muttering an incantation under her breath.

I need to know you're okay. Where are you?

The caven somehow gets quieter as she awaits a response from her favourite person. And what she gets instead is a response from the person she hates the most that has ever existed in Exandrian history.

We are just fine sweetheart just taking some time to ourselves.

The hair on the back of Imogen's neck stands on end when she hears the smug voice of Delilah Briarwood reverberating throughout her mind. She casts the spell again, this time changing the intended recipient to the monster who has bound itself to the kindest soul Imogen has ever met.

Where is she, Delilah? I will not leave you alone with her, not when she needs me. I will find her.

Imogen could feel her heartbeat increase every moment that passed before the response.

Oh, Sweet Imogen. I'm not hiding her, she's running away from you. And besides, she's been alone with me for longer than you've been alive.

xxx

"LETTERS!" Imogen's voice could be heard through the door right before it slammed open. "Do you have the spell that can find somebody?"

Fresh Cut Grass, who had been staring out the window overlooking the entirety of Whitestone startled at the loud noise, slowly moved towards the door. Ashton, who had been staring blankly at the ceiling snapped their head in Imogen's direction when she asked about the spell.

"Laudna didn't-" Ashton began to speak, but Imogen interrupted without acknowledging them.

"Do you have it!?"

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it in case Ludinus-"

"Laudna, we have to find Laudna," Imogen interrupts F.C.G.

"What? Is she in danger?" the automaton asks as they pull out the needed component from their bag.

"Yes. No. I don't," Imogen voice falters and she runs her hands through her hair. "I tried to send to her, ask her where she was and..." she lowers her voice. "Delilah answered."

Grass' mouth drops. "Delilah's back?"

Ashton doesn't say anything, just gets up and grabs his hammer.

"No, absolutely not. You are in no condition to fight if it comes to that." The purple-haired woman glares at the Titan-blooded genasis. "Not to mention the fact that she already wants to kill you."

He opens his mouth to say something, but it closes without anything coming out and they sit back down on the side of the bed. Fresh Cut Grass finishes casting his spell, looking around the room.

Imogen's voice cracks, "You don't feel her?"

Grass puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, not yet. But this is a big place! She could still be inside the castle and not be within 1,000 feet of us!"

xxx

Laudna was in fact not still in the castle. Imogen became more and more frantic after every spot they checked came up empty. "Where else could she be letters? She's not in the tunnels, she's not at the Ziggurat, she's not at the Sun Tree."

"Maybe if you tried sending again, she'd answer this time." They offered her. Imogen kept the tears at bay and focused once more on the soul of her favourite person.

Darlin', where are you? I'm really worried about you. I love you.

Even the breeze stopped blowing as they waited with baited breaths to hear who would respond. And when she did, the voice was so quiet any wind would've been louder than Laudna's voice.

Imogen? They burned it down. And I wasn't even in it this time. It was small and out of the way. Why would they?

#critical role spoilers #this episode fucked me up yall #imodna #laudna #imogen temult #cr c3e78 #delilah briarwood #critical role #critical role fanfiction #cr c3 spoilers

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satureja13 · 4 months

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Vlad and Jack arrived at the temple to seek relief for Jack's pain. They greeted Arturo, the servant at this Temple, Chán's partner. Jack thought it would be honest to tell Arturo in advance that they don't have much money before he makes any effort to help him. But Arturo reassured him. This Temple helps anyone in need.

Arturo: "You know, our diety once was a temple servant too. He put his duty for his diety and his studies for the temple over everything. Even over his loved one. As a result, he lost his love. His diety was furious and banned him. So he sat under this tree here to reflect and eventually became one with the tree. This reminds us that we are here to serve the people and our loved ones before anything else."

Arturo: "The tree cares for us. We pot his saplings and sell them. They have the tree's healing powers too. The income just from the saplings is enough to run the temple. So don't worry about money, hm?" Jack: "I see. Thank you. This place is really amazing." Arturo: "It is. I consider myself very lucky to be allowed to serve here. The tree is picky ^^' He allows not just anybody around him and touch his precious saplings and soil."

Arturo took them inside to see what he can do for Jack. And Jack told him about his searing pain after he left his fated mate. Arturo: "Oh I never met someone who left his fated mate. It's a wonder you are still alive! How did it happen?" Jack: "He kept claiming that we were fated mates but I never felt it. I ... had a very difficult past and I'm... damaged, you know? He had his obligations, urged me to keep our relationship a secret, was barely there - all this stacked and drove me just deeper into my madness. It was too much for me to keep going. My life and sanity - or our love. I chose life. I guess fate makes mistakes sometimes too. If I only were 'normal' - I could have endured it and..." Vlad: "No Jack. No one should have to 'endure' anything when it comes to love. That's also the reason why I want to cut the bond. I love Ji Ho too much to let him 'endure' me and the Bond." Arturo: "But Jack, you just gave you the answer yourself!" Jack: "What do you mean?"

Arturo: "Follow me." They offered fruit and incense at the shrine in silence.

Arturo. "You are damaged and your fated mated couldn't protect you and even caused you more pain. So you protected yourself - from him and your love for him. Subconsciously. That's why you couldn't feel it. As you said. Going on with him and deepen your relationship - giving in being fated mates - would only have caused you more and more pain. So your subconscious stopped you from feeling it. You have to heal first." Jack: "How can I heal?" Arturo: "It takes time and treatment. Like healing any other wound. The pain in your soul and heart already reached your body. It was about time you came here. The tree can ease your pain and pave a path for you. But you'll have to walk it yourself." Jack: "I will." Arturo: "Let's go then!"

Arturo: "Meditaion is important on your way to healing. You need a certain state of mindfulness and awareness to listen to and care for the needs of your soul and your heart. Come join us, Vlad!"

When Arturo took Jack to the massage, Vlad didn't join them ^^' Arturo: "I will be very careful to not touch your rash. But your body needs this to relax. To be able to deal with the pain. You'll feel so much better this evening, you'll see." Jack: "I really hope so..." Arturo: "And when it's getting worse again, don't hesitate to come back, hear me? I'm here to help." Jack: "Ok ^^' "

Vlad went over to the kitchen to prepare a meal for them. That's the least he can do for Arturo for helping Jack.

To be continued... (If you have an idea about the tree, you might be right ö.Ö' But please do not spoil ;) This was a very mindblowing episode for me. I never knew why Jack never felt 'the fated mates thing' until this night! And what Arturo said is also very important for my own healing. Thank you, Arturo!

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest 🛺 'Home crappy Home' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: 🌴 'The Expedition' from the beginning ▶️ here 🎤 'Putting the Boys Back together' from the beginning ▶️ here 🥀 'Disbandment of the Group' from the beginning ▶️ here

#home crappy home #sims 4 story #simlit #sims 4 #ts4 story #ts4 #simblr #vladimir tepesz #healing jack #jack callahan #tomarang #underwater love #sims 4 vanilla #the sims 4 for rent #sims 4 for rent #for rent #the temple in tomarang #arturo linh #koh sahpa

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aylinvail · 20 days

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Tanna Talk: This Week in the Rogue Trader (Video Game) AO3 fandom (March 24- 30 2024)

"Oh, yes, a dance was never just a dance. It was also a display of the soul. It was love, and war, and didn’t they say that all was fair in love and war ?" - Tapestry of Fate, Ch. 34.

Lots of new plot bunnies this week in the trenches. Anyway, this is user aylinvail reporting to you live over vox caster from the Starseeker Bridge.

Cool new fics

Maybe the fic did something new. Maybe it innovated. Maybe it's an entirely new concept we haven't seen yet. A non-comprehensive list.

Two sides of the same Aquila - An AU where the Warrant of Trade is held by two most incompatible individuals in the Koronus Expanse. A series of pivotal moments of their relationship where they need to learn to share the power, space and an Interrogator in order to make it out alive. BOY THAT IS FRESH @vitanithepure.

Eliminate - A fic about Epitaph and Calcazar telling Heinrix to kill you. Told in 500 brilliant bittersweet words. @pycnolite's masterclass in how to keep it short and sweet.

Omega von Valancius - OMG @pallysuune has finally brought us the first A/B/O RT fic. As an omega, Violet von Valancius wasn't fit to be the Rogue Trader, and everyone around her seemed to know it too. But no one was more vocal about it than her so-called-peer. Can her actions ever earn his respect, or will she forever be lesser in his eyes?

The First Engagement - I know, I know, but listen. Have you seen a Lord Captain Heinrix x Interrogator RT yet? No. Fits here. Anyway, if you wanted to see what Heinrix is like as a jackass who "summers" in Janus, here ya go.

Who updated?

Here are the longfics that updated this week.

Starseeker - Heinrix/RT intrigue rewrite of game events with Kunrad-related canon divergence. And a shoujo romance.

gossamer of starlight - RT/Yrliet. Yrliet watches her elantach's dynasty fall apart in slow motion. Non chronological.

Predator & Prey - RT/Marazhai. Aurelia von Valancius has a secret. Marazhai Aezyrraesh has a craving. They're perfectly matched opposites, so long as as they can overcome their differences.

Theatre of Hearts - RT/Nocturne of Oblivion arranged marriage. And from what I hear, getting really cultural difference-flavor of interesting.

Much ado about the Lord Captain - A Comedy of Terrors - RT/Heinrix. A retelling of Rogue Trader with tons of pining. A forest of pine trees. And smut.

Immortalium - RT/Heinrix. NEW! From @cawyden-gaming. The story follows Venria von Valancius on her journey of coming to terms with her past and present.

Iron Maidens - Multiship. An Iron Widow x Rogue Trader crossover.

Omnissiah Forgive Me - RT/Pasqal. Pasqal Haneumann owes his life to the Lord Captain, Kassard. When he joined the Lord Captain's retinue, Pasqal found he had got more than he had bargained for. For the Lord Captain was enough for Pasqal's faith to be shaken to its core.

My Knight So Daring - An Imperial Knight!Heinrix x noble!RogueTrader arranged marriage AU. And from what I hear, getting really hot.

Into Temptation - RT/Marazhai/Heinrix. Former Ministorum Priest now Rogue Trader Cassius Von Valancius must contend with his heretical desires for Marazhai. Matters become even more complicated as his feelings for Heinrix Van Calox deepen.

Edge of Daybreak Unbroken - RT/Heinrix. Heretic Rogue Trader gets brought back to the start of the game. Time travel shenanigans ensue.

Once we were - RT/Heinrix. A story following the events of the game, in which Imogene von Valancius allied her dynasty with Xavier Calcazar and brought peace and prosperity to the Koronus Expanse. But neither last long, and the line between hero and heretic is always blurred.

Domino Effect - Multi. Betrayal is terrible. It never comes from one's foes. But instead from those closest. It comes from a place of safety. Of love.

Addendums

they go here. for in case there are late night updates. im out of spoons bros.

#rogue trader #rogue trader crpg #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40k rogue trader #warhammer 40000 #fanfic #fic #ao3 #fic rec

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nyxshadowhawk · 7 months

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I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Four

Here are the previous parts:

https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/726120109073104896/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/726261927846772736/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/726476229805473792/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

Chapter 7: Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor In which the peace is disturbed by conspiracy theories and shiny objects.

Fëanor decides to preserve the light of the Two Trees of Valinor… you know, in case anything ever happens to them. Somehow, using all of his knowledge and power and craftsmanship, he captures their light and uses it to create THE SILMARILS! The Silmarils are the biggest, brightest, and most beautiful gemstones in the history of Elfkind. No one but Fëanor knows what they’re made of (and at this point in time, he isn’t exactly in a position to tell anyone), but they look like diamonds and are completely unbreakable. Just as the bodies of the Children of Ilúvatar are shells for the soul, the crystal that composes the Silmarils is a shell for the light of the Two Trees — literally, the stones are actually alive. They are like three stars.

Silmarils of Fëanor by Nikulina-Helena

Side note — this isn’t technically in the text of The Silmarillion, it’s from Unfinished Tales, but I have to mention it because it’s hilarious — Fëanor got the idea to preserve the light of the Trees because Galadriel wouldn’t give him her hair. Here’s the relevant part of Unfinished Tales:

Even among the Eldar she was accounted beautiful, and her hair was held a marvel unmatched. It was golden like the hair of her father and of her foremother Indis, but richer and more radiant, for its gold was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother; and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, had been snared in her tresses. Many thought that this saying first gave to Fëanor the thought of imprisoning and blending the light of the Trees that later took shape in his hands as the Silmarils. For Fëanor beheld the hair of Galadriel with wonder and delight. He begged three times for a tress, but Galadriel would not give him even one hair. These two kinsfolk, the greatest of the Eldar of Valinor, were unfriends for ever. […] there dwelt in her the noble and generous spirit of the Vanyar, and a reverence for the Valar that she could not forget. From her earliest years she had a marvellous gift of insight into the minds of others, but judged them with mercy and understanding, and she withheld her goodwill from none save only Fëanor. In him she perceived a darkness that she hated and feared, though she did not perceive that the shadow of the same evil had fallen upon the minds of all the Noldor, and upon her own.

So, just to reiterate: Galadriel is wise and benevolent and loves everyone except Fëanor, because Fëanor is just that much of an arrogant asshole. So when Fëanor asks her for her hair, she basically tells him where he can stick it, and he goes, “Well fine! I didn’t need your hair anyway! I’m going to make gems that are even prettier and shinier than your hair, and then everyone will be jealous!” And that is why it’s such a big deal that Galadriel grants Gimli’s much humbler request for her hair. Gimli may be a dwarf, but he’s actually a good person!

Anyway, everyone is impressed by the Silmarils, even the Valar themselves. Varda, the goddess of the stars, blessed them so that nothing evil could touch them.

Now, I already said that Melkor lusted for all the shiny things that the Noldor had dug up, so how do you think he reacted when he saw the Silmarils? Oh, you’d better believe he wanted those gems more than anything else in the world. He concocted an evil plan to sew as much discord between the Elves and the Valar as possible, and to destroy Fëanor in the process. Unfortunately, enough of the Elves start to listen to his rumors. They start to believe that the Valar brought them to Valinor to stop them from ruling kingdoms of their own. Melkor also told the Elves about the eventual coming of Men, which the Elves knew nothing about. Melkor didn’t know much about Men either, but it was enough to spread a conspiracy theory that Manwë was holding the Elves hostage in Valinor so that Men could take over the world, cheating the Elves out of their God-given inheritance. The Noldor start to want to go back East, to be free of the Valar’s influence so they can start building kingdoms of their own and establishing themselves before the Men come.

Fëanor especially is desperate to get out of Valinor, which is exactly what Melkor wanted, because this was all just a ploy to get the Silmarils. But Fëanor is just as obsessive about them, keeping them locked deep in his “horde” (as though he’s a dragon), except when he parades around wearing them during feasts. He doesn’t let anyone see them, except for his father and his sons. He’s already started to forget that the entire point of them was to preserve the light of the Trees of Valinor, and not just to glorify himself.

Fëanor by dakkun39

Melkor starts to zero in on his mark. He spreads a new lie that Fingolfin, Fëanor’s brother, was planning to supplant him as Finwë’s heir. And to Fingolfin, he says that Fëanor has always hated his half-brothers and plans to kick them out of the city of Tirion.

As the unrest brews, Melkor teaches the Noldor how to make weapons. Each family of Noldor believes that only they know about the weapons, and that none of the other families do. Meanwhile, Fëanor makes a secret forge to experiment with crafting weapons, so he and his family can have especially dangerous ones. Even Melkor didn’t know about that, that was all Fëanor. Mahtan, Fëanor’s father-in-law, bitterly regretted having taught him anything about metalwork.

Fëanor openly calls for revolution against the Valar, and escaping back East. That crosses a line. Finwë holds court and asks his lords what he should do. Fingolfin asks him, “Why are you letting Fëanor call all the shots? He’s not King. You’re the King. You tell him to stop!” Fëanor promptly bursts through the doors and struts up to the podium, armed to the teeth. He draws his sword on Fingolfin and tells him to fuck off. Fingolfin hastily bows to Finwë and gets the hell out of there before his own brother murders him on the house floor. Fëanor follows him and starts taunting him. Fingolfin has the good sense not to respond.

By Jenny Dolfen

Now the Valar get involved. They were sad about the Noldor wanting to leave, but whatever Melkor might say, the Valar weren’t about to keep them there against their will. This, though? This is a step too far. They summon Fëanor to stand trial before them. During the trial, it’s finally revealed that Melkor, not Fëanor, is ultimately to blame for all the unrest. Tulkas doesn’t even wait for the trial to be over to go and put Melkor’s lights out. Meanwhile Mandos (the god of death/purgatory) delivers his judgement on Fëanor: “If you’re our ‘thralls,’ then I hate to break this to you, but Manwë is the king of all of Arda, not just Valinor. So… going back East isn’t going to help you very much. Threatening to kill your brother is still a crime whether here or in Middle-earth, so I sentence you to exile from the city of Tirion for twelve years. Go and think about what you did! Then, after your time-out is over, if your family forgives you, we’ll let you back in.”

Fingolfin speaks up to say that he already forgives Fëanor, which is very charitable of him. But Fëanor just sulks and stalks off. Honestly, he’s had it easy — he hasn’t even been asked to leave Valinor, only to leave the city! He leaves with his seven sons and founds his own fortress, Formenos, some distance from Tirion, where he hoards all his gems and weapons and other sparkly things (including the Silmarils). Finwë loves Fëanor so much that he leaves his own city to be with Fëanor, and Fingolfin becomes king of Tirion in his place. So, in the end, Melkor’s lie became a self-fulfilling prophecy: Fingolfin did become King of the Noldor instead of Fëanor, not because of any treachery on his part, but because of Fëanor’s shitty behavior. Nice going, Fëanor.

Melkor lays low for a while, disguised as a cloud. No one hears anything of him for a bit, but the Trees look slightly darker and the shadows slightly more ominous. Suddenly, he turns up on Fëanor’s doorstep and pretends to be friends, using the self-fulfilling prophecy to his advantage to make it sound like everything he’s said so far is true. Melkor offers to help Fëanor leave Valinor. Fëanor still thinks that Melkor is kind of sus, but Melkor gets to him by mentioning the Silmarils, and how they won’t be safe as long as Fëanor stays in Valinor. Unfortunately for Melkor, he showed his hand too soon. Fëanor finally sees that the Silmarils are what Melkor’s really been after this whole time. He screams the equivalent of “Get the fuck out of my house!” and slams the door in the face of what is technically the most powerful being on Arda. Melkor runs off with his tail between his legs, but Finwë recognizes that this isn’t over, and calls for Manwë’s help. Manwë and the other Valar chase Melkor to the edge of Valinor, and everything is suddenly fine for a while… the Trees are bright again, and Melkor is nowhere to be seen, but not knowing where he is might actually be worse. The people of Valinor can feel him lurking on the edge of the horizon.

Fëanor and Silmarils by breath-art

Chapter 8: Of the Darkening of Valinor In which everything goes to hell.

The Valar assume that Melkor returned to his old fortress in the north, but they didn’t find him there. Instead, Melkor shapeshifted and slunk southwards, to a shadowy land called Avathar. He was going to visit… an old friend, shall we say.

If you think Shelob is bad, you haven’t met her mother.

By John Howe

Ungoliant isn’t just a spider, she’s an eldritch abomination that happens to take the form of a spider. Even the Valar don’t really know where she came from, and she managed to escape them by hiding in the south where they weren’t turning their attention. She weaves webs that suck in all the light around them. Melkor takes the form of a tall Dark Lord and tells Ungoliant that he will feed her whatever she wants in exchange for her help in conquering Valinor (although at this point, you should already know that when Melkor promises anything, it’s with his fingers crossed behind his back). Ungoliant agrees, and they decide to attack while the people of Valinor are celebrating a harvest festival. Because whenever anysort of disaster happens, it’s when everyone is unsuspectingly having a party.

Fëanor sulkily attends the festival, only because Manwë literally ordered him to be there, but the other elves of his household (including Finwë) don’t show up. Fëanor also deliberately underdresses for the party; instead of parading around with the Silmarils like he used to, he decided that the Valar didn’t deserve to see them, and kept them locked up in his castle. Fëanor reconciles with his half-brother Fingolfin right in front of Manwë’s throne, and may even have been sincere! The Trees shine with a perfect blend of silver and gold… for the last time.

The poor Elves and the Valar barely have time to react. Melkor leaps on top of the sacred mound and strikes each Tree through with his spear, and Ungoliant drinks up all the sap that gushes out of them like blood, and they quickly wither and die. Then Ungoliant drinks up all the well water, and she looks so huge and bloated that even Melkor is afraid of her.

And… that’s it. Just like that, it’s over. The Trees are dead. The resulting darkness is almost a palpable thing that can attack the body and soul. The Valar and all the Elves gathered in Manwë’s palace are thunderstruck as the lights suddenly go out, and then, they hear the screams of the Teleri, who have had nothing to do with this whole mess and had no idea that there was any unrest in Valinor to begin with. You know what I’m reminded of? That scene in The Prince of Egypt when God kills the firstborn of every Egyptian household, and there’s a shot of Orion, a beat of silence, and then a wail of grief and despair goes up.

Manwë sends the Valar to chase after Melkor, but they can’t penetrate Ungoliant’s cloud of darkness, and it’s too late. The damage was done.

By Titita

Chapter 9: Of the Flight of the Noldor In which the Valar have finally had enough of Fëanor’s bullshit.

Valinor is left in shock. Yavanna tries in vain to heal the Trees, but they are dead, and there’s nothing she can do… unless she had a little of the light of the Trees, which Fëanor fortunately preserved in the Silmarils. Manwë asks Fëanor if he will give Yavanna a Silmaril. Fëanor whines that just as the Trees were Yavanna’s masterpiece, the Silmarils are his masterpiece, and if he breaks any one of them, he’ll be the first of the Elves to die. Mandos mutters that he wouldn’t be the first, since his mother Míriel died, but no one takes his meaning.

Fëanor goes off to sulk, and remembers what Melkor said: that the Valar want the Silmarils, and will do anything to get them. Now they’re asking him to give them one. Fëanor concludes that because Melkor, a Vala, is such a shitty person, then all the other Valar must be the same. He tells the Valar that he will not give them a Silmaril, and that if they try to take one from him by force, then that will prove that they really are just as bad as Melkor.

That’s that, then. Because Fëanor is such a selfish asshole, the Trees are not healed, and there’s nothing left to do but to mourn. Nienna, the goddess of sorrow, stands on top of the mound where the Trees used to be and laments the scarring of Arda, letting her tears wash away the destruction caused by Ungoliant and Melkor.

Then Elves from Formenos, Fëanor’s fortress, arrive to tell the Valar about another of Melkor’s crimes: He broke into Formenos, murdered Finwë, and stole everything that was in Fëanor’s treasure horde. The Silmarils are gone. Fëanor is enraged, firstly because the Silmarils are gone, secondly because he was at Manwë’s stupid party instead of defending his castle, and thirdly because his beloved father is dead. This is when he first calls Melkor by the name Morgoth (which is what he’ll be called for the rest of the Silmarillion).

History might have been different if Fëanor had originally said yes to Yavanna’s request, before learning that Morgoth had stolen the Silmarils. We can’t know.

Meanwhile Morgoth and Ungoliant take the long way back to Middle-earth. Morgoth hopes to eventually escape from Ungoliant, because even he’s afraid of her, but she catches on. She tells Morgoth that she’s still hungry, and she wants to eat all the treasure he stole from Formenos. So Morgoth, begrudgingly, feeds her all of Fëanor’s beautiful gemstones. All but three, that is. The Silmarils literally burn Morgoth’s hand, because Varda made them evil-proof, but he grips them tightly and refuses to give them to her. He’s a lot weaker than he should be because he lent Ungoliant so much of his power, and she weaves a web of darkness to strangle him. Melkor screams so loud that his screaming can still be heard in that region to this day. Deep beneath the ruins of Angband, the Balrogs still lurked, and when they heard their Lord cry for help, they came to save him. Let’s just reiterate that: Ungoliant is so evil that Morgoth, who’s like Sauron but worse, needed Balrogs to save him from her.

By Sheppi-Arthouse

Ungoliant fled, and lurked for some time in a dark valley where she mated with other spider-creatures and ate their heads. No one knows what happened to her after that. She might still be out there, but one legend says that eventually, in her eternal hunger, she ate herself.

Morgoth rebuilds Angband, amasses his armies of Balrogs and Orcs, and gives himself the modest title of “King of the World.” He forges himself an iron crown and sets the three Silmarils in it. But his hands are permanently burned by having held them, and he can never take off the crown. He stews in his hatred, and vents his humiliation at the eight spidery legs of Ungoliant by abusing his minions. Despite how pathetic that near-defeat was, Melkor is still technically a Vala, and is so terrifying in his majesty that no one can even be near him without being consumed by fear.

By NeexSethe

Back in Valinor, everyone is depressed. Then Fëanor shows up and gives a rousing speech to the Noldor, mostly condemning Morgoth, but also repeating all of the lies that Morgoth had spread about the Valar. Fëanor declares himself King of the Noldor since his father is dead (which isn’t anything like what Morgoth just did), and persuades the Noldor that they shouldn’t live under the Valar’s rule anymore. After all, the Valar failed to keep out Morgoth, and they’re related to him so they must be partly to blame for his actions. Fëanor doesn’t want to be anywhere near the distant cousins of the guy who killed his father. Also, look at the greener grass back in Middle-earth where the Noldor can build an empire for themselves! They can become a warlike people, and conquer Middle-earth before the Men come! Fëanor throws some racial supremacy into the mix and says that once the Noldor have waged war on Morgoth and taken back the Silmarils, they alone will be the lords of the last remaining Light.

Then Fëanor and his sons draw their swords and swear an oath that they will hunt to the ends of the earth any creature — Vala, Demon, Elf, or Man — who possesses a Silmaril.

By Jenny Dolfen

Despite having just disavowed the Valar, this oath is still sworn with the gods and their sacred mountain as witnesses, so… old religious habits die hard.

Immediately, unrest erupts among the Noldor. Fingolfin and his son Turgon are horrified, Finarfin (Fëanor’s other brother) tries to calm everything down, and Galadriel (the only woman there) likes the idea of seeing Middle-earth and ruling a realm of her own. Fëanor’s side of the debate eventually wins, and the Noldor depart for Middle-earth. Fëanor hurries them out of there before they have the chance to change their minds.

Of course, the remaining problem is that Fëanor can’t simply declare himself king so easily. Fingolfin has been King of the Noldor ever since Fëanor was exiled from the city, and most of the Noldor are still loyal to him. He’s also level-headed and kind, whereas Fëanor is a hot mess. Fingolfin doesn’t want to leave Valinor, but accepts that he doesn’t have much of a choice, because he doesn’t want to abandon his people. Also, his son Fingon is urging him to go. Finarfin is even less willing to leave, but follows Fingolfin anyway for similar reasons.

By BellaBergolts

As the Noldor are leaving, a messenger arrives from Manwë. He says that the Valar won’t prevent the Noldor from leaving, since the Elves are free to do whatever they want, but that the Valar strongly advise against it. But Fëanor and his family are explicitly exiled from Valinor, on account of their oath. The messenger emphasizes that Fëanor is right — Melkor is a Vala —which is exactly why Fëanor and co. stand no chance against him or against any of the other Valar. So, the oath is impossible to fulfill. That sucks, because oaths are serious business, and once you’ve made an oath, you can’t simply disregard it. Fëanor has basically condemned himself and all of his sons to an impossible, borderline-blasphemous and utterly hubristic venture. Nice going, Fëanor.

Of course, Fëanor gives a typical arrogant response, urging the Noldor not to send their king into exile and “return to bondage.” He says to the messenger, “Go tell Manwë that even if I can’t beat Morgoth, at least I’m gonna try, instead of sitting on my sorry ass and grieving! My battle with Morgoth is gonna be so legendary that one day the Valar will realize I was right!” Fëanor is so intimidating that even the messenger of Manwë bows to him in response. And so, the Noldor leave into exile — some boldly and without looking back, some very reluctantly.

They quickly run into the first big problem: How do they get to Middle-earth? Fëanor first tries to follow Melkor and go north, to cross the narrow strip of land that connects the two continents. But realistically, there’s no way that an entire nation’s worth of people are going to cover that distance. The other option is to cross the sea itself, but the only way to do that is with ships, and the Noldor don’t know how to build them. Fëanor decides to persuade the Teleri to join his company, which would get them the ships they need — and spitefully, Fëanor hopes to further dismantle Valinor and gain himself more soldiers for his war against Morgoth.

The Teleri are sad that their friends are leaving, and completely unwilling to lend them any ships or go against the will of the Valar. Olwë, the King of the Teleri, never heard any of Morgoth’s conspiracy theories, so everything Fëanor says sounds completely insane. You can imagine how well that went over with Fëanor. He’s like, “You owe us because we helped you build your city! You stragglers would still be living in mud huts if it weren’t for us!” Olwë points out that friends don’t let friends make such stupid decisions, that the plan was to live together in Valinor forever, and that the Noldor didn’t teach the Teleri shipbuilding. They learned to build ships on their own, directly from the sea gods, and don’t owe the Noldor anything. The Teleri feel the same way about their ships as Fëanor does about his jewels — they’re unique masterpieces, and can never be replicated.

Fëanor doesn’t take no for an answer, and tries to take the ships by force. The Teleri fight back. What follows is the first large-scale battle between Elves. It’s brutal and sad — there’s deaths on both sides, but the Noldor win and steal the precious ships away. (Don’t ask me how the Noldor know how to sail the ships — sailing isn’t exactly a skill that one can just pick up.) Olwë calls upon Ossë, the Maia of the Waves, but he doesn’t come, because the Valar swore to neither help nor hinder the Noldor’s departure. But Uinen, the Maia of sea life, is so distraught over the cruel deaths of the Teleri mariners that she wrecks several of the ships.

By Ted Nasmith

When the Noldor reach the shore, a dark figure rises up from the cold mountains. Some say the figure was Mandos himself. He pronounces the “Prophecy of the North”: Anyone who’s studied pagan mythology knows that kinslaying is just about the worst thing you can do, so now all the Noldor are exiled, not just Fëanor and his sons. But Fëanor has well and truly brought down the wrath of the Valar upon his head. They’ve given him enough second chances. Now, his oath isn’t just useless — it’s actively a curse that will destroy his family, drive them to evil and treason, and keep the Silmarils forever just out of reach. After they die — and they will die, despite the immortality granted to them by Eru Ilúvatar — their souls will return to the Halls of Mandos as ghosts. The Noldor who don’t die will slowly diminish, and watch their own power fade as the other races gradually supplant them, leaving them with nothing but regret.

Mandos by marcelamedeiros_arts

Don’t let anyone tell you that Tolkien’s Elves are all perfect beings who are prettier, wiser, more magical, and otherwise superior to everyone else. The reason why all the Elves of the LotR fit that description is because only the wise Elves last that long. All the arrogant, hotheaded, and power-hungry Elves don’t make it to the Third Age because they’ve all killed each other by then.

Case in point, Fëanor responds to this imposing figure pronouncing the wrath of the gods with his typical arrogance, insisting that he and his family are not cowards and that treason is just another evil that they’ll have to deal with. And, as an extra “fuck you,” that everyone will sing of their deeds until the end of the world.

At that, Finarfin turns back. He never actually wanted to leave Valinor, he hates that the battle ruined his friendship with Olwë, and he’s deeply resentful towards the House of Fëanor for having caused this whole mess. He and his people receive the Valar’s forgiveness, and return to their beautiful city of Tirion. Finarfin rules over the Noldor that returned with him, but without his children, because they didn’t turn back. They wanted to stay with Fingolfin’s sons, Fingon and Turgon, and they aren’t the sort of people to abandon a task halfway, so they continue on.

Fëanor, Fingolfin, and the other Noldor reach the far north, where the continents of Aman and Middle-earth meet. They’re cold, hungry, and don’t know which way to go next. Some of the Elves are starting to catch on that Fëanor and his propaganda is the cause of all their trouble. Fëanor is already starting to fear treachery, so he takes his sons and all the ships, and straight-up abandons Fingolfin and his people to freeze to death. Fëanor becomes the first Noldor Elf to set foot on Middle-earth.

Maedhros, Fëanor’s eldest son, asks him if he’ll send any ships back for Fingolfin’s people (specifically Fingon). Fëanor laughs at his son, calls his brother and nephews and all their people “worthless baggage,” and then burns the ships. Maedhros just stands aside and lets him do it. (I’m guessing that the inability of Fëanor’s kids to stand up to their father is going to become a recurring source of conflict.) So, the curse has already come into effect.

The Burning of the Ships by Ted Nasmith

In spite of Fëanor, Fingolfin and his company pass through the icy wastes in the farthest north, and eventually reach Middle-earth, though they lost many along the way. The narrator tells us straight-up that few of the deeds of the Noldor will ever surpass that desperate crossing.

We're a quarter of the way through!

Next part: https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/738735962858897408/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

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reidslovely · 10 months

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In a Corner I Haunt: Everybody Moved On (Chapter Two)

ch. 1 (currently being edited)

I did not intend on this little angst piece becoming a bigger idea, but here we are. Currently there is no graphic content, bur this series will eventually contain smut so I’m asking for solely an 18+ audience.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!OC

Word Count: 3k

Series Warnings: Cheating, Thoughts of cheating, Smut, Angst with semi happy ending, Divorce, Discussion of parental depth, Mentions of past domestic abuse, Neglecting spouse, Cursing, Peter on the verge of a nervous breakdown. More to add.

Chapter Warnings: Description of love interest, Love interest is given nickname, Implied thoughts of cheating, chapter is pretty diff Peter heavy.

please reblog and/or comment

There was a girl who sat in the west courtyard of ESU on Saturday, Sunday, Wednesday, Thursday and occasionally Friday his sophomore year. She sat under the same tree since the start of the spring semester, the old cherry blossom tree that was right off the path Peter skated everyday towards Dr. Octavius’ lab. On the weekdays she had her laptop snug in her lap with whatever it seemed she could get from the campus cafe, her favorite seemed to be a Matcha Latte with some type of croissant sandwich. On weekends she sat there enjoying the warmer days with a book, or sitting in a cardigan working on her laptop.

On some days Peter found himself walking past, and walking slower to really capture her and her beauty. On occasion he thought about stopping and talking to her. Asking her about what book she was reading this time, or what it was she was typing away on. However, according to his friends that would be stalkerish, giving away that he had been watching her quite a bit over the last few weeks. That girls liked to be met organically, without being watched beforehand. So here he was camera in hand, swallowing his words in his throat as he approached her.

“Photo for the ESU Daily?” He whispered nervously, his words slewing out in one big word.

“Do we take random photos for the Daily now?”

“Oh well, it’s this piece I’m working on about students who take their..their work outside.” The lie seemed perfect to him, no flaws, the best and most calm lie he’s ever told.

“I’ve never seen you in the writing room.”

What.

“Mhm, what?”

“I’m a writer at the daily.”

“Oh..” Peter’s eyes shifted around uncomfortably, clearing his throat and opening his mouth to defend himself.

“But I have seen you in the darkroom. You’re Parker.”

“Peter..Parker. Peter Parker.” He thrusted his hand into her face smiling. She smiled, choking on a laugh, taking his hand and shaking it.

She looked up at him, giving him her name with a sweet smile. Her eyes setting a part of his soul on fire, he was sure of it. There was a softness that grew in the pit of his stomach as he looked down at her.

“Not to make this awkward but do you stare at all the people you’re interested in from a distance or just a select few.”

“Oh you noticed that.” He laughed, his hand coming up to tuck his hair back and scratch his neck out of embarrassment. “Select few. You should feel really flattered.”

“Good, I do.” Her laugh echoed in his ears, settling into a part of his brain and making a home in his memory already. “Do you want to..I don’t know have a seat.”

Peter physically restricted himself from sitting next to the girl, he knew he’d be so late and Otto would maybe actually kill him this time.

“I would really love to, but I’m about to be late and if we are gonna have a..seat together I’d like to be alive for it.” Quickly, Peter scribbled his phone number down onto a gum wrapper he found in his pocket. Handing it to her. “Here is my number, you can call me and we can like, meet tonight or whenever at that uh- italian place up the block.”

“Leo’s?”

“Yeah that one is perfect.” He smiled as he ran backwards away from her. His cheeks burning red, he wondered if his smile was still noticeable to her. Peter turned around taking off towards Otto’s lab, jumping up out of excitement. His other commitments would have to wait till after this date.

Tears hung in Peter's eyes today, his stomach had crawled its way up his throat. He looked at that same tree today, hands dug deep in his pockets. He had decided to take a small detour on his way to pick up his daughter from the English department. He approached the tree that still stood in the west courtyard; tall and barren from the cold season. It felt like a laugh in his face. An evil metaphor crawling out of the shadows at him, showing him what he had thrown away. He reached out letting his finger draw over the initials carved poorly into the tree. It was a silly thing he did for her on their two month anniversary, forever commemorating their meeting spot, thinking that one day he’d bring her back here and purpose. Coward.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzz..

Peter dug his hands around in his pockets grasping at his phone, finally getting it in his palm. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Alice, sorry I’m on my way now I just got stuck on the subway. Camilia excited?” He asked as he cut through the west courtyard heading towards the Lee English Hall.

“Well she’d be a little bit more excited if her daddy were on time.”

“I know I just ran into a old friend, and then I got caught-”

“I do not care Pete,” Her brief scoff was heard on the other side. He knew it was not directed at him. She was really stressed with her first year teaching. “I just need you to get here so I can teach my one o’clock lecture baby, please.”

“Gotcha, headin’ your way now.” Peter hummed slowly, pushing through students on the sidewalk mouthing apologies. “I love..” the dial tone rang loudly in his ear. “You.” He sighed, pocketing his phone and continuing his walk.

Had this been a couple years ago he would be skateboarding through these people not worried about what they thought of him, he missed being young and non caring. Peter looked at the couples eating outside on the benches and suddenly he remembers being that boyfriend bringing his girlfriend lunch between classes. Rushing kisses, and rushing through lunch, skipping out on the last bit of Otto’s lecture and lab work to get to the journalism building as fast as possible. He remembers her surprising him during lab hours with dinner, they would sit and enjoy one another's company till early morning hours. Then they’d pick whose place to go back to, then she’d fall asleep on her shoulder the subway ride back.

He has a beautiful life now, but now he can’t even begin to think about what his life with her could have been like. He could have had Camilia with his girl, they could have gotten engaged that night had he just not gotten cold feet. Peter shook his head pulling himself out of his selfish and insane thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of Lee Hall where the English department was. He sighed walking around the back entrance where the offices were located, and muscle memory carried him the rest of the way down the hall.

“Daddy!”

The voice piped up as Peter pushed open the office door, Alice smiled at her daughter and it slowly disappeared off her face as she looked at Peter. He took his daughter into his arms as she climbed up his side.

“Got everything ready?” Peter asks, kissing his little girl's head. “We gotta go see grandma May. Then we are gonna go get ice cream, and then we are..off to the science museum” Peter spoke in a theatrical voice, making his daughter smile. He grabbed her, lifting her up, moving her around like a rocket shooting off. Alice stares at the two, a smile on her face directed only at their daughter.

“Peter, can you take that outside please. I’d like for my office to not be destroyed. You two get too rowdy, and it always ends up with something broken.” She sighed, blowing her daughter a kiss goodbye.

“Momma ‘s not our fault.” Camilia says, her annunciation falling short due to her missing teeth.

“No baby it’s not. It's daddy’s for passing on all those awesome spider powers to you.”

Though she says it like a compliment, Peter can hear the passive aggressiveness lacing his wife's voice. It would be a lie to say it isn’t pushing a knife deeper into his stomach, his sweet girl would never have referred to him this way. So dismissive, inciting that he was a problem to her life. He shook his head and put on a smile, kissing his daughter's head. “Bye Allie, say bye momma.”

“Bye momma.” Cami waved as Peter carried her out of the office, her spider-man backpack thrown over his left shoulder.

“Okay daddy?” Camilia asked, looking up at him, her big doe eyes reflecting himself in them. Peter smiled down at his daughter, the metaphorical knife leaving his gut.

“I am perfect, Cami. How about you, are you good- wanna walk?”

“No, wanna stay here.”

She says watching the people pass by them, Peter smiles as he approaches the subway station heading down the steps. He looks down at his daughter and back ahead of the hoards of people ahead of them. He thinks that he could do this on his own, he thinks about the life he and his daughter would have had he just held out for a bit longer, and he thinks about her again. Then the doors of the subway open, and he steps on bringing himself back down to reality as his daughter talks to him about all the animals she saw on her way to ESU this morning and for the next couple hours he’s content living in this bubble. Once his daughter dozes off on his shoulder he thinks about his sweet girl once more, wondering if her number is still the same. He contemplates calling her, begging her for one last touch. Begging to have her one more time, begging her to be the mother to his child. Promising to change, to not pull back at the last second this time. Then the cart jolts, and he catches his daughter in his arms remembering the man he is.

…

May’s house is just the same as it has been for decades, except now for the first time in about 20 years there are toys scattered on the floor once again and he walks into the house surrounded by the scent of cookies.

“Nana!” Camilia yells running to the kitchen as soon as Peter put her down. Peter heard May’s gasp followed by a groan as she reached down to pick the little girl up.

“Hi May!” Peter smiled walking to the kitchen putting his keys and Camilia’s bag down on the counter.

“Hi babies.” May says kissing Camilia’s head and reaching up to kiss Peter’s cheek. Peter smiled letting his hand rest on her back. “Oh Cami let those cool.” Peter says, reaching his hand out to catch his daughter before she could grab the hot cookies.

“Okay..” She sighs, wiggling out of May’s arms, landing on her feet as she hits the ground.

“Oh she stresses me out when she does that. She gets that from you.” May laughs, wagging a finger at Peter, watching Camilia grab her bag running to the living room.

“I know I apparently gave her all her negative traits.”

“Oh who says that?” May questions, pulling the cookies off the sheet and putting them on the plate.

“Alice.”

“Well..” May points the spatula at him like she’s about to say something profound. “Oh well, maybe I shouldn’t say that.”

“No, no, let's hear it.” Peter laughs his hand on his cheek.

“Alice has more negative traits coming out her tuchus than you have in your whole body. Which one of you started fighting crime at eighteen years old, and which one of you got your daddy to pay your way through college mhm?”

May was never a fan of Alice. May was a very big fan of his sweet girl, she adored her and he knows the two still frequently talk during holidays and other times just when they feel like it. May was more devastated about their break up than he was at the time. Which couldn’t prepare him for what her reaction was about to be.

“I saw her today.”

May’s jaw dropped, as did the spatula landing on the linoleum floor. “Oh my gosh how was it, how was she? How do you feel?”

“She looked..beautiful as ever, the same as the day I left her. Older now obviously but, it was like looking at a ghost.” Peter laughed. “I got so overwhelmed..now I can’t get her out of my head, May. I just, I’m so wrapped up in what could have been. I made a mistake. I think I made a big mistake.”

“I told you that five years ago..you’re just like your uncle. Goes in one ear and right out the other until you’re ready. I swear..” May shook her head laughing, putting a cookie in Peter’s hand and several on a plate for Camilia. Peter’s lips pushed into a bittersweet smile and he nodded, his aunt was right.

“Cami, come get your snack.” Peter says. Camilia runs in and leaves so fast it’s like she never even entered the room. Peter watched her sit on the couch TV blaring to where she couldn't hear.

“You calling that little girl a mistake?”

“No, just my marriage.” It was a loaded statement. Peter had asked Alice to marry him after only six months and impulsive night after attending a friend's wedding. There was no ring, just this intense pressure to settle down and do it soon. “Camilia made it better, for a while. We both love her, we just..haven’t loved each other in quite a while.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I know.” May says. “I tried to warn you several times leading up to the wedding. Even on your wedding day. This is not love Peter. This is infatuation, infatuation wears off.”

“I thought you were just saying that because you wanted me to marry your girl.”

“My girl” was what May used to call her. Peter thought it was cute, May always wanted a daughter and she became that by extension of Peter. But he always called her angel. He couldn’t place why or how that nickname came around. Maybe because she was, to him, some type of divine entity that came to him to pull him out of that dark place. Whenever speaking to her or about her it was always angel this, angel that.

“Well..it was partially that too but I never liked Alice. She never liked me. She wouldn’t let me give you a way at your wedding because I wasn’t your biological mother and that only women are given away. Oh that made me so mad I coulda hit her, but I reframed, I kept my mouth shut.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen t’ya May.”

Peter says, reaching his hand across, holding her hand. “You are my mother. Biological or not you raised me, you know this. I wish you had told me before today, I don’t think I would have gone through with the wedding.”

“Sweet to say but you would have.”

Peter tilted his head holding his aunt's hand reassuringly. “Are you gonna see her again?” May asks.

“I’m not sure. I’d like to. I dunno if she…would want to see me again.”

“Well you didn’t hear this from me, but I don’t think she’d be too disappointed in hearing from you again.”

“Thanks May. You always know what to say.”

Peter smiled hugging his aunt kissing her head. His heart settling into his chest again felt right, and knew what to do but his brain was still screaming at him. “Come on, living room. Let’s see what Paw Patrol is up to today.”

Peter grabbed their drinks and the plate following into the living room, both of them sitting on either side of Camilia. Angel still lingering in the back of his mind.

…

May almost kept them the whole day, if Peter hadn’t caught his watch when he did he would have missed general admissions to the museum. Peter practically had to drag Camilia away from May, her begging to stay the night. Peter promised that he would message Alice about it to make sure it was okay after they got out of the museum.

“Are we gonna see the big t-rex?”

“Of course we will Cami, I’d be a terrible daddy to not let you see the dino.”

“You really would be.”

Peter laughed and rubbed his daughter's head ruffling her brown curls as they walked the steps to the science museum. “Up!” She demands whispering a please at the end, Peter caved lifting her up carrying her on his shoulders.

Showing the woman at the door their tickets, Peter smiled gratefully at her. As they walked in Camilia’s gasp could be heard, Peter smiled his eye catching what she was looking at. In the center of the room stood a banner for the new dinosaur exhibit and a small skeleton of a velociraptor next to a statue of one.

“He was about as big as you are honey.” Peter laughs.

“Cool.” Camilia smiles, her hands drumming on top of her fathers head in excitement. Peter laughed, reaching a hand up to stop her patting her small hands reassuringly. A voice rang out behind him that made him stop in his tracks.

“Picture for the Bugle?” His angel's voice rang out behind him, Peter turned around hugging his daughter's leg.

“Peter.” She smiles, she was dressed differently than what she had been earlier at the restaurant. Her brown hair clipped back out of her face, eyes looking up at him like they never lost him.

“Angel.” He whispers.

Her head tilted to the side like a dog hearing its owner's voice. She laughed, dropping her shoulders. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I was starting to think you forgot about that name.”

“Never.”

She looked at the little girl on his shoulders. “This must be the sweet Camilia you were telling me about earlier.”

“This is yes. Camilia this is-”

“Angel.” Camilia states.

“Sure yeah, we were old friends in college.”

She was almost your mother.

He refrains from speaking.

Angel smiles lifting her camera snapping a photo of the pair, Peter smiles looking past the camera and to her.

“Perfect, that's gonna go on the front page.” She hums, Peter looks confused. “Jameson put me in charge of the opening of the dinosaur exhibit and I’m writing a piece about it.”

“Since when did Jameson stop caring about hard hitting news?”

‘Since I begged him to let me make the dinosaur exhibit front page this week, and the museum is paying him to do it.”

“Now that sounds like him.”

It’s silent for a moment and Peter feels all his emotions building up like vomit in his throat, no way to stop it.

“Do you like dinos, Angel?”

Camilia asks looking down at the lady, Peter smiles, pulling his daughter off shoulders holding her to be eye level.

“I do.”

Before Peter could stop himself, the words fell out of his mouth. “You should walk it with us. Cami could easily be our tour guide.”

“You know what I’d love too.”

“Great.”

Peter nodded at her, as soon as the words left him Camilia’s feet hit the ground. her hand grabbing Peter and Angel’s, smiling up at them as she begins to drag them into the start. Angel’s smile lit his insides on fire just like at the restaurant, just like all those years under the tree on the west courtyard at ESU.

This could only end in one big glass shattering way, as it did all those years ago.

Taglist- Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!!

@helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @moonyslove78 @a-lumos-in-the-nox @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

#tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter smut #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm fic #peter parker fanfiction #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem #peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #andrew garfield x reader #tasm peter parker x oc

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marblemoovt · 1 year

Text

Cowboy Riding - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Porn With Plot, AFAB Reader, Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Slight Praise Kink, Slight Degradation Kink, Bathtub Sex, Pet Names (Love, Pet, Darling).

Summary:

Working two jobs to make ends meet, you keep running into a certain cowboy.

------

His words snap you out of your daze. “Tell me, love. Have you ever ridden before?” It’s a random question, but maybe this is his attempt at small talk. You search his eyes but can’t decipher the emotion they hold.

“I don’t own a horse, but I can ride one,” you reply. You can barely afford for yourself, let alone another creature. One day you’ll scrounge up enough money and get the hell out of this town. But for now, you remain stuck. Stuck pouring drinks. Stuck dealing with drunkards. Stuck bathing adult men who can’t seem to bathe themselves.

“What about a cowboy? Ever ridden one of those?”

Note:

I can't believe I finished this. I probably should have waited until after my first final, which is on the 10th, but oh well.

I'm still learning how to write smut. I struggle a lot with it because I'm so used to reading other people who write it beautifully. But you know what, if I keep writing, one of them's bound to turn out decent lol. Just pray to the rng gods.

Since this is my first fic for Ghost, I wasn't sure how to capture his character, especially since this is in a cowboy setting.

Thank you @pipops for introducing me to cowboy!ghost

Am I projecting my red dead redemption 2 hyperfixation on this? Maybe.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Bang!

The saloon doors slam open as a body flies in and collides with a table. The splintering of wood catches your attention from the bar. You set down the glass you were drying. The patrons erupt into hushed whispers as everyone cranes their heads to get a good look, but no one moves. Sighing, you walk around the counter to check if the poor soul is still alive. You knew you shouldn’t have picked up this shift, but the other bartender begged you to cover for them. Plus, there’s a nice revolver you have your eye on.

The creak of the floorboards fills the silence in the room. Upon closer inspection, the heap of debris and limbs is an unconscious, but very much alive, man. You kick his shin but receive only a groan in response. Your boss is not going to be happy about this. As you roll up your sleeves, the doors swing open, and a shadow looms over you.

“Hands off,” a gruff voice locks your body in place. Turning your head, you meet a broad chest. Huh. You crane your neck, and there’s a skeleton glaring at you. Your lips are glued shut, words trapped by an invisible seam. His eyes are dark; they remind you of coal that has been set aflame. Maybe that’s why his gaze feels scalding. Despite being autumn, the room is unbearably hot.

Without another word, the mysterious stranger picks up the unconscious man like a sack of potatoes and slings him over his shoulder. He turns to exit, but you grab his vest. He stares at you in silence. You look at the broken furniture and swallow the lump in your throat. The fear of having your pay docked pries your lips apart.

“You need to pay for that,” and you point at the heap of wood. For a second, you think you’ll end up like that man: battered and unconscious. Arms thick like tree trunks and a frame that hulks yours. You don’t stand a chance, but that’s why guns were made. You eye the shiny pair of revolvers around his waist and grimace. Let’s hope he’s a terrible shot.

The skeleton man grunts, “Later,” and leaves. The second the saloon doors click shut, the chatter resumes. The atmosphere returns to normal like nothing ever happened. You grumble and fetch a broom and dustpan, wracking your brain for an excuse to give to your boss.

Unfortunately, your boss is incredibly pissed. He doesn’t dock your pay, but damn, did you receive an earful. You rub your temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. But the shrill scream of your boss still haunts your eardrums. The only reason you keep this job is that the customers tip well, especially once you get them piss-drunk.

Exiting the saloon, you head to your next job at the inn. It’s not common for you to work two shifts in one day, but you’re short on money. You pass by the gunsmith and pause at the display window, looking in with a sigh. When you arrive, they assign you to the baths, your least favourite task. There’s just something repulsive about bathing strangers—men—who feel entitled to do as they please with you. Sometimes you get lucky, and they only require you to fetch items and set up the bath. Other times you have to tend to customers with wandering hands. And let’s just say you were relieved of your bath duties for a few weeks after shoving a bar of soap down a man’s throat—but not before breaking his hands!

The stairs creak underneath your weight, and you hug the basket of towels and soap to your chest. You silently pray that whoever is behind that door isn’t a complete asshole. You knock and hear a muffled “Come in.”

You open the door, and there’s a skeleton staring at you.

Fuck.

You close the door without a word. Should you leave? But you can’t not do your job. Another incident like last time and you could find yourself fired. It’s not like he remembers you, right? You crouch in front of the door with your head in your hands. What are you going to do?

The door swings open, and a shadow looms over you. “Are you coming in, or are you gonna dillydally?” His husky tone redirects the throbbing in your temples elsewhere, and you press your thighs together. “Either you get in, or I ask for a replacement.”

You shoot up and rush past him into the room. Wordlessly, you set your basket on the counter and check that the water in the tub isn’t too hot. Flicking the bubbles off your hand, you stand to the side and wait.

“Aren’t you gonna undress me?”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his. “What?” you sputter, blood thrumming in your veins.

He tilts his head. “Isn’t that your job?”

You pad over to him like a wary animal, watching for the first sign of danger to turn tail. His dark eyes remain fixed on you; they pull you closer to him. Your fingers graze his neck when you untie his bandanna. You take off his vest, your touch trailing along his broad shoulders. The air feels heavy, and your lungs ache from the pressure. Breathing in deeply, you hold it in before exhaling slowly. Your pulse continues to quicken. He never looks away from you. Even when you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes burn into the crown of your head. You pull the fabric apart and suck in a gasp. Muscles, well-defined and chiselled, wherever your gaze wanders. An array of scars litter his body like brushstrokes, and you restrain yourself from tracing every single one with your tongue.

Clearing your throat, you reach up a hand towards his mask. “Don’t.” The command is sharp, and it cuts through the building tension. You look at him with wide eyes. His grip on your wrist isn’t harsh. You’re more startled than anything. You didn’t even see him move. “The mask stays on,” he says, releasing you. You nod dumbly and fumble with the button on his pants, tugging the material down. All that remains are his undergarments. You swallow, and your throat feels like it’s covered in tar. You undress him, and he’s—almost—as bare as the day he was born. The words clog your throat. It’s not like you’re surprised since he’s a behemoth of a man. But holy shit is he also massive in other parts of his body.

He doesn’t say anything. You haven’t decided yet whether that’s a blessing or a curse. No command to touch him, no order to undress and join him. He walks around your dazed form and lowers himself into the tub. The water sloshes and spills over the sides. Bubbles obscure most of his body. Damn it. You grab a towel and a bar of soap from your basket.

Standing behind him, you dip the soap in water and lather it between your hands. Then you rub his shoulders, fingers travelling along every bump and ridge of his muscles. You start a light massage, keeping in mind to use more pressure than usual. Kneading any knots you find, a low rumble purrs from his throat, and your legs press together. His head leans back, and even in the bath, he’s almost as tall as you. Your hands move down to his biceps, and you bend over to reach them.

You take a peek at his mask and admire the white skull against the black fabric. Obsidian eyes meet yours. They steal all the air in your lungs and turn the blood in your veins into molten lava. His gaze searches your face, and there’s a rush of heat simmering beneath your skin. You blink and avert your gaze, pulling away to get the rag. Wetting the cloth, you wipe down his body. He smells like pine trees and campfires with a faint whiff of bourbon. It’s sweet and earthy—addicting. You shudder, doing your best to ignore the pulsating in your core.

“Alright there, love?” he asks. There’s a sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he rakes them over your figure. “Promise I don’t bite. Much.” You can hear the smug grin in his tone. The pool of heat in your belly bubbles and overflows into the rest of your body. The man knows exactly what he is doing to you.

“Fine,” you squeak, blaming your rise in temperature on the warm water and manual labour.

“I went to pay for the table, but you weren’t there,” he says. You stop scrubbing his arms and rewet the towel, wringing it out to buy yourself more time.

“Oh?” That’s all you manage to say. Oh. No witty remark or even a complete sentence. Just oh. You bite your lip and turn to face him. Much to your surprise, his eyes aren’t black, but a deep brown. The flicker of candlelight makes them look like pools of honey. Colour does not affect their power to hold you in place. For a brief second, you wonder how they would look between your thighs. “Were you looking for me?” you whisper.

“Not at all.” And his voice is husky, rough as the gravel on the road. It leaves you raw and wanting. You drag the towel across his chest, feeling his pulse beat steadily beneath your fingertips. Your heart is thumping in your ears, twice the rate of his. Trailing down between the valley of his pecs, you wash his abdomen. It feels like you’re cleaning a statue, albeit a squishy one. You hesitate to go further.

He stops you. “I can take it from here,” and he takes the towel. You stand back, fiddling with your fingers now that they have nothing to hold. The splash and drip of water fill the void of silence.

“How’s that man?” you find yourself asking. “The one you carried away.”

“In jail,” he responds. Simple and short. The silence stretches. You fidget with the buttons on your sleeve, picking at them until you force yourself to stop in fear of loosening the thread.

When the quiet becomes too much, you ask another question. “Was he bad?”

He shrugs. Beads of water roll off his collarbone and down his chest. “Don’t know, don’t care. Had a pretty bounty on his head, and that’s all that matters.” Your head perks up. Bounty hunting always fascinated you, but you have neither the equipment nor the skills for it.

“You’re a bounty hunter?” You step closer to the tub, fingers grasping the metal rim.

Amusement glints in his eyes. “When I want to be.”

His answer is vague; too vague now that your interest has been peaked. “What else do you do then?” you ask, leaning forward in excitement.

There’s barely any white beneath the skull mask. You’re treading in an ocean of coffee with nothing to keep you afloat. You would risk drowning if it meant having his gaze on you for a moment longer. He examines you and cocks his head. “Do you do this with everyone you bathe, or am I an exception?”

The question catches you off guard. You can’t remember the last time you worked a bath where the company was enjoyable. “Just haven’t seen you around before, that’s all.”

He chuckles. It’s low and sinful. You know the sound will repeat in your head later tonight once you’re alone in your room. “Darling, the less you know, the better.” The pet name sends a pleasant buzz through your body. The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes you bolder and drunk on impulsivity.

You tilt your face forward, your nose brushing against his mask. “Why? Would you have to kill me otherwise?” You’re joking, but the look in his eyes sends a chill down your spine. And then you remember that you know nothing about this man. You don’t even know his name.

His eyes trail down to your lips, and you almost miss how his throat bobs. “Wouldn’t that be a shame,” he mumbles. He locks his gaze back onto yours, and you inch closer. Would you have kissed by now if the mask wasn’t in the way? Your lashes flutter, lips a hair away from his face. He waits for you to make a move. Your fingers dig into the wooden boards of the tub, and your lips graze cotton. At the last second, you wrench yourself away, staring at the wooden floorboards.

Tar coats your throat once more, and the words feel like molasses on your tongue. “If you don’t need me anymore, I can head on out.”

You’re moments away from bolting, but his stern tone stops you. “No,” then a bit softer, “stay.” You peer at his eyes and relax your shoulders.

Your lips quirk into a smile, and you mock salute. “Yes, sir. I promise to be on the lookout. No one will attack you while you’re buck naked.” You pull a stool up to the side of the tub and sit.

He chuffs and rolls his eyes. “Ghost will do.”

“Ghost, huh? Unusual name,” you comment, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Yeah? Well, it’s not as stupid as Soap.” You have no idea who Soap is, but you feel sorry for them.

“Who would name their child—”

“Do you live alone?” he interrupts you.

You pause at the sudden shift in conversation. “I beg your pardon?”

“You work two jobs. No one to go home to?” And there’s that look again like he’s studying you.

You frown. “I don’t think that’s very polite of you to assume.”

He leans back and closes his eyes. “So that’s a yes, then.” You swear he’s smirking underneath that mask; he sounds too smug not to be.

You bristle, heat crawling up the nape of your neck.“Well, what about you? Got a ranch with a wife and five kids?” you snap.

He cracks open his eyes and gives you a sidelong glance. “Jealous?” he teases with a lilt in his voice. “No. I have my horse and my… brothers. That’s enough for me.”

“You don’t get lonely?” you ask.

“Never, especially not right now.” His stare is a permanent brand on your skin. You shift in your seat before getting up entirely. Grabbing the towel from him, you walk behind the tub.

You clear your throat, and he leans forward, exposing his muscular back to you. You hold your breath and trace what looks like an old knife wound. “Where did you get this?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Like I said. The less you know, the better.” You don’t press further, cataloging each scar you come across and tucking the information into the far recesses of your mind.

When you’re done scrubbing his back, the bubbles have dissipated. The water is cloudy from the soap, but you can see the long curve of his cock twitching. Your fingers itch to explore his shaft and trace every vein you find.

“What about a cowboy? Ever ridden one of those?” He looks dead serious. Is this attractive man flirting with you? Your eyes flick towards the water and fuck if you thought he was big before.

You bite your lip and walk around to his side. “Not lately,” you answer. Your fingers dip beneath the water and skim along his stomach. “Are you offering to take me on a ride?” And you’re drowning, swimming in endless depths of honey and gold. You sink deeper. Feel your blood turn to sludge as your limbs become heavy. All oxygen leaves the room when his large hands encompass yours.

“I am. Won’t throw a fuss if you decline,” Ghost murmurs. It’s an offer, not a demand. Calluses brush against the back of your hand. You pull away and take a few steps back. He nods and places his hands on the sides of the tub. Before he can lift himself out, your clothes plop onto the ground in a pile. The soft thump draws his attention, and his irises darken.

You preen under his appraising stare, rubbing your thighs together for relief. The air teases your nipples into stiff peaks, and you hear him swallow. His eyes follow the sway of your hips as you strut closer.

He sucks in a breath. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” and his voice cracks with want.

You drag a finger across his chest, feeling his muscles flex underneath your touch. Leaning into his ear, you whisper, “Is there room for one more in there?”

The groan he utters sends a spike of arousal to your core. He looks at you with blown pupils and gives his shaft a few pumps. “There’s a seat right here,” he says, and you climb into the tub to claim it. The water is lukewarm at best, but the man beneath you radiates heat. Your clit brushes against the tip of his cock, and you hiss through clenched teeth. You definitely need some preparation before attempting to take his length in you. Not only is he long, but he’s girthy too. And the thought of it splitting you apart makes you clench. You seat yourself on his thighs, his erection pressing against your stomach. His hands cup your bottom, and he kneads the soft flesh. “Gotta stretch you out first,” and his fingers spread your slick folds. Your breath hitches when he draws circles around your entrance. “Ready?”

“Fuck yes,” you respond, aching to be filled. Ghost plunges one finger inside, and your nails dig into his shoulders. One of his fingers feels like two of yours. The slight burn fizzles when he sets a steady pace, pumping his finger in and out of you. Your hips rock to match his movements. “More,” you plead.

A breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest. “As you wish,” and he adds another digit. Crescent moons mark his skin, and the sting spurs him on. He crooks his fingers to reach the spongy area on your walls. All your nerves short-circuit, and you beg him to do it again. So he focuses on that sweet spot, stroking until your vision becomes spotty. When the meaty part of his palm grinds against your clit, your walls spasm as your orgasm hits you like a stampede. He doesn’t stop, pistoning his fingers with deadly precision.

“No more, please,” you beg. You’re starting to become too sensitive. The pleasure is teetering on that fine line that separates it from pain. You try to wiggle away, but his other hand pins you in place.

“You can take it. I know you can,” Ghost coos, fingers seeking to coax another climax from you. You bite your lip and shake your head. Tears sting the corner of your eyes. Still riding your previous high, you’re dangerously close to that precipice. He adds a third finger, sending you careening off the edge. The second orgasm rips through you, electricity sparking through your veins and setting every nerve ablaze. This time he slows down and allows you to ride his fingers. Your hips roll, grinding against his palm, anything to add to the friction.

“Fuuuuck,” you moan, trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. You slide off his fingers and bring them to your mouth, licking them clean.

He groans at the sight. “Fucking hell, pet.” His hips jerk when you grip his cock, sliding your thumb across the tip. “Ride me,” he orders. The authoritative tone makes your stomach coil. His hands rest on your waist, fingertips bruising your hips. “Don’t be shy. Show me how well you can ride my cock.” His words are filthy, and you want him to kiss that dirty mouth of his.

You take in a shaky breath. “Yes, sir.” Aligning yourself, you sink down slowly. The stretch is incomparable to earlier. Even after three fingers, you’re still struggling to take him. He grunts and digs into your waist, thighs quivering with anticipation. There’s a delicious burn as your cunt stretches to accommodate his girthy length. He disappears into you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he spits out. You try to even your breathing. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, and you can feel him throbbing inside you. His tip kisses the entrance of your womb, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. “Alright there, love?” Your mind is unable to process his question. There’s a thick fog blanketing your head, and all you manage is a whimper. He chuckles and strokes your lower back. “You haven’t even started moving yet.”

Like a newborn foal, your legs struggle to support your weight. Using his thighs, you lift yourself up and sink back down. The sensation of his cock dragging along your walls knocks all the air out of your lungs. You’re eager to chase that feeling. You pick up the pace, finding a comfortable rhythm. The water around you sloshes, and waves form with each bounce of your hips. His hands trail up your body, and he brushes your nipples with his thumbs. He hums, admiring how they pebble from his touch. You shudder and lean into him, mewling when he tugs and twists your nipples between his fingers.

“You’re riding me so well, pet.” His praise is music to your ears. You want to hear more, want him to moan your name as you milk him for all he’s got. So your hips move quicker, slamming into him at a brutal pace. He’s consistently rubbing against your cervix, and you’ve already cum multiple times because of this. “Gonna kill me with that sweet cunt of yours,” he grunts.

The only thought left in your mind is to feel his seed spill inside you. And when you beg him to fill you up, the look he gives you is predatory. His hands return to your waist, and he starts using you. He uses you like an object for his pleasure. His strong arms lift you before slamming you down onto his cock, and he repeats this motion. You don’t move, too cock-drunk to do anything but take what he gives you.

All you can smell is cedar and bourbon mixed with the musk of sweat. It overwhelms you, and you don’t think you can work at the bar anymore without your arousal smouldering like the embers of a flame. A salty aftertaste remains on your tongue, and you wonder if he tastes as good as he smells. Ghost curses when you clench around him like a vice. You could listen to him make these noises forever.

He’s twitching wildly inside you, and your clit throbs alongside it. “Fuck, darling. Gonna stuff you full just like you asked. You’re filthy like that, aren’t ya? Riding a man you just met like a whore, begging him to fill you with his seed.” You clench at his words, and his amused chuckle tightens the knot in your stomach. His deft fingers find your clit and mercilessly tease the bundle of nerves. The toe-curling pleasure is too much. You’re starting to lose track of where one orgasm ends and another orgasm begins. “Again. Cum,” he commands, and your body obeys. Your vision blurs, and your heartbeat crescendoes in your ears. He’s officially ruined having sex with anyone else for you.

His hips rut into you, chasing his own high. Your walls flutter around his cock, and it throbs in response. He chants your name like a prayer, dissolving into a groan as he empties his seed inside you. Thick ropes of hot cum paint your walls. You stay seated, panting to catch your breath. His chest heaves, glistening with sweat. He admires the bulge in your stomach before gingerly unsheathing himself from you. A grimace tugs at your lips as you clench around emptiness.

Ghost steps out of the tub and dries himself with a spare towel from your basket. He gets dressed and wordlessly moves towards the door.

“Will I see you again?” you ask, clambering after him. Your knees knock together, but your grip on the tub keeps you upright. The breeze chills your wet skin, and you can barely walk. You’re worried he’ll disappear if you let him go. Like an apparition. Like a ghost.

He pauses in front of the door and looks at you over his shoulder. “Do you know how to shoot?”

“I’ve been meaning to learn—”

He interrupts you. He seems to have a habit of doing that. “Sunrise. At the lake. I’ll teach you,” and he leaves without another word.

You stagger over to your clothes and slip them on, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. When you grab the basket from the counter, you nearly drop it from the unexpected weight. Rummaging through the towels, your fingers brush against cool metal.

Inside is the revolver you had your eye on, and engraved on the barrel is a familiar skull.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

The number of headcanons and plot bunnies that spawned from my brain is insane.

Could this be an entire series? Easily. Will I write it? Probably not. Maybe eventually.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon riley smut #cod smut #cowboy!ghost #no y/n #afab reader #gender neutral reader #Simon has a large cock and you can't convince me otherwise #The 141 and Los Vaqueros live on a ranch together and you can pry that from my cold dead hands #I wrote this instead of studying #Pray for me #Time to cram for finals

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rogersideup · 1 year

Text

Late Night Talking

Mrs. Rogers

Series Masterlist

Next: The Smiley Sticker

Word Count: 7,843

Summary: Your relationship with the Avengers was a little more than one would call mysterious. Though you were officially appointed to the team, Tony and Pepper were the only ones who knew your real name and have met you in real life. You lived and operated in the compound, the same place most of the team lived yet somehow and some way none of them have ever even bumped into you in common areas... or so they thought.

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Hey pretty baby" Your sultry voice of the team's eyes away from battle soothed Steve's mind as it filled his communication device. "Did you miss me?"

He couldn't help the smile on his face, regardless of being mid battle. You could hear the rumble of his motorcycle engine followed by a few gunfire shots, and you watched the green dot of his location on your monitor screen move quickly, little red dots slacking on his trail.

"Oh I'm always missing you, sweet cheeks. I was starting to wonder when you'd show up to save the day" Steve spoke back, still focused on dodging bullets coming from behind him.

"I'm going to start by saving your life. Take a right" You told him.

He saw a clearing in the dense trees and the path he was on split into two, so he cut his wheel and and took a hard turn. Just as his back wheel made it to the new path, an explosion sounded exactly where he would've been.

"What would I ever do without you?" He asked, really thankful you caught something he didn't.

"Can't have you dying on me yet, Love. Gotta keep you alive long enough to meet you at least once" Your giggle through comms warmed his soul. "Keep riding that path straight through, you'll cross with Nat in about a quarter mile then you guys can make a run for the Jet together"

Your relationship with the Avengers was a little more than one would call mysterious. Though you were officially appointed to the team, Tony and Pepper were the only ones who knew your real name and have met you in real life.

You lived and operated in the compound, the same place most of the team lived yet somehow and some way none of them have ever even bumped into you in common areas... or so they thought. Even if they did they would have no way of knowing other than recognizing your anonymous voice.

Generally, you got along well with all of them, and your skills in hacking into enemy's intelligence saved all of their lives more times than you could count. Though they all tried to make you feel welcome and involved in their social bubble, you never accepted the invites to any post work occasions. Steve desperately wished you would.

The two of you got along like two peas in a pod. With your voice in his ear you guys would rip through missions easy-peasy. The constant banter and persistent flirtatious nicknames started through all of the Avengers listening to how you spoke to each other on comms. All of them insisted that you interacted like a married couple so frequently that you started flirting with Steve as a joke. That joke stuck so well that the only time you guys wouldn't speak to each other with pet names or romantic gestures was in serious situations.

"In order to meet me, you gotta show up" Steve told you.

"Babe, if I ever saw you in real life I think your gorgeousness would melt me into a puddle right on the spot. I gotta keep myself alive too" You were almost too quick and witty for Steve to keep up with, sometimes you even had to give him a few extra moments to formulate a response.

"I'll mop you off the floor?" He offered.

"Then who's going to be around to keep you alive?"

"This is a really slippery slope" He smiled.

He passed by Nat on the bike, so she cut in behind him and followed him straight through.

"Widow is riding your ass, she's just like me" You joked.

"Harharhar" Steve rolled his eyes. "If you want a piece of my ass, you know where I live"

"Wow, you wanna meet me so bad you're offering up America's ass? I feel so special"

"You should, honey, It's reserved just for you."

"Your Jet reservations expire in about a minute. Lay heavy on that pedal for me, Love" Right as you instructed, his little green dot started moving faster. Nat sped up to keep up with him.

"We'll make I-"

"Nuh uh. Dont focus on me, focus on getting on getting out of there safely"

"Awwww, you worried about me?"

"It's kind've my job" You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Almost there"

There was about a minute of nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and motorcycle engines, you watched them move closer and closer as the metaphorical clock counted down.

"And we're on" He informed you, and his location confirmed his statement.

"You got me holding my breath over here, Rogers" You let out a sigh of relief now that you've accomplished your mission of getting all of them rounded up for a speedy escape.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Mrs. Rogers. Thank you" He really was constantly grateful for your guidance.

"Wish you could see him, Smiles. Steve's cheeks are pink" Tony informed you once all of their comms connected into the same channel since they were all in range.

Smiles was the nickname Tony used for you and it kind've just stuck with the team. They could constantly hear the smile in your voice as you spoke to them through the channels, and Tony confirmed that's just how you was in real life too. Constant toothy smiles.

"You know I just ran like 17 miles, right?" Steve rolled his eyes at Tony.

"They weren't pink 'till she called you Love" Nat cut in earning an eruption of giggles from all the Avengers.

"You should've seen my face when he called me Mrs. Rogers. I think i'm giving red roses a run for their money" You added to bare some of Steve's burden.

"Red looks great with your complexion, sweetheart" Tony complemented.

"How about white and blue?" Steve asked Tony, earning her glorious laugh right in all their ears.

"That was a good one." You gave Steve credit where it was due. "Alrighty guys, I gotta go. You all did great. Get home safe, rest up. Love you all"

A variety of different goodbyes and love you's flooded your ears.

"Still coming over for dinner later?" Tony asked. Sometimes he liked to show off that he was the only one who got to know you in real life, so giving them breadcrumbs and hints of your friendship always had them all asking a flood of questions about what you were like in person that he would always refuse to answer.

"Depends, is Pepper going to be there?"

"Yes"

"Then yes. Tones, I'll see you at six. Everyone else, I'll smell ya later." You disconnected the call and ripped the headset off your ears before letting your head fall backwards to take some long, deep breaths. No matter how long you worked this very position, your sever anxiety never let up.

When Tony first recruited you for a position on the Avengers, your immediate response was absolutely not. Never in a million years. But after almost a full year of persistence and boarder-line harassment from Tony, you explained why you could never be an Avenger.

Every ounce of skill you had was clouded by huge, thick fog banks of anxiety. Though most of it was managed through therapy and medication, it still lingered and created an excess amount of discomfort.

The high stakes and celebrity status that came along with being an Avenger would do nothing but heighten that. It would simply kindle the flame and reverse all the work you did to make yourself functional on a daily basis.

Fortunately for you, Tony knew first hand what it was like to have that looming grey cloud. So, he made accommodations.

Private workspaces, anonymity from your colleagues, an apartment in the compound away from the Avengers private living quarters.

After lots of reassurance, you accepted.

And now with over a year and a half under your belt,you were just now starting to feel guilty for your lack of presence around the people you absolutely loved talking to.

You so badly wished that she could join Wanda and Nat for Sunday morning brunch, or go out for flights with Sam. But the worst of all, you felt like your heart was being ripped out every time Steve practically begged to meet you.

Every time you thought you were making progress towards introducing yourself to them in person, you would see one of them in passing and immediately feel a weight in your chest and your head would spin.

At this point, you felt like they all had romanticized your anonymity so much that you would be nothing but a disappointment to them. In their heads, they probably imagined a supermodel in a spandex suit and a cape. Maybe perfectly outgoing with a flirty demeanor, an extrovert who only denied time with them for lack of interest.

In your mind, you didn't fit the bill of what an Avenger typically was. When it came down to it, you were a sensitive, introverted soul. Most of your time away from work was spent on whatever special interest would provide a creative outlet, and binging movies with your friend who worked in the compound IT department. Though you were physically strong and had stamina, you certainly didn't have the superhero physique. Soft and squishy around the edges was a good compromise for yourself, you could never imagine devoting her whole life to maintaining a level of fitness and diet that took away from living you day to day life how you wanted.

Taking all of that into consideration, you didn't want to feel like who you really were would let them down. You knew that they had created a grand conspiracy about what you might've looked like and who you might've been just by you voice alone. It scared the shit out of you.

Although later that night Tony and pepper reassured you over dinner and a few bottles of wine that none of them suspected you at all, you couldn't help but to feel like they all knew. Every walk down the hallway, trip down the stairwell, and polite smile in the lobby was an interaction closer to becoming a suspect in the grand conspiracy of the mystery Avenger.

The wine flowing through your veins certain didn't help as you got dropped off from dinner at Tony's and had to make the walk through the compound to get to your apartment.

Your phone rang in your back pocket, and Tony's name popped up.

"Can't get enough of me, huh?" You answered the phone in a state of giggly drunkenness.

"You wish. I forgot to tell you about the thing tomorrow night"

“The thing?" You questioned while pressing the elevator call button. "Pretty non-descriptive for a genius, don'tcha think?"

"I'm starting to regret even telling you about the thing now." Tony stated, you could almost hear him rolling his eyes. The elevator doors opened as you laughed as his statement. Thing. What a funny word. "You still with me? Did I give you too much to drink?"

"Oh yeah" you stumbled into the elevator, blissfully ignorant of the human already inside. "I can barely even handle one glass let alone the 3 refills I caught you pouring when you thought I wasn't looking. Hey, I'm in the elevator I might lose service. "

"Cool, let me make this quick. Tomorrow night, private Avengers party in the compound. You're going. If anyone asks, you're a systems analyst technician. 8 o'clock, wear your prettiest dress. See you then, bring your friend from IT!"

"Tony! What? I'm not going to that thing!" You tried telling him but you were cut off by beeping, letting you know the call had failed.

"Floor?" A strong voice asked beside you.

You jumped a mile high and clutched your hand to your chest to try and keep your heart from running away.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you" The voice apologized.

Your drunken brain barely allowed you to see straight, but when you looked up at the man just to identify him as Steve, your heart only ran away quicker and dropped straight into the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, you felt like you were going to puke. But also, you were right. His extremely good looks had you melting into a puddle.

Self consciousness took over as you realized how you were dressed. Leggings, a big cozy sweater, sneakers, and hair in a ponytail with not a speck of makeup on your face. After a long mission, casual dinner at Tony's was tradition. You both didn't ever want to worry about wearing uncomfortable socially acceptable clothes after hours of stress. You didn't deserve to be in the presence of Steve in an outfit like this.

"I'm s-sorry" Your anxious stutter got in the way of even acting like you were fine. "Seven please"

He gave a little nod before pushing the button with a number seven on it, meanwhile you prayed that it was the end of your interaction.

You had only ever seen him in quick, few seconds long intervals. Sometimes you guys passed each other on the way to your private office, and other times you would see him walking in and out of the building while you sat at your favorite coffee shop right next door, but you had never gotten close enough to notice the small details.

The way his voice sounded straight from the source instead of muffled through the comms, his real height, the smell of his cologne, his strong energy.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but Tony as in Stark?" He questioned with an obvious friendly demeanor.

While your mind was on overdrive, his was only thinking about how the woman in the elevator with him was one of the most beautiful people he's ever seen, and he definitely wasn't going to let you get away without at least some small talk so he could make an impression.

"That's the one" You spoke quietly and kept looking down at the floor, praying he wouldn't recognize your voice.

"And he wanted you to go to a thing?" Steve kept pressing.

You so badly wished that this conversation was happening over the comms, so you could tell him to stop talking to strangers in the elevators. Maybe even smooth talk him, butter him up by calling him your baby and that his habit of being overly friendly was kind've creepy.

"Yeah, tomorrow night" You nodded. Even in your terribly anxious state, you still drunkenly laughed at the word thing.

But the pit in your stomach grew to be a lump in your throat. You didn't know if you needed more alcohol or less. Either way, you were holding back tears and vomit at this point.

"Oh nice! The Avengers party! Why aren't you going?"

This man really didn't know how to read body language, huh?

“Just busy at work, I'm sure you know how that is. Plus I'm not really much of a social butterfly" You explained.

"Stark will work you to the bone if you don't step away. Maybe going to the party and putting yourself out there can help with both those things" Steve shrugged.

Things. Why did everyone keep using that word? And why did it get funnier every time?

"What's so funny over there?" He asked with a lopsided smile.

Oh shit. Were you laughing out loud?

"Sorry- nothing. It's just........ the word thing." You explained, hoping that this elevator ride from hell would end soon.

Luckily for you, they came to a stop and the doors opened again for you to get off. You practically ran out but Steve held the door open with his forearm.

"It's a great word" He agreed. "So, will I see you tomorrow night?"

"Probably not" You shook her head and he gave you a fake hurt expression, dramatically clutching his chest.

"Right, cause you're going too busy at your job as a..."

"Systems analyst technician" thanks Tony.

"Got it. Steve Rogers by the way" He extended his hand to shake yours.

Another invasive giggle took over at the thought of him introducing himself to you. This was the same man calling you Mrs. Rogers but had no clue.

You reached out a shook his hand in a giggly anxious daze.

"Kind've put that one together. I'm-" just as you were about to say your name, you had to stop and think about it. "Drunk. Very, drunk"

He raised an eyebrow, obviously amused by the confession.

"Nice to meet you, Drunk. Hopefully you'll reconsider your choice and join us at the thing tomorrow" he smiled as the doors closed leaving you alone in the hallway.

Your artificial smile dropped as you raced back to your apartment. With shaky hands and nausea running rampant, you unlocked the door and found solace in the solitude of your own private space and your grey and white cat, Eeyore.

Your brain buzzed calculating all the possible outcomes of this situation. The only thing you could think of doing was calling Tony again.

It only rang once before he picked up.

"Seems like you’re obsessed with me" His voice did little to calm you down.

"Anthony Edward I swear to god-" you threatened.

"Woah there, Frowns. What's got your 'tude in a twist?"

"Remember that little elevator ride I was telling you about?"

"So what? You're stuck? Press the emergency call button, not me. You know, you really suck at basic survival skills" Tony said as if it was a matter of fact.

"No. You know who was in the elevator? Rogers" Your voice called attention to every ounce of panic you were feeling.

"No shit" You could hear Tony's amusement through the line. "Finally met your husband, he's a handsome guy isn't he? How red did he turn when he realized who you were?"

"This isn't funny! He didn't. At least I don't think he did. I hope he didn't, I'm panicking over here metal man"

"Oh he's more of an idiot than I thought" Tony mused.

"He kept asking me questions, why does he ask so many questions?"

"It's just what he does"

"He's going to figure it out, Tony. I can't go to that party tomorrow. He heard us talking on the phone, he knows I know you, he knows I'm drunk, and he thinks I'm a systems analyst technician whatever the fuck that means"

"Realistically, you know how many new people he meets every single day? He will probably forget all about it by tomorrow morning. You're fine, everything is going to be just fine"

"Okay, okay. Maybe you're right" You agreed.

Those words replayed over and over in your head like a mantra until the next day at two o'clock when you put your headset on to join in on an meeting about yesterday's mission.

You tried your hardest to push past the sinking feeling twisting your insides while you waited for their voices to come through, and when they did your heart sank.

"Awwww I think Steve is in looooove" Sam's voice taunted in a little song.

"Let's ask Tony about her when he gets here! You said she was on the phone with him right? I'm sure he can give you all the information you need" Natasha suggested.

"When you say she's pretty, how pretty do you actually mean?" Bucky questioned doubtfully.

"Stunning. I can't believe I've never seen her around before" Steve laid Bucky's words to rest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe you should just hang up and call out for the day. You knew they were all trying to get Steve to date, they were probably all so excited that he was talking about a girl like that.

Wait... they were talking about you.

Steve Rogers thinks you're stunning.

He thought you were stunning when you looked like that.

Instant heartburn.

How were you supposed to cut into this conversation without seeming suspicious? Act. Normal.

"Who are you talking about, my love? Me?" You joked trying your hardest to not pass out on the spot. Little did he know...

"Oooooohhhh caught red handed" Clint shouted like a grade school student.

"Steve fell in love with a drunk girl in an elevator last night" Bucky explained bluntly.

"A stunning drunk girl?" You questioned with a forceful smile, you needed to sound as normal and undisturbed as possible.

"From what we've heard" Natasha confirmed.

"Is she willing to share with me?"

"You'll always be my one and only, sweetheart" Steve reassured.

Ironic.

"Keep talking like that and you're going to have no choice but to actually marry me"

"I'll go buy you a ring as soon as this meeting lets out" he said confidently.

You could hear the door of the meeting room open and close followed by Tony's voice. "Keep it in your pants love birds, let's get to work"

The rest of the meeting went smoothly, but that didn't do anything to still your fidgeting fingers and keep your bouncing leg in place. You knew that the closer they got to the end, the sooner the banter would start up again.

Tony's routine meeting conclusion of "I think that covers it. Anything else we should touch on?" Sparked the exact conversation you were dreading.

"Yeah! Yes." Sam jumped on it as if it was slowly killing him to keep the knowledge Steve's new love internalized. "Who's the girl you were talking to on the phone last night?"

"I talk to lots of people all the time. I have no clue what you're talking about" Tony played dumb.

"Stevie boy got in the elevator with a girl who was on the phone with you. Allegedly she was beautiful and captivating enough to spark a cute little middle school crush" Nat tried to refresh his memory.

"You invited her to the party tonight" Steve added.

"Ah right, I don't think she's coming" Tony deflected.

"But who is she? What's her name?" Wanda questioned.

"Eva" Tony said bluntly nearly giving you a heart attack. Thankfully, it wasn't your real name. "Leave her alone, she's really shy and pretty tentative. I'm sure a hoard of nosy Avengers all up in her business is the last thing she wants"

"Oooh, I like her already" Clint smiled.

"I do agree that everyone should leave her alone" Steve's strong voice commanded.

"So it's settled. Leave her be. Anything else?" Tony asked.

Everyone looked around at each other, all of them shrugging their shoulders or shaking their heads.

"Alright, no more work for the day. I expect to see all of you in your best outfits tonight" Tony dismissed them.

You quickly hung up after a speedy goodbye in anticipation of hanging out with your bestie tonight. It was Friday and a half work day, of course you were absolutely buzzing to get out of there.

By the time you had made it from your office to your apartment to get ready for the rest of the day, your phone was buzzing in your pocket from texts sent by Steve.

SR: Hey Princess! You left so quick I didn't even get a chance to talk to you! How are you?

SR:Hopefully an invite to the party was extended to you for tonight? I already know you aren't going to come, but that doesn't mean I'll ever stop inviting you :P

You: Always so thoughtful, sweet boy. Maybe if I didn't already agree to sushi and sake with my bestie I would come sweep you off your feet ;)

You: Also I'm sorry! Wouldn't have left so quick if I knew you were trying to talk to me. Im doing aye okay! Have you recovered from yesterday's mission?

SR: Honestly, sushi and sake sounds so yummy and way better than another Stark party :,). I'm almost recovered but I'm so tired I feel like I could sleep for another 70 years

You: Take a nap!!! Want me to come snuggle you to sleep?

SR: I could probably benefit from some cuddles to be honest

You: Couldn't we all?

SR: Hope you have the best sushi ever

You: Hope you have the best nap ever. Sweet dreams! Love you long time :p

SR: Love you lots!!!

Once again, you put down your phone and focused on yourself. You raced to get ready and had to stop yourself from running out of the compound to fill up your starving belly.

Dinner and drinks ended up being the perfect stress reliever, but walking around and doing some shopping in the city after was definitely healing your soul. Filling in your best friend about all the recent drama within the team over warm cinnamon rolls from their favorite corner bakery left you feeling so thankful you had at least one person outside of the team you could trust and talk you through everything happening in your life. You also loved hearing all about her drama within the IT department.

By the time you were walking home, your phone was flooded with texts in the team group chat from drunk avengers who were very obviously talking about you at the party.

Sam: Smiles we're placing bets about you right now. Are you tall or short? We have $10 on the line!

Nat: has anyone seen Clint? I think he ran away

Nat: Smiles is short for sure

Clint: I'm literally looking at you right now?

Bucky: I think she's tall

Wanda: Tiny but mighty

Tony: I planned a whole party and you guys are using it as a betting race for Smiles' height? Only mildly irritating.

Bucky: Steve is grumpy. Someone find a way to get him drunk

Pepper: Smiles is short :)

Sam: ????????????????? Pepper you know her why are you placing a bet?????????

Pepper: oops

You: Oh? Should I feel offended by this?

You: Why is Steve grumpy? What did you guys do to him?

You: Did anyone find Clint?

Sam: what's your height?

Bucky: He's grumpy because he's tired and hungry LOL

You: someone feed him!!! Y'all suck

You: You guys are all in the same room! Put your phones down, weirdos!

Clint: it's a very big room

Nat: maybe he's sad that Eva isn't here :(

You: Steve blink twice if you need help

Steve: You can't see it but I'm blinking

Steve: I'm sad because Smiles isn't here

Bucky: me too tbh

Wanda: did I miss the result of the bet?

You: Sweet sweet Wanda I love you!!!

You: Im 5"2

Tony: I think that's generous

Sam: TINY

Bucky: a whole foot smaller than me

Nat: I just know you're adorable!!!!!

Tony: now everyone place bets on if you think she's pretty or not

You: Tony you suck

You: Kiss my ass

Tony: <3

Pepper: don't do that. She's beautiful. Promise

You: Is this what y'all do when I'm not around to listen? Lolololol

Bucky: How pretty?

You: Omg

Tony: Smiles and Steve would make a cute couple

Steve: that's good! We already are a cute couple so this conversation is pretty unproductive

You: You tell 'em baby <3

Clint: what color hair do you have?

Sam: and eyes

You: Wanna know my bra size too?

Sam: well Steve does need to know what size lingerie to buy you for your wedding night ;)

You: We're already married

Steve: got her name changed to Smiles Rogers last week

Bucky: Steve is still grumpy

Nat: Clint is still missing in action

Clint: I'm at the bar

You: Don't worry, Stevie baby. I'll take care of you <3

You: Clint I'm going to put a location tracker on your ass

Sam: thank god. Someone needs to turn his frown upside-down.

You: You guys put your phones down and enjoy the party, I'll brb ;)

A few more stops around the city and a stealthy walk around the compound praying you wouldn't get caught, you curated the perfect plan to get Steve exactly what he wanted.

After making sure everything was in place, you quickly fled the scene to insure you wouldn't get spotted by any avengers as it happened since you had to approach a waitress at the entrance of the party to make it happen.

Sure, Steve was admittedly grumpy. But that didn't stop him from plastering a fake smile across his face while socializing with people he barely knew for hours on end. It's not like his shortening fuse and grumbling tummy was plaguing the rest of the mood for everyone else, so why Bucky kept choosing to bring it up was completely unbeknownst to him.

Besides, he was justified. Who would throw a party with just alcohol? No food, no snacks.

Maybe if he was a little better slept, being hungry wouldn't have made him so irrational. But what he wasn't admitting out loud was that he hadn't had any peaceful sleep since their last mission. His last night of sleep was full of constant interruptions and an occasional nightmare, and the nap he tried to take to make up for it had the same result.

So when a waitress approached him frantically with furrowed eyebrows and a shaken look on her face, he didn't even know if he was annoyed that his superhero status made him so approachable for help, or if he was happy to leave the party by any means.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Captain Rogers but something weird is happening and I don't know what is is or wh-" She rambled with a seemingly nervous buzz.

"It's alright, what happened?" He comforted the girl who couldn't have been older than seventeen. She looked like a young child to him.

"There's a person walking up and down the halls of where all the avengers rooms are. I think it was a girl but they had a hoodie on I couldn't really tell. They were being super creepy, jiggling all the doorknobs and trying to enter codes into the keypads. None of the doors opened but they left a package and I'm just really worried about it" She spoke at a hundred miles per hour. He could barely even get his brain to focus on her words through the thumping music and loud chatter around the room.

"I'll go look into it right now. Thanks for letting me know" He reassured her before pushing his way through the sea of people and exiting the noisy crowd into the solitude of their private living space.

The thumping of the music was now only a distant mumble and his shoes against the floor were the loudest noise around him. It brought him an odd amount of comfort as he snuck through the very halls the waitress had seen the suspicious person wandering.

Sure enough, the person was gone but there was a package. A brown paper bag right in front of his door.

He approached slowly, full of apprehension as his brain though of all the worst case scenarios of what could possibly be inside.

Was it a bomb? Perhaps disembodied limbs? A death threat?

But the closer he got, he noticed a little card with his name written in the neatest handwriting he's ever seen sticking out of the top.

It eased his suspicions a bit, but he still stood back as far as he could while peeking his head forward to look inside the bag.

Sushi and sake.

He threw his head back with a smile and a sigh of relief when he realized who it was from, and the concerned waitress was just a trap.

He unlocked the door and walked in his room before kicking off his shoes and opening the card inside.

My dearest husband, Steve~

Sorry for the little production, had to find a way to get you out of there! Hope this helps your bad case of the grumpies ;) Love you, mean it!

~ your wife, Mrs. Smiles Rogers

Steve happily accepted the excuse to end his appearance at the social event and spend the rest of his night eating alone and indulging in a good book.

However, after his belly was full and he had showered, he could barely even get his mind to focus on the book in his hands. His mind kept running off to the conversations the team regularly had about Smiles. In hindsight, he felt guilty.

There had to be a reason why you chose to stay hidden away from them, and there were so many valid reasons to choose that for yourself. He couldn't imagine that being easy, and he also knew that even with distance between them, you made the avengers feel loved and cared for.

You had the sweetest soul and just your voice alone had the ability to sooth the nerves of in-battle superheroes while also being commanding enough to get shit done. Smiles felt special regardless of what you looked like, he knew that with full confidence.

So when the whole team placed stupid bets on your height, or hair color, and even regularly begging Tony to tell them more about the way you looked, he couldn't help but to feel a little angry at them. Sure, it was fun to visualize what a person they loved could possibly look like, but boiling your worth down to physical attributes was wrong.

He didn't know if it was his own guilt or faulting mood that craved the comfort of a conversation with his favorite teammate, but either way his hands were dialing your number faster than his brain even thought about it.

"Hello?" The familiar voice came through, instantly putting a smile on his face.

"Hey, baby" He giggled, it was obvious you didn't check collar ID before picking up.

"Oh! Hi, cutie" Your smile was obvious now and your mood seemed to have dramatically changed. "Didn't realize that was you calling. I just assumed it was Sam or Bucky calling me again"

"Again?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, they called like 10 minutes ago. Something about wanting to know if I had curly or straight hair." You explained.

"Oh man, they're really laying in on you tonight huh, Sweetheart?" Steve sighed.

"It's alright" You shrugged even though you knew he couldn't see it. "I'd be curious too, I can't really blame them. How are you feeling? Better?"

"So much better, all thanks to you. I feel like I owe you a billion dollars for getting me out of there alone. Thank you so much"

"Oh stop it" You giggled. "I know how much it sucks to be stuck in a social situation when you aren't feeling the best. It's our duty to look out for each other."

"Well I think you're an angel sent from heaven above, and I appreciate you more than you'll ever know"

"You're making me blush over here! Anything for you, baby."

Both of your laughter took over before you caught you composure again and a small comfortable silence took over. It was like you guys were both weighing out the pros and cons of bringing up the slightly heavier topics you wanted to talk about. But, you pushed past the slight racing in your heart and tried to be brave for the sake of making sure he was genuinely alright.

"Bucky mentioned you were tired, what happened to that nap you were supposed to take?" You questioned sympathetically.

It was almost like you already knew the answer, yet for some reason, Steve always felt safe talking to you. Sometimes he found himself telling you about things he didn't even tell Bucky.

"To be quite honest, I don't really know." He sighed. "No matter how tired I get I just can't sleep, and when I do sleep it's not great."

"You should ask Tony to install an off and on switch connected to your brain" You suggested.

"You're so right. That's brilliant. Do you have one?" He questioned.

"Nope. Unfortunately for me my brain is always on. I'm very familiar with sleep issues" You explained. "Bold of me to assume your dreams haven't been too sweet?"

"Not bold at all. I think that mission got to me, I'm not even really sure why. It's not like it was a particularly bad one" He admitted.

"I'm pretty sure all missions are bad missions" You though out loud. "You know...... not to be drab or anything"

“You're right, maybe I'm just desensitized to it"

"Ground work is not fun, it makes me sad you guys have to do it so often. And I hope that nothing ever gets bad enough that I have to join you guys out there" Your tone was sympathetic, but it was interrupted a few times by tiny high pitched meows.

"Hold on, there's so much to unpack" Steve laughed. "Do I hear.... a cat?"

"Yes Sir" He could hear that constant smile come back. "A very needy and annoying cat that's trying to convince me that he's starving even though I see food in his bowl right now"

"What?! I thought we weren't allowed to have pets?" He jealously questioned.

"You guys aren't allowed to have pets, but apparently Tony thinks I'm special"

"Apparently! What's his name?" Steve couldn't help but to smile at the wholesome image of you on the phone with a little cat stepping all over you trying to earn some attention.

"Eeyore! He always has this little grumpy expression on his face, hence the name" You explained.

"I'm so jealous! I wish I could have a cat" He pouted like a child as the meows turned into content purrs.

"Have you asked Tony?"

"I ask him like once every two months"

"Did you know if you see a therapist you can get a note and qualification for an emotional support animal? Then legally Tony can't say no" You said smugly.

"Is that how you got to be so special?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Therapy all the way, baby" You confirmed his suspicions.

"Okay, next question. Have you ever done groundwork?"

"Only twice and decided right on the spot that my particular set of skills is more beneficial in an environment I can concentrate in. I'm fully trained for emergencies though, so if all of humanity is on the avengers shoulders you guys will be seeing me up close and personal" You explained.

"Well in that case I hope I never meet you" He joked.

"Same here! I'll just keep admiring you from a distance"

"That implies you see me on the regular" Steve poked, wondering how often he's around you while being completely unaware.

"You know what? Not as often as you might think!"

"No? I'd assume at least once a day."

"I don't even remember the last time I saw you." You lied in hopes of dissolving any tiny suspicions that elevator Eva might've been you. "Are you sure you even still live here?"

"Oh I'm positive. Because if I didn't, maybe if actually be getting some sleep." He pointed out.

"Touché."

"I have a question for you, and I hope it's okay to ask, but does it bother you when everyone asks questions about what you look like?" He sounded hesitant and boarder-line sad about it.

"Most if the questions don't bother me, but I'm not particularly a fan of Tony asking everyone if they think I'm ugly. He's lucky I knew he was joking or else I'd actually beat his ass" Your answer earned a hum in agreement from Steve as you contemplated on letting him in more.

You knew he had a heart of gold, nothing you could say to him would be held against you and he certainly wouldn't use it to dig around to find more information about you.

"The part that actually bothers me is that I can't answer. It makes me sad to rain on the parade. I wish I could answer all the questions and be with you guys all the time but I can't." You elaborated.

"Well I certainly don't think you're raining on any parades, sweetheart." The amount of sincerity in Steve's voice made you smile and your tummy flip. "If it starts to bother you too much, just let me know and I'll yell at them."

"I don't think any yelling needs to happen." You giggled, followed by some shuffling sounds.

"Whatcha doinnnnnn?"

"Mmmmmmmm I'd tell you but I think you're going to make fun of me." Your sweet voice contemplated.

"Me? Make fun of my wife? Never!" He was fake offended.

"Okay, then I'll tell you."

"Let's hear it!"

"I just got into bed and buried myself into a mountain of blankets." You admitted.

"Okay then I can't really make fun of you even if I wanted to because I'm doing the same exact thing right now." Steve smiled.

"Wow, we really are soulmates. Huh, handsome?"

"Seems like it, Lovie."

Even as it started getting late, you guys stayed on the phone for hours. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, your chit-chat was helping him ease all the residual anxiety and preemptive nerves of a night full of terrible dreams. But eventually, he fell asleep.

When the comfortable silence turned into even, soft and steady breaths, you knew he had lost the battle. Nothing made you happier knowing that you had lulled such a gentle giant to sleep- even if it was unintentional.

That night, the nightmares never showed up which Steve was thankful for. When he woke up the next morning slightly confused as to when exactly he fell asleep, he realized that talking to Smiles was the absolute highlight of his day.

Over the course of a few months, that same phone call became routine. Right before bed, you would wait for your phone to ring and the two of you would talk about everything under the sun and absolutely nothing at all. You guys spoke about your days, simple pleasures, complex issues, how much you loved your work, how much you hated your work, and even your love lives (or lack there of).

The more comfortable you became around him, the more you contemplated on adding him to the small group of people who knew your true identity. It was getting especially hard to keep him away when he would ask the cutest questions with his raspy, sleepy voice as he drifted off to dreamland.

Each question always started with a genuine "you don't have to answer, but...". And each one usually involved when you would see him. He wondered where you saw him walking around the most, if you had ever even been to the Avengers private sector of the compound, and most importantly if you two had ever had a face to face conversation.

Since it had been a few months post elevator incident and he had finally stopped talking about 'Eva' you answered with an honest yes but nothing more descriptive than that. He respectfully asked more about that interaction but nothing that would give away exactly when and where it had happened. It was playful, and he loved teasing you about it.

"I know you're lying to me" Steve laughed with a smile, thankful you couldn't see his face turning red.

"I'm not, but you can believe whatever you want Pretty Princess" You made fun of the nickname Steve was stuck on tonight.

"Sweetheart, I'd recognize that pretty little voice anytime of the day. There is no way I looked you in the eyes and held a conversation without knowing" He insisted.

"Oh so you do know me! Where'd we meet?" You questioned while shaking your head with a smile.

"We didn't. You're lying"

“I shook your hand too" You happily added fuel to the fire.

"You shook my hand?!?!?" His voice was twice as loud as he shouted that statement. Drama queen. "Now you're really lying"

"How many hands do you shake a day, baby?"

"A lot." He said bluntly. "What color was I wearing?"

"White" You immediately answered knowing he was trying to call your bluff.

"I always wear white" he complained.

"It looks good on ya!" You complemented. "I just winked by the way."

"I gathered that." He reassured.

You readjusted your blankets for maximum comfort, completely unaware of the silence that fell over them. Your tired eyes stayed closed and your phone resided on the unoccupied pillow next to your head.

"You falling asleep on me, sweet girl?" He questioned.

"Mhm, I'm drowning under the weight of my own lies" You mumbled into the pillow as Eeyore made himself cozy on your back. He curled up into a little ball so you were pretty much stuck laying on your stomach.

"Punk"

"Jerk" you rolled your eyes.

Comfortable silence took over, both of your brains were running far away into the vast planes of dreamland, minds forming half conscious thoughts at a mile a minute... too lazy to verbalize any of them.

That was until you had one that you couldn't quite keep to yourself. He just made you too damn happy. "Honey?" You whispered, hoping he wasn't asleep yet.

"Yes, sweetheart?" He questioned, voice deep and raspy.

"One day, I'm going to be able to give you the biggest hug in the world." You told him.

A big smile smeared across his sleepy face at your words. "That'll be the best day of my life."

"Your life?!" You emphasized.

"The whole entire thing." He confirmed. "And whenever you come give me the biggest hug in the whole world, I'm going to give you the biggest hug in the universe... you know that?"

"Sounds amazing." You pulled the blankets around you even tighter. "You know I would if I could."

"I know, I know." Steve reassured sympathetically. "There is never any pressure, Baby. I find comfort knowing you're only one call away, really, that's already so close."

"And when our phones go out in the middle of the night, we're only a few floors away in the same four walls." You agreed.

"To me, that feels like a hug." Steve let you know. "The biggest one in the whole wide world."

"Maybe the universe." Those three words were the last you managed to mumble out before sleep forcefully washed over you.

Although Steve knew deep down he was going to be let down eventually, he couldn't help the warm and fuzzy feeling that basked in his brain and swirled around tummy at the act of falling asleep to such a lovely voice every single night. It felt domestic and vulnerable, like it was always meant to be that way.

He didn't even know when it happened, but at a certain point he didn't even have to try anymore. The romantic sentiments and pet names just rolled off his tongue without second thought. At its height, he found himself daydreaming about what it might be like to actually meet you one day. He knew it probably would never happen, but for now he was happy knowing that the distance between you was so small that it was practically an illusion.

Next: The Smiley Sticker

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