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bensolosbluesaber · 11 months

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Nowhere to Run: Part 2 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)

Read Part 1 Here

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader

Warnings: Miguel helps reader through a panic attack (descriptions based on my own experiences but not necessarily perfectly written down), mentions of isolation and isolation-related trauma, references to child loss, scars

Summary: Living in Nueva York and working with the Spider Society is pretty great... except for Miguel O’Hara, the man who injured you, saved your life, and now refuses to speak to you. Luckily, Peter B. Parker loves interfering in Miguel’s life, so when you’re at your lowest, it’s Miguel who is there to help you through it. ~ 2,200 words

Angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending

A/N: This is still dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok as well as the people leaving the comments. There are light spoilers for AtSV (I made up an ending for BtSV since this is set after that).

Two Months Later…

Miguel O’Hara kept his promise. His Spider Society ran all kinds of tests, searching for an explanation for the rapid evolution that provided your the ability to travel the multiverse. Best they could guess, you had been close to the epicenter of your world’s implosion, close enough to absorb some of the energy leaking from what was essentially a black hole devouring the universe.

Another Spider-Woman had given you a more advanced goober - no, gizmo - to keep you from glitching and destabilizing the place they called Nueva York. It was Miguel’s home, she’d explained, and the home base of the Spider Society that kept watch over the multiverse. You’d started volunteering for missions with them, happy to be doing some good. It made you feel like a hero again, like there was a point to all the sacrifices that led you here.

But you hadn't seen Spider-Man 2099 since he dropped you off at a Nueva York hospital and huffed an order to “make sure she gets stitched up, and for god’s sake, get her some food.” That was two months ago.

“I can’t believe you bring a kid here.” You waved to Mayday who was sitting on her dad’s lap and trying to steal his food with her webs. For some reason, Peter had given her a web-shooter… as if toddlers weren’t difficult enough.

“Neither can I, honestly. But she loves these guys. Especially Miguel.” He frowned and took a bite of empanada. “She’s borderline obsessed with Miguel actually. I think it’s because he has such climbable shoulders. It’s good for him to see her too.”

“Meaning?”

“Ah nothing.” Peter waved off your question.

An awkward pause filled the space between you and Peter B. Parker. Just ask him, you told yourself.

“Is Miguel avoiding me?” Blunt. Right to the point.

“Ummmmm…” He drug out the word for far too long, looked to his daughter for help, seemed to remember she couldn’t do more than babble random sounds, and then sighed heavily. “Yes. He feels bad about…” Peter gestured broadly to you. “About a year ago we had a little situation with this kid - I mentored him. Good kid. Smart,” Peter added proudly. “This kid, Miles, made Miguel rethink a lot of things. We started handling anomalies... differently, a bit more gently.”

“He calls this gently?” You touched your scarred shoulder.

“Ummmmm… no.” Peter scooped Mayday out of the air where she was now dangling from the ceiling. “You freaked him out pretty bad. I mean you are a huge anomaly. Dangerous. He sort of, uh, how would those kids say it? Oh, yeah, he ‘went off the deep end.’ You should hear him tell the story.”

Mayday babbled incoherently.

“Yes ma’am, it does all seem a bit romantic when he tells it doesn’t it?” Peter cooed to Mayday then grinned at you.

You blinked once. Twice. Romantic?

Mayday went zipping away. Peter stood and sighed.

“Gotta get this kid, but I’m sending him to see you.” He took off after his daughter who was expertly navigating a minefield of other Spider-People (and animals). “Promise!” Peter tossed over his shoulder.

You seriously doubted Peter B. Parker would be able to convince Miguel to talk to you. And that was just as well because by the time you made it back to your room, it was turning into one of your bad nights. It was illogical. How could you could be fine for and suddenly a panic-stricken nightmare-ridden mess one random night? But then, the human mind is an enigma even to itself, the traumatized mind even more so.

It happened when you walked into your room and found yourself suspended in complete darkness. You followed the same routine every night, but today was different. Blackness surrounded you and closed in. You could see nothing, not even the hand in front of your face, and something tightened in your chest, clamped down on your lungs. For a second, you had control of the thing, were reaching for the light switch. Then you were spiraling.

Your mind was no longer in your safe room in Nueva York surrounded by the Spider Society who had taken you in and protected you and even become your friends. No. It was trapped in the silent and endless darkness of a collapsed universe, utterly alone, smothered in deafening silence. Your breath came in rapid, shallow pants, and you stumbled back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sat down on the soft mattress, drew up your knees, wrapped your arms around yourself, bowed your head, and tried to breath through it.

Caught in your panic attack, you didn’t even hear two familiar voices arguing, or see the light from the hallway fall across the room as the door was pushed open, or notice the shadows that loomed in the doorway.

“I know what you’re doing, Peter,” Miguel snarled.

“I’m not doing- why’s the door open?”

Miguel noticed you first. The dim room was the perfect environment for his sensitive eyes to make out your hunched form and trembling shoulders. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of you, an act that confirmed every one of Peter B. Parker’s suspicions. He watched for a moment from the doorway before taking a step back and closing the door with a click. Miguel had this under control. He was sure of it.

A deep voice, gravelly as if it were being drug over stones whispered your name. It wrapped around you, held you tight, and pulled you above the thrashing waves. That crushing feeling in your chest relaxed ever so slightly, and finally, you managed a deep breath. Then a second. It’s okay now. The worst is over.

After the third breath, you looked up and searched the dark room in a search of the voice’s owner.

Two dimly glowing red orbs shone in the darkness. You knew exactly one person with red eyes. Slowly, your own eyes adjusted, and the broad outline of Miguel O’Hara materialized. He wasn’t wearing his usual vibrant suit, just a dark colored sweater. Even kneeling on the ground he was still tall enough to be eye level with you. The two of you stared at each other for a long second before Miguel slowly raised a hand and... and brushed his thumb across your cheek?

What was happening? All you could do was blink stupidly at him, but when you didn't shy away he brought his other hand to your face. He smoothed his thumbs over your cheeks. He was wiping away your tears so gently and with such concern it seemed impossible. His hands were soft, softer than they had any right to be, and those dangerous claws that had done so much damage to you earlier were nowhere to be seen.

“You’re safe. You’re here with me.” Miguel’s voice was so commanding; he was obviously accustomed to giving order, but that actually made it more reassuring. “I’m here.”

I’m here. For some unexplainable reason those words reassured you more than anything. You didn't even think, just did. You slid forward on the bed and buried your face in the broad muscles of Miguel’s shoulder. His sweater was as soft as anything you could have imagined, and his warmth seeped through the fabric. He smelled like fresh laundry and something more woody and musky.

Miguel haltingly wrapped his arms around you, awkward at first, before he pulled you in closer. He held you like that for several long minutes, running his hands across your back and drawing small circles with fingers until your breathing synced with his.

Since coming to this place, the most physical contact you had with anyone was the occasional hug or handshake or Mayday crawling up your arm. Before that it was Miguel holding you in the rain while he sucked his venom - you had confirmed that it was venom - from your body. Before that you had been trapped in a collapsed universe or on the run. Before that... well, being Spider-Woman was a lonely job.

To be held like this was the most comforting experience you had in longer than you cared to remember. You didn’t want to let go. Even when you realized that in this position Miguel was kneeling between your legs you didn’t let go.

Eventually, he shifted with a quiet huff. You pulled back immediately. What were you doing? Miguel definitely didn’t want you all over him. What could you have possibly been thinking, using the man who actively avoided you for comfort?

Miguel stood and stretched. You looked away, suddenly self-conscious.

“Thank you. I’m okay now,” you muttered.

That was an obvious lie. The man tilted his head as he gazed down at you. He knew what this loneliness was like, how it felt to have wallowed in solitude for so long that you forget how to feel anything but alone. His eyes shifted to your shoulder where a tank top did nothing to hide the four long scars he had left in your skin. You tracked his gaze and immediately tried to cover them with your hand.

“I’m okay,” you repeated, hinting that he could go even though part of you - an insane, irrational, needy part of you - wanted him to stay.

Miguel ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair with a sigh before sitting down, uninvited, on your bed. Next to you. He sat down next to you. On your bed.

Miguel O’Hara was handsome. You never denied that, especially now while he was inches from you smelling the way he smelled and radiating much needed warmth. The temptation to lean into him was strong, but not strong enough to override your embarrassment that he, of all the Spider-People, had seen you at your lowest point.

“I thought you were jumping through the Arach- the Spider-Verse with bad intentions. I had no idea you were running… from me.” The explanation came out of nowhere. Miguel turned to look down at you. “You had the potential to cause a lot of damage, and I panicked. I forgot you’re one of us, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Another long pause. “My claws have never poisoned anyone before.”

The apology was genuine, you could hear it in his voice. Some invisible barrier between the two of you shattered then.

“Are you saying you didn’t mean to kill me with your venomous talons, you only meant to seriously maim me with your regular talons?” You could feel a smile growing as you tried joking with him.

Miguel looked back at the bed spread. Should you? Was this a good idea? You threw caution to the wind and leaned over to bump your shoulder against Miguel’s.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve all made mistakes. Glad I was threatening enough to scare you like that.”

“That’s not what- okay.”

“You can look at them. If you want, I mean.” You nodded to your scarred shoulder.

Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, Miguel smoothed a finger over the scars. They were deep and jagged, but had healed rather well all things considered. His hand on your neck startled you for a moment before you realized what he was doing. Four tiny scars from his fangs still decorated your skin, and he was tracing his thumb over each one.

Miguel felt you swallow, realized what he was doing, and then froze. A single second stretched into an eternity during which you could confront every thought racing through your head. He’d chased you for months, but he had a good reason. He’d hurt you. Then he saved your life. There was that thing Peter said about Mayday being good for him. And Miguel’s sad eyes and ever-present frown. And how warm he’d felt while he held you. And the ripples of muscle across his entire body.

He’d kept his promise not to send you back. And he was handsome. Handsome and sad. So instead of pulling away and kicking him out and going back to avoiding each other, you leaned into him.

There was nothing awkward about Miguel’s movements this time. He wrapped an arm around you and maneuver you both until you were laying down, curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist.

“What is going on?” You whispered.

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Miguel whispered back.

“Okay, but why?”

“Because... because I know how it feels to lose everyone and have no one to hold you.”

You looked up at him then. He was staring at the ceiling, some memory you couldn’t see dancing across his eyes. Peter said Mayday was good for Miguel then refused to answer any more questions. The frown lines. How ferociously he protected the multiverse. Mayday was good for Miguel. Mayday. The kid.

It hit you then, and it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Miguel had lost his family, probably in circumstances not too different from your own. You wanted to know everything about the Spider-Man with the fangs and venom and the saddest eyes you had ever seen. Not now though.

Already, you felt sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness, a sense of safety and comfort brought on by Miguel’s presence.

“You could stay until I wake up,” you offered drowsily and splayed a hand across his chest. “If you want.”

Miguel ran his fingers lightly over the back of your hand.

“I think I might.”

A/N: There is a teeny tiny potential for an 18+ Part 3. No solid plan yet, but possible. Thanks for all the love on this fic!

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run2yoongi · 1 year

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after hours | myg x reader

for whatever reason, your boss liked to work you to the bone. your countless hours of overtime and extra work never seemed to tide him over, he always expected more. after a year, your patience was wearing thin, so you finally decide to ask him what it is exactly he wants.

↳ pairing: boss!yoongi x reader

↳ setting: office worker au, kinda angsty, smut

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, bondage, unethical power dynamics/abuse of power, degradation, unprotected sex (dont do it bbyz), hurt and comfort, dacryphilia, mean dom!yoongi, teasing, spanking, creampie, no aftercare, female prefixes for reader (miss).

↳ side note: word count is 3.3k!

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"goodnight!" your coworker called out over his shoulder, waving at you as he rounded the corner and left you alone in your cold, clinical office. you hadn't even bothered to look away from your screen, just humming in response. you were tired. exhausted, if you were being honest with yourself.

you couldn't afford to be honest with yourself though, you didn't have the time. your boss, min yoongi, had asked you to send another updated report to him due in twenty minutes. you were scrounging through emails, looking to find a reference number that you knew your coworker probably hadn't even thought to send to you. it was getting impossible.

you glanced over to the corner of your desktop screen to check if you'd missed yet another dinner with the guy you'd been seeing on and off again for the last year.

7:12pm

not only were you meant to meet him at 7, but you were meant to finish work at 4. before you could even let out a frustrated sigh and search for your phone to apologise, you felt the weight of a hand rest on the back of your chair, tilting you backward, making you lose your balance.

your panicked eyes flew up to the perpetrator, coloured with a mix of anger and confusion. "do i need to enroll you in training for how to sit in a chair now?" yoongi spoke, an arrogant smirk tugging on his lips. if only he wasn't your boss, you'd think about slapping him.

you gathered yourself and swiftly sat upright, twirling the chair around slightly to break his grip. it had been over a year yet, you were still stunned by how beautiful your boss is. his dark hair was swept softly behind his ears, allowing the harsh office lighting to highlight the peaks of face, his nose and cheekbones. you'd accepted the job offer the second he'd extended it. how could you refuse a face like that?

you remembered how soft his lips looked when he'd smiled at you for the first time, right when you came in for your interview. if you'd known then that you'd be working 11 hour days, maybe you'd have realised that he was likely smiling because you'd fallen right into his trap.

"how's the report coming along?" he asked as his smirk faded into a stern line. you sighed, glancing back at your monitor. "i'm just looking for one last item, and i'll be done." you explained, attempting to keep the fatigue out of your tone to no avail.

"you're still new, but you should be working on your efficiency, y/n." he sighed, shifting his weight to lean on your desk. you swallowed the anger growing in your throat, nodding in response. "yes, sir." you bit the inside of your cheek, lost for words at his condescension. silence filled the room, and the tension in your stomach was growing unbearable.

what the fuck did he want from you?

none of your other coworkers had to submit daily reports, and you were the only one expected to bring everyone coffee in the morning, the only one expected to set up meeting rooms for yoongi without being asked, the only one who did almost four hours of over time every day.

"d-did everyone have to do all this when they started here?" you asked, gulping as you suppressed the anxiety that rose from questioning your boss. he raised an eyebrow at you, crossed his arms across his chest, and sighed, not breaking his scolding gaze. "what do you mean?"

"oh, i- uh." you stuttered, heat spreading across your face. "the reports, and the..." you trailed off, eyes darting across the empty office. "the overtime." you finished quietly.

yoongi stared at you, examining the pink flush growing across your cheeks and ears. his eyes flashed with amusement as you squirmed under his gaze, desperate for him to break the silence and answer the question. "i- i don't mind, it's just..." you stuttered, unable to look anywhere besides the floor beneath you.

"...you just?" he asked, voice dripping with levity.

"i mean, tonight, for example," you swallowed, struggling to find your words. "i had plans that i had to miss because of all the extra work." you heard him let out a short exhale, a silent laugh at your desperate plea. "extra work? you think you're working harder than your coworkers?" he mused. your eyes flew up to meet his teasing grin, shocked at his misinterpretation of your words. "that's not what i meant-" you began to explain, shifting in your seat.

"is there somewhere you'd rather be, miss y/n?" he asked smugly grinning at your panicked state. you hesitated, because yes, of course, there was somewhere you'd rather be. he stretched his hand out on your desk, sliding his pointer across it before checking for dust. "how about you finish the report, and then we can talk." he added, standing up from his position on your desk before straightening his blazer jacket and nodding his farewell at you.

after yoongi's brief intervention, you'd finished even later than you anticipated. the printer jamming didn't help either, you'd only managed to place your report on your boss's desk before 8pm. it was already dark out and you were contemplating calling an uber instead of catching the bus when yoongi interrupted your train of thought. "before you go," he spoke, gesturing to the seat in front of you at his desk. without a word, you took a seat, placing your hands in your lap.

"tell me about how you're being overworked." he invited, leaning back in his chair. your eyes flickered to the small of his waist, and you noted that he'd taken his jacket off, now tossed on the couch against the wall. you eyed his collar, the loosened tie, the top button undone. you'd never seen him disheveled like this.

"well?" he asked, noticing exactly where your eyes were going.

"i- i mean, i'm the only one here so far after hours." you spoke, stumbling over your words as you snapped out of your sinful thoughts. "and doing the team reports, i- i don't..."

a smile spread across his features as he slowly stood up from his chair and sauntered over to you, seating himself on his desk, his thighs only inches away from your knees. "i'm here too, you know." he spoke almost in a whisper, drawing you in. "you know the saying about diamonds being forged under pressure?" he added, not expecting an answer.

you shook your head, frustration building up and spreading across your body. "i guess i just don't know what you expect of me, sir." you sighed, unable to prevent the anger you felt slipping into your speech.

yoongi tutted, crossing his legs in front of you. "only the best from you," he laughed quietly. "you want to know how to please me, y/n?" he asked, fingers tracing down the length of his tie as his facade of professionalism seemed to vanish. you nodded, ignoring the icy sensation of butterflies in your stomach. he leaned over, lowering his face until it was just above yours. "be better." he spoke.

your eyes started burning and tears formed at their corners almost instantly. the sinking feeling in your stomach was almost painful as your chin quivered at the insult. you couldn't look at him. you had been working hellish hours, day in and day out at his request and this is how he regarded you. your view of the floor began to blur as a tear fell down your cheek and onto your thigh.

you flinched and closed your eyes as yoongi extended his arm to you and cupped your face, the pad of his thumb smearing a tear across your cheek. his touch was cold, providing relief for you in your heated state. you couldn't help but lean into his hand, despite your anger. "so pretty," he said under his breath as it hitched. you opened your eyes and looked up at him, confused. through your blurred vision, you saw him swallow.

"fuck," he breathed, staring into your eyes as his hand went from your face to his mouth. you wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to save yourself from the humiliation of crying in front of your boss. "stand up." he demanded, face deadly serious while you stared at him, bewildered. after you sat there, still, his hand reached out to pull you from the chair. you felt how hard and fast your heart was beating, how the confusion slowed your brain down, heat stirring deep inside you.

"you're such an obedient worker," he spoke, still looking down over you as he leaned on his desk. "always do whatever i say,". silence filled the room again as your heart hammered in your chest. you hated him for doing this to you and you were embarrassed, but his hot-and-cold tone made it impossible for you to leave. his words made you feel something, a mixture of humiliation and heat. you wanted his approval, his validation and you wanted him. you wanted it so bad you ached.

"that's why i keep you around, y/n." he finally spoke.

you gulped, the frustration and confusion mixing to form a mess of arousal and eagerness to please your boss. "y-you keep me back because i do what you want?" you ask, trying to keep what was left of your professional composure, although yoongi's had clocked out a long time ago.

he nodded slowly, breathing you in as you stood before him. "bend over." he instructed, finally standing. "that's what i want." he added, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. you contemplated it, mulling it over in your mind. yoongi wasn't going to make you do it, he was waiting to see how far you'd go.

"you'll let me go home at a reasonable hour?" you asked, it slowly dawning on you what exactly you were negotiating over. yoongi hummed and walked behind you, pulling the chair away from the desk. "i don't think you'll want to, but we'll see.". the thought sent a wave of electricity through you.

you didn't know what to expect from yoongi. of course, you'd thought about fucking him, but in your fantasies you were made to share a bed at some work trip, it had been romantic and critically, hadn't started with you crying. nevertheless, you stepped forward towards the desk and placed your hands on the cool wooden surface.

you felt his hand press against the expanse of your thigh, rubbing it over in soothing motions before he retracted it and landed a cruel, hard slap against the tender spot. you groaned at the lingering sting on your skin, knees buckling beneath you as your jaw clenched. "what you really lack," he spanked your thigh again, harder and higher up your legs. "is discipline."

he placed a hand on your back, pushing you further down and bringing your face flush against the desk. you felt your skirt hitch up and rest against your hips, revealing your plain black underwear. you certainly hadn't expected anyone to be seeing your ass today, otherwise, you might have worn something a litter lacier. yoongi didn't seem to mind as he groped the flesh of your ass before landing another slap, this time on your behind, earning a strangled moan.

"this is what you're good for," he growled as he brought your hands behind your back. you heard the rustling of fabric before feeling him place his tie around your wrists, wrapping it tightly around them before pulling it into a knot with a swift yank. he spanked you again before stepping back to take in the sight with an approving smile.

"so tell me where you'd rather be, y/n." he mused, rubbing the reddening hand marks on your skin. "getting fucked by some fucking low-life who can't even pick you up from work? was that one of the plans you've had to miss because of your mean boss?" his fingers drifted over your aching core and you shifted your hips, desperate for relief from the stinging his ruthless slaps had caused. he responded by applying more pressure as he stroked you over your folds.

"so fucking desperate," he chided, pressing your underwear into your soaked core. "you should hear the way your coworkers speak about you. such a pretty thing, such a tight ass." he was mimicking someone, you couldn't tell who.

you let out a hum, unable to answer as the reality of the situation was still forming in your mind. you just wanted him, you didn't care anymore. you wriggled your hips, backing them into his palm. his free hand slipped onto your hip, pulling your underwear down until they were at your knees. from the corner of your eye, you saw him bend down onto his knees as both of his hands regained their grip on your ass. "please," you whined, pleading for his taunting to be over.

his tongue was hot and wet, licking long stripes and pushing past your folds. the foreign feeling sent you reeling, and you let out a high-pitched moan as you felt your face heat up against his desk. he stood up and leaned over you, his face behind your ear as his fingers found their way to your clit. "obedient little slut," he hissed, his venomous words shooting straight to your core. "you come into my office every day after hours wearing your tight skirts and heels,"

he rubbed your clit in fast, tiny circles making you moan whenever his index finger passed over it with a little too much pressure. "and you wonder why i always keep you back?" he laughed incredulously, you could hear the disbelief in his voice. he stood back up, removing his hand from your soaked pussy. you heard him fiddle with his zipper before pulling his cock out of his slacks. you wished you could see it, you just knew it would be as pretty as he was. he pumped it slowly, looking over you as you squirmed in your powerless position. "can't fucking take it anymore," he sounded desperate. you wondered how long he'd been thinking about this, planning this.

you weren't prepared when you felt his cock press against you, its smooth length coating itself in your arousal. he groaned as he rubbed himself against you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you into him. "tell me to stop," he said, almost begging. you knew how bad this would be for him, for you, for the company, but you couldn't. you needed him.

"i want you," you replied in your softest of voices. "please, sajangnim"

you felt him line himself up behind you before slowly entering you, filling your core as you fluttered around him. you let out an unrestrained moan in tandem, finally feeling a ripple of pleasure wash over you. he didn't ease you into it before pumping himself into you, using a firm grip on your hair as leverage for his merciless thrusts. "fuck," he exclaimed, throwing his head back as he fucked you over the desk, papers and pens falling to the floor. "you're my slut," he panted.

you nodded against the desk, his unrelenting strokes invoking waves of ecstasy every time his cock filled you up. "yours," you agreed mindlessly. "only yours."

he slapped your ass, the pain adding to the spreading pleasure taking over your body. "you'll fuck when i want you to fuck," he spoke through his grunting. "say you'll suck my dick whenever i ask."

you could barely register his words through your moans and the deafening pleasure. "yes, sir, whatever you want." despite your concession, he slapped the side of your thigh. he fucked you, unrelenting and unforgiving like he'd been deprived for years.

he used your tied wrists to pull you flat against his chest as his other hand snaked around your front, rubbing between your folds and stroking your clit as you moaned at the overstimulation. "greedy slut." he spat, sharply impaling you with a powerful thrust that hurt. you felt the tie come loose from your wrists.

you whined, needing him to be satisfied and continue pleasing you like he had been. he pulled out of you, forcefully turning you around and pushing your ass into his desk. for the first time, you saw his crazed expression, lips wet, coated with spit and your essence. his pupils were blown out and his expression was serious, almost furious. if you weren't so turned on, you'd almost be scared.

as he pushed you further onto the desk, you used your palms to keep your balance as he carelessly brought one of your legs up and around his waist. for a brief moment, you eyed his cock- thick and hard. pretty, like you'd expected.

you couldn't look for long before he slotted himself between your legs and entered you again, his eyes trained on your chest as your tits bounced in response to his thrusts. his lips were parted as he fucked into you, cockily driving into you like he knew how good it felt.

moans passed your lips before you could register them, your orgasm building even quicker now that you could actually see what he was doing to you. "lie down." he grunted, pushing you down before you could respond. he lifted your other leg and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk, the tip of his cock pumping your hilt, drawing a pained groan from your throat.

this position was almost too much for you to handle, allowing yoongi to reach deeper inside of you than he had before. or really, deeper than anyone had before. your palms tapped against his arm in desperation as you gasped, ready to reach your orgasm. "please, i'm going to-" you began. he slapped your thigh, cutting you off and breaking your train of thought. he continued rolling his hips into you at a tireless pace, desperate to reach his own end. "such a slut for me, cumming on my cock already?"

you hummed, nodding eagerly at his words. one of your legs fell as he released his hold, his hand finding its way to your pussy to rub soft circles over your clit. you were almost sobbing, the pleasure ripping through you pitilessly. you arched your back as his cock slid in and out of you while the first wave of your orgasm began to crash, wetness spreading down your legs and onto the desk. "yoongi!" you exclaimed as he fucked you through the peak your orgasm, your fingernails digging into his toned arms. your vision began to whiten as you came, unable to think of anything besides how incredible and intoxicating he felt inside you.

the fluttering of your walls and increasing tightness around his cock became too much, and yoongi lowered his gaze to where the two of you met. a thick ring of white had formed at the base of his cock, and it sent him over the edge. he dug his fingernails into the flesh of your thigh as he released a whiny grunt at the realisation. you felt him pulsate inside you, his thrusts becoming unrestrained and rigid as his eyes crammed shut. his grunts became moans as you felt him release inside you, your name falling from his lips in breathy pleas. his thrusts finally slowed as his tip became too sensitive to continue.

he unsheathed himself and tucked his wet cock back into his pants, you could still make out the hard, thick shape underneath. silence filled the room as you began to move, closing your legs and hopping off the desk. yoongi raised an eyebrow and bent down to pull your underwear back up against your pussy. "don't waste a fucking drop." he whispered before winking at you. you straightened out your skirt as you processed his words.

he'd finished inside you.

he rubbed your clothed cunt before standing back up and fixing your collar, as if he was getting ready to send you back off to work. though, you had a feeling he wasn’t done yet. "i'll drop you home." he spoke, turning on his heel to grab his jacket from the couch.

like he hadn't just completely changed everything for you.

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inevitable-pretty-words · 2 months

Text

Content – intimate whumper, hero x villain, villain with magical powers, fantasy whump, psychological whump, memory alteration, forced submission, dub-con kissing

"I'll probably have to erase your memories. Just as a precaution" Villain's calm voice rang out in the small room as he paced back and forth, not even looking at Hero.

"You're joking right?!"

Hero didn't want his voice to sound so hysterical. He also didn't want to endure Villain's serious look any longer, which only made him more aware of what a terrible situation he was in.

His eyes lingered on random objects, desperately searching for a way out. But he didn't find it. The Villain was blocking his path to the door and Hero realized painfully that there was no chance of getting past him and escaping through the narrow corridor. Not when he's like this. Not now. The only exit was the window he was standing next to. His heart skipped a beat as he thought about what this meant for him, but still, against all reason, his hand slowly moved towards the window handle.

"I don't advise it. You'll break your legs. And then I will come down to you and erase your memories anyway. You will only suffer unnecessarily" Villain said in an almost completely indifferent tone of voice, but there was a hint of concern in it.

Hero snorted, even though he knew Villain was right. And he hated him for it. He also hated the concern in his voice. As if he ever cared about his life and happiness.

"So I should just let you do it, right? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?!" Hero didn't want to scream, not again. But he couldn't help but be overcomed with emotions.

Villain stopped and looked at him for the first time since the incident.

"Yes. That will be better. For you. For me. I don't want to fight."

Villain continued to maintain his mask of indifference, and Hero hated the fact that he couldn't read his true emotions. He would have preferred anger because it was predictable, but now he had no idea what to expect.

"There must be another way. Anything else. I can stay silent and pretend I didn't see anything, I can..."

Villain interrupted him with a joyless laugh.

"We both know it won't work. You'll open your dirty mouth and blurt everything out at the end. Or worse, you'll try to help me. I won't let you do this." With each word, Villain got closer to Hero, who could no longer move back, pressed against the wall. He glanced out the window again, but quickly shook his head. The consequences would be too great.

So he risked looking into Villain's eyes and saw no uncertainty in them. He swallowed.

"I could at least try..." his voice was quieter this time, more shaky due to Villain's proximity. Great.

"Would you like to continue pretending to be a hero? It didn't work out last time."

Hero grimaced at the reference to recent events, but did not comment on his words, refusing to be provoked.

There was a sudden tension in the air, full of heavy memories that each of them preferred to keep silent for now.

“So you can see that I have no other choice, my dear,” Villain said after a long moment, breaking the silence.

Something about the way he said that endearment made Hero's heart skip a beat, but he quickly came to his senses, remembering his threat.

"You're an escapist, you know? You would do anything to avoid the consequences, to start over..."

Instead of the expected anger, Hero saw only calmness in Villain, with a hint of amusement at his feeble attempts to distract him to escape.

"What's wrong with escapism, hmm?" he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind Hero's ear.

Hero shuddered, his thoughts made no sense, and for a moment he focused only on the touch on his cheek, on the warmth of Villain's hand, on the knowledge that if only the situation was different, he could kiss him here and now.

"Don't try to avoid it," Villain whispered tenderly into his ear, aware of the effect it was having on him. "Just give up. Submit. It'll hurt you less than if I had to force you to do it."

But I don't want to have my memories deleted, Hero wanted to say, but the prepared words disappeared from his head as soon as Villain ran his hand through his hair. Hero sighed.

Villain suddenly pulled away to look into his eyes. Hero closed it in a sudden panic.

"What exactly do you want to delete? How many days?" he managed to say in a trembling voice.

"Just today," Villain assured him, smiling. "Removing more memories would affect you too much. And we don't want that, right?"

Hero just nodded, not noticing the strange gleam in Villain's eyes.

"And if you're going to forget anyway..." Villain approached him again and kissed him gently on the lips.

Hero had no idea what had just happened. His heart was racing and he felt that his cheeks were completely red. He kept repeating the question in his mind: why, why, why, why, why? But he received no answer.

Villain placed his hand on his blushed cheek again and stared into his eyes as if he wanted to remember the sight. And then he kissed him again, this time on the forehead.

"Sorry." Hero heard a quiet whisper and didn't know how to react. And if any of his reactions would have changed Villain's mind at all. Probably not.

That's why when Villain looked at him again, Hero didn't close his eyes.

A sharp, stabbing pain immediately shot through his head, and Hero couldn't help but hiss and crouch down as if it would protect him.

But Villain then moved his hand to his chin and forced him to straighten up and look him in the eye.

"You're unconsciously resisting, that's why it hurts. Stop it, Hero. Give up, enough of this fighting. It will be better for you this way" his sweet, calm voice made Hero start to calm down involuntarily. The feeling that he was going to cry disappeared. The pain subsided.

And then, as soon as he felt someone infiltrating his mind, searching through his memories, Hero submitted and everything went dark.

#villains and heroes #heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain x hero #whump #whump writing #whump snippet #whump community #fantasy whump #psychological whump #intimate whumper #our writing

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natureismynature · 9 months

Text

I'm finally home and ready to talk about The Book!!

So, this book I've been talking about was found by Roier yesterday when he was looking for Cellbit in the castle. I don't think anyone thought much of it since Grandma's room is kind of a hotspot for almost all of Foolish's pranks. But I'm telling you, this one is NOT a prank. Especially not when said book was found accompanied by a VERY illegal gun.

Now. Here's the contents of the book.

i hope this finds the right person... hide it for now, be careful who you tell.

7 space 27

no one suspects a thing

that was a giant middle finger... asshole

no meaning. just for fun :D

3000 cielo 0

could someone find this first (alternatively: someone could find this first)

Ok, now that we've laid that all down, I'm gonna start rambling and theorizing under the cut

If you guys remember, Forever tried to barter Foolish's gun for his silence/lesser aggression. But Foolish told him he already had other plans for the gun... and I guess this was it.

I suspect he did this during that time Aypierre was doing a 24-hour stream and he randomly logged on. He usually logs on offline nowadays if he was hiding something from chat and other people... anyway, that's not the point! The point is the binary code on the first page and whatever the hell that was on the last.

The binary code translated to "7 space 27" which means. Literally nothing. Or DOES it?

Because I refuse to believe Foolish just randomly typed out binary code on a secret book handing over his gun to whoever finds it (most likely assumed to be Cellbit) which ACTUALLY translates to something. So I dug around and bullshitted my way to find a SOMEWHAT acceptable conclusion because I am not delusional and will never be as smart as Cellbit.

Keep in mind I have no fucking clue how enigmas work and used a chart for this bullshit. Specifically this one:

According to this chart, if we take the translated code and refer to them as our decimals, we've got 7 and 27 to look at. Now, if we look at our decimals' rows, we will get BEL and ESC as our ASCII symbols.

I searched up what they meant and they are literally:

BEL - bell, alert

ESC - escape

Now if we take those and complete the "sentence" that was there originally it would become "Alert space Escape" which is... something... but don't quote me on this, I could be 100% wrong.

But enough of that because my brain is already mush. Let's check the next one!

Next one being "3000 cielo 0"

I looked up what cielo meant, and it had various different meanings, but the common denominator was that it was high up. (i.e. sky, heaven, roof) But it could also be used as a term of endearment like mi cielo (my heaven) or something along those lines. And 3000 is some kind of angel number or something that means love and stuff.

My immediate thought upon searching up these two is the phrase "I love you 3000" but I might be grasping straws here. This might just be cords to a place somewhere up high with 3000 and 0 as the x and y axis. But you know, I like to make things harder for me.

Honestly, if you're still here and reading this paragraph, then I applaud you for being smart enough to understand whatever the hell I just wrote down.

There are two wolves inside me. One that thinks Foolish didn't really mean anything by these codes and the other that KNOWS he's smart enough to do this (AND would absolutely get help from the admins if he didn't)

#qsmp #timb talks #rambles #foolish gamers #qsmp theories

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 2 years

Text

What's Mine is Yours | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends. Literally all my fics are self-serving, so before you ask, yes yes I am indeed exactly like this 🥲

If you like what you read throw me a reblog

Warnings: shitty ex-boyfriends

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

The jangling of your car keys caught Bucky’s attention, and he watched with a furrowed brow as you slipped your feet into your boots. Tonight was supposed to be a cozy night in for the two of you- no distractions, no work-talk, and no random, solo outings. He caught your eyeline and quirked a brow in your direction, “Where are you running off to, doll?”

“I just gotta go back to my place real quick, I forgot something,” you leaned over the back of the couch and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back, I promise”.

A dramatic huff left his chest, “but baaaaaaaaby…” He pressed himself up from the couch cushions and made grabby hands for your cheeks. “Don’t leeeeeave.” Bucky didn't have pride when it came to you. He'd whine. He'd pout. Anything to keep you around. “What did you forget?”

“Oh, um, just a sleep shirt…” You played with the 'Fuck the patriarchy' keychain Nat gave you, knowing damn well Bucky didn’t want you to leave. And you didn’t want to go, it was a necessary evil- in your mind.

The frown immediately melted from Bucky’s face, “You don’t need a shirt, sweets. You don’t have to wear anything to bed at all…” A sly smile perfectly punctuated his less than subtle flirtation- and you couldn’t help but laugh. His strong hands slid down your body and laid their firm grip on your ass, giving it a squeeze.

“Buck, it’s like twenty degrees out. If I don’t wear a shirt to bed, I’ll freeze my tits off-” you crossed your arms over the tits in question, “and I know how much you love them- so I’m guessing you don’t want that to happen”.

A vehement shake of Bucky’s head confirmed your suspicion. “But I don’t want you to leave, baby. Just wear one of my shirts! Whichever one you want- it’s yours.”

Bucky was wholly yours. He offered himself to you, completely and totally, and that included all his earthly possessions. He left his spot on the couch and took your hand in his, “one of my henleys will probably keep you warmer than a t-shirt, anyway. Win-win.” He gave your hand a gentle tug and did his best to lead you to the bedroom, but you hesitated.

“No, really, Buck. It’s okay, I can just go get one of mine and-”

“Baby, ‘it’s like twenty degrees out’,” he quoted you to yourself, “why would you want to go all the way back to your place in this weather when you can just go pilfer through my dresser?” He gave your hand a light squeeze, “Really, I don’t mind. Come on, let’s get you something comfy”.

Bucky robbed you of all reasonable excuses. The repeated refusals you threw his way were simply no match for his kind, giving nature. All he ever wanted to do was help. He wanted to bring you the same happiness and comfort you granted him. And if something as simple as loaning you a shirt would save you a trip in the cold, he was more than happy to oblige.

But you wished he’d accepted your first rejection of his offer. It wasn’t like you to ever distance yourself from Bucky, and no part of you actually wanted to make the trip home. But a familiar anxiety resurfaced as Bucky dragged you to his dresser.

You watched as Bucky dug through his drawers in search of the perfect shirt. He deemed a few of his shirts too itchy, while referring to others as “not comfy enough”. The rejected shirts fell to the floor one after the other, forming piles near Bucky’s feet as his ferocious hunt continued. He had the perfect shirt in mind for his best girl, and wouldn’t rest until he’d found it.

“Oh! Here it is… this one- this my favorite shirt” he unearthed a red Henley from his drawer and displayed it to you proudly, “it’ll look great on you.” He held it up to your body, smiling as the fabric dwarfed your frame. He’d always wanted to see you in his clothes, and felt his cheeks ache as he smiled at the thought of you in his shirt. He’d offered you sleep shirts a few times here and there, but you were always always prepared with clothes of your own. Much to his dismay.

It seemed like every romantic movie he watched with you featured the beautiful ingénue wearing her lover’s shirt, and Bucky wanted to see his ingénue do the same. He’d never gotten the chance to wake up next to a woman he loved, her beautiful body cloaked in his clothes- but your forgetful moment while packing your overnight bag had granted him just that.

A hesitancy kept you from taking the shirt. In all honesty, you wanted to strip out of your clothes and wrap yourself in the fabric that remained laced with Bucky’s scent. Ever since you’d gotten together, you’d been tempted to drown yourself in his soft shirts and comfortable hoodies- but you wouldn’t dare tell him. Instead, you always double and triple checked your overnight bag, making certain you had everything you needed- and a few extras just in case.

“Are you sure?” you almost reached for the soft red fabric, but recoiled at the last second. “I can just run home, I really don’t mind-”

“Just put on the shirt, doll. That's an order from your sergeant." He shot you a wink and tossed the garment your way. His muscular arms crossed over his chest as he watched you weigh your options. “I know you waaaaant tooooooo”.

And he was right. Layer by layer, you shed your clothes and slipped Bucky’s shirt over your head. The worn fabric rested gently against your skin, cloaking you in comfort and warmth. And suddenly, you hated yourself for always bringing pajamas to Bucky’s apartment. An unexpected ‘hmmm’ emanated from your chest as you reveled in the safety of Bucky’s scent. There was something so homey, so intimate about wearing his clothes. The only thing better than his arms wrapped tight around you body was his cozy shirt cloaking you in comfort.

Bucky couldn’t stop staring at the long sleeves dangling over your hands, the hem falling below your perfect ass. It was just too cute, seeing you dwarfed by his shirt. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe you were real- but believing that you were actually his proved even harder.

“Better than a t-shirt?” Bucky grinned at you, all too pleased with himself.

With all your might, you tried to fight the smile that threatened to breach the surface. But Bucky’s goofy side got the best of you. “Yeah…” you muttered, “Way, waaaaaay better”. Nothing you owned could ever come close to the all-encompassing comfort of Bucky’s shirt.

Without warning, you launched yourself into Bucky’s arms. He caught you with ease, holding you close as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. No moment had ever been as perfect, as tooth-rottingly sweet. Wrapped in Bucky’s cozy shirt and strong arms, you could’ve died happy.

“I’m so glad you like it, baby…” Bucky couldn’t help but beam. He always saw himself as inadequate, having nothing of any value to offer. You were the epitome of perfection, beautiful and sweet and kind- and he was the former Winter Soldier with PTSD and a staring problem. But seeing you so earth-shatteringly happy to wear his shirt melted his heart. He couldn’t believe he’d been the one to make you smile that way, and vowed to do it for the rest of his life.

“You should just keep it,” he said, too over the moon to care about losing his favorite shirt, “it’s yours now, doll.”

Bucky’s words brought your rush of happiness to a screeching halt. “Buck, no. I can’t take it-” You stared at him with big, uncertain eyes, “it’s your favorite”.

But Bucky would hear none of your refusals. “No, you’re my favorite. Plus, I want you to have it! It would make me very, very happy, baby.” He adjusted your lopsided collar and brushed your hair out of your face, drinking you in, “it looks perfect on you. And this way, you’ll have it while I’m away on missions, you know?”

His words warmed your cheeks, and on the surface, you appeared happier than ever. But conflict raged inside you. This was the sort of romantic thing you’d dreamed of, but never dared act out. Knowing Bucky was more than happy to sacrifice his favorite shirt just for you made you feel loved, made you feel special. But it stirred your anxiety none the less. You couldn’t just steal his clothes- especially not his favorite shirt.

“But are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Bucky laughed, “Baby, you literally sighed with relief when you put it on- I can’t just not give it to you!” Bucky knew you were sweet and always selfless, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint your reluctance to accept his offer. He knew you loved him, loved being his best girl- why the hesitancy?

“Can we compromise?” You slipped from Bucky’s arms and stood before him, offering your hand for a shake. “How about I sleep in it for tonight- and then I wash it and give it back? And then, if you’re still sure about giving it to me, you can- HEY!”

Bucky’s broad shoulders connected with your thighs as he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. “No compromises!” he shouted as he flopped you down on to the bed, “No compromises!” His hands made quick work of your sides, tickling you until you begged for mercy. One threatening hand hovered just above your ribcage, teasing you with more uproarious torture, “You still wanna compromise, doll?’

“No, I- truce! Truce!”

“You sure?” he ghosted a few fingers over your side, “you suuuuuure you’re sure?”

“I’m sure!” you shrieked, “I promise!”

Bucky peppered your face with kisses, dotting them along your forehead and cheeks before landing one on your lips. He was certain your adamant refusal to accept his shirt had passed- but something was off. A strange tension kept your smile tight-lipped and your jaw tense, as though you feared you were in trouble.

“Is something bothering you, sweets? You seem kind of anxious…” He helped sit you up and pulled you into his lap, “what’s goin’ on?”

Dread eclipsed any sliver of levity left within you- and suddenly, you hated yourself for ever making this an issue. You should’ve just accepted the stupid shirt and ‘accidentally’ left it behind when you went home. Simple as that. But no, you had to make it a big deal, drawing attention to yet another one of your idiosyncrasies.

“Ugh, no, I’m fine. I just-” you huffed, “obviously, I’ve got some like, weird habits and tendencies and stuff. And I have stupid anxieties about random things…” A strong rush of shame pulled your eyes down, fixing your gaze on your hands.

Bucky refused to let you alienate yourself that way, “hey, I have anxiety about random things, too. I had a panic attack on the G train last week because someone dropped their aluminum water bottle and it was just a little too loud for me.” He tilted your chin upward, “so it’s okay. Just talk to me”.

"Okay, but that's not the same thing, Buck. You have actual trauma. And very real PTSD. My thing isn't-"

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you. His hand dropped back to your waist, threatening more torturous tickling if you didn't speak up.

"Okay, fine," a frustrated sigh forced its way from your chest. “I hate, hate feeling like an imposition or an inconvenience or an annoyance…”

Bucky stared at you, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you never elaborated. “Um, sweets, I don’t- I’m sorry, I’m confused. What does that have to do with the shirt?”

“Taking your shirt makes me feel like an imposition!” you nearly shouted. “Like, right now, I am incredibly comfortable because this shirt is fucking cozy as hell. But, my brain is like, vibrating with anxiety. I asked to borrow my ex’s shirt for a day once because I spilled coffee all over mine, and he let me... But he gave me shit about it for months. He always made me feel bad- like I was an annoyance or a bother…”

Bucky’s heart broke.

“He always made me feel like I was inconveniencing him with my presence. He’d invite me over, but then he'd act annoyed that I was there."

It was embarrassing to admit. And you feared that if you told Bucky these things, maybe he'd treat you the same way. But it was too late. You were too deep into the truth to stop now. "He never let me just, I don’t know, hang out, you know? He'd ask me to come over at like nine at night and then kick me out around midnight. I'm not saying he wasn't allowed to have boundaries, but..." You sighed and regrouped. "If I slept at his place, he’d wake me up at seven in the morning and tell me I needed to leave- even on the weekends. It almost like I was a booty call."

"Oh, sweetheart..."

"He didn’t want me asking to borrow his jacket if I was cold or impeding his space in any way. I asked once if I could leave a toothbrush at his apartment, and he got angry at me- said it was ‘impolite’. I was with him for quite a while, and he did a lot of things like that... the entire time we were together, he acted like everything I did was a nuisance. To him, my existence was an imposition.”

Puzzle pieces of your behavior slowly began falling into place for Bucky. He’d noted a few of your habits that struck him as a little different, but he never brought them up. He’d never say anything and possibly make you self-conscious. But now that you’d drawn him a picture, he understood.

“So, that’s why you always pack a bag when you come to my place, instead of just leaving some things here? Even though you’re here almost every night?”

You nodded.

“And why I have to very explicitly and clearly invite you over- like you’re a vampire?”

“Yeah…”

“And why I have to basically beg you to just laze around here with me?”

“Mhmm”

“And why you always knock, even though I gave you a key?”

Another nod.

“And why you insisted on making the trek home in below freezing weather just to grab a t-shirt?”

Once more, you nodded with downcast eyes.

“Oh, baby, that’s- I’m sorry”, he wrapped his arms around you a bit tighter, holding you close to his body. “That’s terrible. I mean, letting your girl wear your shirts to bed is like, the bare minimum. And he really- I’m sorry, I can’t get past him waking you up just so he could kick you out.”

The memories of those days were humiliating, sometimes even a bit shameful. You’d known at the time that you didn’t deserve to be treated like a burden, but it took you nearly three years to leave. And even though you hadn’t spoken to or seen your ex in years, the ghosts of his mistreatment still haunted you.

“Can you look at me, doll?” Once you dragged your eyes up to meet his, Bucky took your face in his hands. “I want you to hear me very clearly when I say this, okay?”

“Okay…”

“You are not, never have been, and never will be: a bother, a burden, or an inconvenience of any kind. You can wear my clothes, eat my food- steal my car, I don’t care, baby. I am yours, completely and totally. I want you here. Always. You can never overstay your welcome or impose- this is just as much your home as it is mine. Sleep in, leave a toothbrush here… Hell, you can leave an entire wardrobe in my closet- I’ll put my clothes in garbage bags.”

You laughed at his exaggerations and dramatics, but his lighthearted words carried an air of seriousness. Bucky wanted you. He prioritized you and cherished you, to the point that you sometimes thought he was a little nuts.

“Buck, I don't- I'm not even sure how to respond to that. I mean, I've never felt wanted like this before,” you nuzzled your face into his neck, happily breathing in his warm scent. “You have no idea the weight you just lifted off my chest- I’ve kind of been walking on eggshells. I'm trying so hard not to step out of line in our relationship, cause I just- I want you to want me.” You cringed, "Awesome, now I'm quoting Cheap Trick songs..."

Bucky threw his head back in a laugh, "Hey, quote all the songs you want, baby." He grew serious all of sudden, eliminating his joking tone. "And just so you know, you don’t have to do any of that anymore. Step outta line, break the eggshells- actually, there are no lines. No eggshells. Not in this relationship."

Bucky’s talent for eliminating your anxiety always blew you away, no matter how many times he pulled you back from the brink. But the tension still lived inside you, lying dormant until the perfect moment to strike. “I can’t promise that I’m not gonna feel this way next month or next week or tomorrow. So, I just wanna say sorry in advance for-”

“Baby, don’t apologize. You don’t have to, okay? I know better than anyone that a few nice words from your significant other can’t instantly fix your problems- if that were the case, I wouldn’t have panicked on the subway”. He shot you a wink, but dropped the goofy grin as he stared down at you, “any time you feel this way, any time you need reminding- just tell me. I’ll be more than happy to say all of this again. Because I love you, I want you- you’re my girl. And I’d do anything for you.”

————————————

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jomiddlemarch · 3 months

Text

Declare the past, diagnose the present, foretell the future

Taking in-house on-call at St. Mungo’s on Imbolc wasn’t the absolute worst, as far as Hermione was concerned. It wasn’t a major holiday and the Scottish weather, an unfathomably vile mix of sleet and snow accompanied by icy gales that defied any warming charm, lent itself to staying in. As her social life was not exactly riotous post-break-up with Ron, however amicably resigned and rueful they’d both been about it, staying in at St. Mungo’s, with its endless supply of ginger biscuits and at least one interesting patient per ward, was tolerable. Acceptable.

It could have been, anyway.

“You like being on-call, Granger?”

That was Draco Malfoy, her fellow senior registrar, academic rival, and star of far too many risqué dreams she continued to blame on eating cheese late at night. He’d grown significantly after the final battle, which she refused to capitalize when she thought of it, just as she refused to refer to Voldemort as anything other than Tom Riddle. Draco, no longer beholden to a genocidal sorcerer who had far too close a relationship with his voracious familiar and thus no longer suffering from an untreated ulcer along as well as the fear of watching his mother being tortured in her own sitting room, had put on a good 2-plus stone of muscle along with several more inches and somehow managed to make the lime-green robes St. Mungo’s insisted on look like something that would get an approving nod during Fashion Week in Milan. It should be a fourth Unforgivable that someone so silvery blond didn’t look anemic, bilious, or curdled in the next hue over from chartreuse. He looked edible.

Delicious.

Hermione looked like a generous dollop of the Seafoam Salad her American Cousin Luella brought to every summer tea-party Hermione’s mother had ever thrown, despite being told she was such a dear but she needn’t. Hermione tried to take comfort in the many extendable pockets she’d been able to spell into her robe’s inner lining, but nothing could fully offset the color.

At the moment, Draco had opened his robes and put his feet up on the coffee-table in the staff break-room, his collar unbuttoned, his tie loosened. He’d stopped using whatever charm or enchanted pomade he’d relied on when they were at Hogwarts and his hair looked silky, a lock threatening to fall across his forehead. If they were called to an emergency, he’d probably cast a wandless Reparo vestis and immediately look the part of a Pureblood senior registrar, but in the meantime, he was…louche. Unconscionably, unbearably erotic.

Hermione thought back to the tea she’d hurried through before heading to Dangerous Dai at a brisk clip. She’d had nary a bite of Brie. Or Cheddar.

She had no plausible deniability.

Still, he was helping a bit with the judgy curl to his lips and that gleam in his grey eyes which was somewhere between curious and condescending. She’d lean into the condescending part.

“I don’t mind it. It’s part of the work, being a Healer. If you have a true vocation, you don’t resent being on-call,” she said.

She sounded like an impossible prig even to herself but needs must.

“Bollocks,” he retorted, but not meanly. “Don’t you miss your cat?”

“Crookshanks is part-Kneazle,” she said.

“Fine, your part-Kneazle,” Draco said. “Wouldn’t you rather be home with him, doing whatever it is you do away from here?”

“Are you fishing for details or trying to mock me? You’ll have to decide,” Hermione said.

“I’m trying to say it’s just the two of us here, you don’t have to pretend you love being stuck at St. Mungo’s overnight,” Draco said.

It occurred to Hermione that if she suffered a cardiac event in the next three seconds, Draco would be the one to resuscitate her and that no one ever looked their best post-resuscitation, even when magic was the primary intervention. Vanity, that’s what would keep her from having a heart attack.

Just the two of us.

For Sweet Circe’s fucking sweet sake.

Draco gave her a searching look because the pause had lengthened notably. Anyone else would have said something like Earth to Hermione, except they’d have to be Muggleborn to say that, because Wizards still didn’t grasp that Muggles had been to the Moon and sent rovers to Mars. They didn’t grasp a dog had been sent into space.

“It’s all right. I don’t actually mind it all that much myself, if I’m being honest. And before you feel compelled to point it out, yes, I am Slytherin but I am capable of candor, especially when it suits my needs,” he said.

“It suits you to be honest with me?” she said.

“We’re a team, aren’t we?” he said and she nodded before she could stop herself and ask what exactly he meant, she’d happily taken four feet of parchment on the topic. “Lying, keeping things from each other, it won’t help us. I know you don’t trust me—”

“I—” she interrupted, breaking off when she realized she wasn’t sure she wanted to say she did trust him or that she wanted to, very badly.

“I know we agreed to a fresh slate when we started training here and I also know if was too much to ask of you,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Yes, I was under duress. Yes, I was seventeen. Yes, we’re all allowed to make mistakes. But I still have a brand on my arm from a group that wanted you dead and defiled and the best I did on your behalf was to pretend I didn’t know you for a few minutes,” he said.

“What else could you have done?” Hermione said, shrugging.

“I could have risked my life. I could have died,” he said. “Potter did, when he saved me from Fiendfyre—”

“I’m not nearly as nice as Harry,” Hermione said.

Draco laughed, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You’re a better person than I am and you don’t have to argue with me about it. Some things are simply true. I’d like you to trust me, that’s what I’m saying, albeit terribly clumsily,” he replied.

“Albeit?” she repeated. Using humor to deflect was a time-honored tradition and she didn’t know what to do with her sizable attraction when it was suddenly not only about his broad shoulders and narrow hips, the feline grace of his gait, the North Sea of his eyes and his impossibly deft hands (Nimue help her, Draco’s hands…) but also his mind, his insight. She’d known he was clever, her equal in most fields, slightly ahead of her in Charms (though behind in Arithmancy) but she hadn’t appreciated how thoughtful he was or had become. How he could be gentle.

“I use overly formal language when I feel out of my depth,” he said. Admitted.

“You were totally at ease then, when Crispin Fillament was hemorrhaging? All I heard was good old Anglo-Saxon obscenities from you while you were trying to shove the blood back into his aorta,” Hermione said, grinning.

“That bugger. He wasn’t helping at all, and I don’t mean his choice to sing operettas,” Draco said. “It was like his blood didn’t even want back in. It felt oddly sentient—”

“Operetta can be polarizing,” Hermione said. They were having an absolutely insane conversation, Thickey Ward caliber, and she was more relaxed than she’d ever been around him while also being turned on. Draco’s expression shifted from entertained to speculative. Assessing. She resisted the impulse to touch her hair or fiddle with the collar of her robes, glad she’d kept her shoes on, regretting her laundry day choice of striped tights.

“We’ve worked together for nearly seven years and you still don’t trust me,” he said.

“I don’t suspect you of, well, anything in particular,” she replied. It seemed a weak response, even to her. It might not even be fair, but she couldn’t necessarily feel her way into being fair to him. Even if there were times when she wanted to.

“I know. It’s good of you,” he said. “It just, it’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough? You dare to demand I—”

“I’m not demanding anything, Hermione,” he interrupted. “I don’t expect more. I don’t deserve more. I only want more.”

“You want more,” she repeated. She sounded somewhere between incredulous and stupid. As he’d spent a significant amount of his youth the Crabbe and Goyle, the stupidity shouldn’t bother him as it did her.

“I believe Weasley liked to refer to me as a greedy git. I don’t pretend to have entirely outgrown that,” he said.

“That was because you hogged the pudding,” Hermione said.

“Well, I’ve outgrown that. Though I do still like sweet things,” he said. He tilted his head to one side and should have resembled an owl but of course, he didn’t. If anything, he looked like a fallen angel, though he probably wouldn’t have recognized Lucifer if she’d mentioned the name. The Bible was given short-shrift in the Muggle culture studies required at St. Mungo’s where they ran more to Pasteur, Salk and gene-sequencing. “If I want more, I must give more.”

“Is this some sort of rudimentary physics equation?” Hermione said. “You do know Newton covered this area already.”

“I mean, if I want you to trust me, I need to give you more reason. I need to share more, so you feel I’ve earned it. That it’s, I’m worth it,” he said, nodding as he spoke. Hermione felt herself flush and wanted to argue but she couldn’t think of anything compelling to refute his assertion.

“Shall I tell you why I became a Healer?” Draco said.

“If you like,” Hermione replied diffidently, as if she hadn’t wondered nearly every time she saw him and had frankly obsessed over it for the first six months of their training. Obsessed as in Ginny staged an intervention with Padma and Susan and Gabrielle on the Floo, with Luna playing mother over the teapot joining in the chorus that maybe Hermione needed to let it go or go ahead and jump Draco’s bones. She had been so far gone Luna Lovegood had told her she needed to get some perspective (which she suggested would be helped along with a tincture of canawaddle blossom and raging iron jaguar tears. Hermione had just taken the full glass of Shiraz Padma offered and nodded.)

“Because of my parents,” he said. It had been his idea to discuss his reasons but he seemed uncertain how he’d explain or uneasy about her response.

“It was their idea?” Hermione hazarded a guess. It wasn’t a good guess and she’d be shocked if she were right but it was within the realm of possibility in a world where there were both cellphones and wands threaded with a phoenix’s fiery tail-feather.

“Fuck no,” he said, almost choking on a laugh. A bitter one.

“It might’ve been,” she retorted.

“Only you would believe that possible and before you get horribly offended and flounce off, I mean only you could believe them capable of such humanity. That they would care about other people, that they would care that I did something worthwhile with my time,” he said. He made a calming gesture with his hand, the one he wore a signet ring on. It wasn’t the Malfoy signet though. “You also forget they are the most terrible snobs and think any kind of work is beneath a Malfoy or the bloody scion of the Most Noble House of Black. My mother thinks I’m overly sentimental and my father thinks the whole thing is crass and degrading.”

“I don’t flounce,” Hermione said because what he’d said was a lot to unpack and she couldn’t risk him thinking flouncing was within her repertoire.

“I stand corrected,” he said.

“Why did you become a Healer? How were your parents involved?” she asked.

“They ruined so many lives. My father, I’ve never asked, I’ve never wanted to know, but I think he’s a murderer and my mother went along with it all. Whatever she told herself about how she had to put me first, it was all an excuse,” he said, holding her gaze the whole time. “Other families left Britain. Other families refused to take a side. Millie’s parents sent her younger brothers to Ilvermorny. Zabini’s mother cast some spell on Blaise that kept Voldemort from touching him, something Darker than Dark, she called in favors all over Europe and West Africa. My parents ruined my life. This is the best way I could think of to make something of it all.”

“That’s, I don’t even know what to say, Draco,” Hermione replied.

“You don’t have to have something to say. It’s just how it is,” he said.

“Is it enough? Atonement?” Hermione asked.

“Mostly. And I like the craft. Snape played favorites and he gave me extra lessons, tradework secrets. The man was frankly a bloody genius. Sectumsempra was his juvenilia. I’m good at Potions and I was taught by one of the best Potions Masters in the past three hundred years,” Draco said.

“It’s nice to hear you admit it,” Hermione said.

“The special treatment or Snape’s brilliance?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, making Draco smile.

“I wished I could have saved him,” Draco said. “Though I don’t know what surviving would have meant for him. He was broken.”

“He wanted us to let him go. After he gave Harry the memory, he didn’t want to have to live anymore. I tried to stay. Harry and Ron didn’t see his eyes, but he looked at me and I knew it,” Hermione said.

“He doesn’t haunt me. In case you’re wondering,” Draco said. “His portrait often has a choice remark for me, but that’s all.”

“I became a Healer because of my parents too,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?”

“When it was getting close, that last year, you know, none of the adults made any plans to keep my parents safe. They told me not to worry mostly. All Dumbledore cared about was Harry and the Elder wand. Tonks, she was your cousin, she was the only one who said I should look out for my own people,” Hermione said. Tonks’s hair had been a rich chestnut streaked with white when she’d said it, her eyes the glittering green Hermione had always wished to see in the mirror, and she hadn’t minced words. She’d been as serious as Hermione had ever seen her, serious as death, and then it wasn’t spoken of again. Hermione had hoped there would be a time to tell Tonks, to thank her. “I Obliviated my parents and relocated them to Australia, I gave them new identities. I erased myself from their minds. Entirely.”

“What?” To his credit, Draco looked 90% stunned and 10% impressed. Harry had looked 100% horrified and Ron had physically recoiled when she told them.

“I did some research, figured out how to Obliviate them in the way that would keep them safest,” she said. “Voldemort wasn’t going to care about two random Muggles named Wilkins in bloody Melbourne. Other than you, your father and Snape, none of the Death-eaters were smart enough to figure it out and it turned out Snape was a double-agent, so my odds were even better than I’d counted on.”

“That’s advanced charmwork,” Draco said. “That kind of Obliviation.”

“I had to use Arithmancy too. And runes,” Hermione said. “It had to work. I couldn’t ruin their lives. I couldn’t be the reason they were killed.”

“It worked,” he said. “You saved them.”

“Yes. But it was harder to reverse than I’d hoped,” she said. She said hoped but she meant thought, planned, expected. She’d been wrong. “And when they remembered, they remembered I never asked their permission.”

“You didn’t?”

“They’d never have agreed. I cast the spell behind their backs. An assassination, my mother called it,” she said. She hadn’t told them about being tortured; they couldn’t understand Cruciatus the way anyone magical would and she didn’t want them to ask why she hadn’t confided more in them. Didn’t want them to feel guilty or worse, to accuse her of trying to make them feel guilty to justify her actions.

“You saved their lives,” Draco repeated.

“That’s what I tell myself,” she replied.

“Do you plan to specialize in memory curses? Because of your parents?” he asked.

“No. It’s not that. I became a Healer because they can understand it. They are dentists, Muggle Healer for teeth, and I was able to preserve all of that when I Obliviated them. They would have said, once, I should take up whatever career I felt called to, but they value healing. It’s something we can talk about. Without much…rancor. They see what we do as another science, this training similar enough, the way the American medical system is similar to the British one,” she said.

“Do you even want to be a Healer?” Draco said.

“It’s fine. Maybe I would have ended up here anyway. You have to master a lot of different magical disciplines and there’s some research to be done. There’s always other people around and you can get a decent cuppa in the canteen,” she said, shrugging. “The robes don’t suit me, but that’s a small price to pay.”

“You wanted something else though,” he said. “You don’t have to lie to me. I won’t try to convince you to leave St. Mungo’s.”

“There’s a course on ancient magics in Alexandria. And the Wizarding Library there, they do archival work and Anatomia liborum,” she said. “I read about it when I was researching the Horcruxes. It sounded intriguing.”

“What else?” he prompted.

“In Japan, at Mahoutokoro, there a witch studying arithmancy and algorithm engineering. That’s a Muggle science, it has to do with computers and programming, which you probably have no idea about, but it’s cutting edge work,” Hermione said.

“Instead you’re here,” he said.

“It’s not so bad,” Hermione said. It was easy to say, because she’d said it to herself about a thousand times. “I’m learning a lot and it’s important, to be able to heal people, and sometimes what’s wrong with them seems impossible, but in an absurdly funny way. My parents like it, when I tell them about work, even if I have to tone it down so they believe me.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough. Not for you,” he said.

“You’re here,” she replied, before she thought better of it.

For a moment, Draco was so still she wondered if she’d cast a wandless Petrificus totalis without consciously registering it.

“It’s not what you think,” she said.

“What do I think, Hermione?” he asked. He didn’t sound sly or arch, not remotely mocking, though he could have and she wouldn’t have been able to blame him. He sounded serious, as if she was the final arbiter of his fate, the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot pronouncing his sentence.

“It wasn’t a grand declaration,” she said.

“I didn’t think ‘you’re here’ was a grand declaration,” he replied. He’d relaxed a bit. Bully for him. Hermione felt like she might spontaneously combust, which coupled with the lime-green robes, was certain to be unattractive.

“You’re clever and well-read and you don’t cave when I argue with you but you don’t try to squash me either,” she said. “You think of things quite differently than I do, but in a good way. You’re my peer, intellectually.”

“I’m your peer, intellectually. That’s what you meant,” he said.

“You spent your formative years with Crabbe and Goyle. It’s not nothing,” she retorted.

“I played chess with Blaise Zabini for seven years. Theo Nott taught me Sanskrit and Pazu Veda in his spare time,” he replied. It felt like an obscure jab at Harry and Ron, neither of whom would claim to be excellent student, but who each had their strengths. They were, perhaps, not ones that lent themselves to spirited discussions, especially since Hermione had an admittedly limited grasp of chess and no real motivation to learn it. She wouldn’t risk the conversation devolving into a cranky argument, relitigating their school-days.

“Theo Nott was fluent in Pazu Veda?”

“They don’t teach necromancy at Hogwarts, so I can’t vouch for his fluency, but he could read it and translate,” Draco said. He crossed his legs at the ankle, a gesture of pure insouciance. His grey eyes studied her and she lifted her chin. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m not,” she said. For possibly the first time she could remember, she wished to be paged to the receiving area to attend to a disgustingly feculent and smoking heap of Wizard burping up turds, suffering from an unknown but obviously not life-threatening curse or potion.

“If you don’t want to talk about it anymore, we won’t. I wanted you to trust me and that won’t happen if you feel like I’m grilling you or prying. I’ll try to keep doing whatever it is that makes me being here make St. Mungo’s worth it to you,” he said.

He was a Slytherin but he’d spoken as directly as an Gryffindor, as thoughtfully as any Ravenclaw, as kindly as any Hufflepuff.

“I like you,” she said.

She was not going to mention lust, her own for his face, his shoulders and his hands, the nape of his neck, the line of his thigh when he crouched down to talk to some patient on the Thickey Ward who thought they were a mole. His lips when he smiled. His eyes when he had a new idea that she was going to hate at first. She was courageous, not foolhardy.

“I like you too. Very much,” he said. “Exceedingly. I don’t want you to worry, having said it first, that your feelings are unrequited. They are very, very requited. Maximally requited.”

“I only said I like you,” she replied.

“I know. You don’t make grand declarations. I do. When they are called for,” he said.

“And it’s called for now?”

“We’ve worked together for seven years. We’ve known each other since we were eleven. You just admitted you like me. I’m not risking waiting another decade for you to understand how I feel about you,” he said. “Wizards have long lives but I’d hate to have this conversation with a white beard down to my navel.”

“You will never have a white beard down to your navel. You’d never do something so cliché,” Hermione said.

“You’re probably right. But I still prefer telling you tonight,” he said. “It means that when I ask you if you’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit in the canteen, you’ll know I don’t just mean a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

“But we’d still have those, right?” Hermione said. “Because I skipped lunch today.”

“I will buy you every biscuit in the canteen,” he said. “And breakfast tomorrow morning. Somewhere where you can get a decent omelet.”

“So, someplace Muggle,” Hermione said.

“Most assuredly so. At least until we both have a weekend off,” he said.

“Then what?”

“Then I take you to Paris.”

Five hexes, three Dark-adjacent curses, nine (nine!) misbrewed Potions causing inflammation, exudation, and one case of rapid-fire recitation in Norn, an unlicensed researcher’s run-in with a surly matagot, and a family suffering from mazy measles, meant that no biscuits, chocolate, ginger or lemon, were consumed and the tea in the canteen’s urn remained untasted by either of them.

They did, however, make quick work of a passable cheese omelet at a very nice café once they’d given sign-out to the day’s team.

And Draco Side-alonged her home, giving her a kiss on the cheek at the door.

Hermione kissed him back. Not on the cheek.

She wasn’t about to wait for Paris for a French kiss, not when they had so little say over the on-call schedule.

Not when he looked at her with those sleepy grey eyes.

Not when he murmured her name against her lips.

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cosmicjoke · 9 months

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I'm going to pin this post, because I want everyone to see it.

Do not, I repeat, do not ask me any more questions regarding whether or not Levi only cared about Erwin or was only fighting for Erwin, or only cared about his promise to Erwin, etc... I cannot even tell you how many times I've answered some variation of this same question, over and over and over. I'm sick of it. I can't tell you anything that you shouldn't be able to glean from simply reading the manga or watching the anime yourself.

I also can't emphasize enough that you shouldn't care or consider anything outside of canon, that includes interview answers given by Hajime Isayama. Interviews don't indicate or prove anything, as they're always answers given on the spot, and often don't accurately reflect what the author actually thinks or feels, or intends. Very often, an author can't give a fully fleshed out or accurate reply to any given question because it would spoil what they have planned, or they simply don't have it worked out yet, what they're planning. You can probably guess what I'm referring to specifically, that being Isayama saying Levi felt he had "fulfilled his duty" by being there with Erwin at the end, and this post is spurred on by the latest anonymous ask I've received. Apologies to the person who sent that ask. You seemed very polite and sincere, but I refuse to engage in this conversation again.

I don't even understand why people are so fixated on this question. Why are people so upset by some offhand answer Isayama once gave to a vague, open ended question asked years before he actually concluded the manga? Years before he knew at all what Levi's fate would even be? Why do people need constant reassurance that Levi actually cared about and was fighting for humanity when the answer is plain to see within the canon, with numerous, countless examples of such? Do they have such little faith in his character? Do they feel that insecure in their admiration of him? Because a bunch of idiot haters online constantly try to use an instant of deep compassion and humanity from Levi toward one of his friends as some sort of proof that he "doesn't care about humanity"?

I'm going to give an answer here to this question so that anyone who wants to ask me about this, again, (even though if you just scroll through my blog and search the right tags, you can no doubt find any of the dozens of posts I've made regarding this particular question), you'll have your answer, right there at the top. So please, don't send me any more asks regarding this. I'm always happy to discuss Levi and his character, and the various events involving him in canon, but not if it's just going to be people questioning again and again Levi's commitment to the Survey Corps cause, when he gave his whole life, and lost everything for it.

So here you are.

Regarding what Isayama said about Levi feeling as if he'd "fulfilled his duty" by being there with Erwin at the end, that could literally have meant anything. It doesn't remotely prove, one way or the other, how committed Levi was to saving humanity, or that Levi only cared about Erwin and nothing about saving humanity. It proves nothing but that Levi felt a fierce loyalty toward Erwin, and that he felt duty bond to him like any good soldier would their commanding officer. Levi was Erwin's right hand man. He was his most trusted confidant and friend. The man Erwin looked to for support and advice and strength. The man Erwin relied on to keep him in touch with his own humanity. By saying Levi felt he had "fulfilled his duty" or his "role" by being with Erwin at the end, all that says to me is that Levi felt he had served Erwin admirably and with honor. He stayed with his commanding officer and friend right up to the very moment of his death. He never abandoned him, or lost faith in him, despite Erwin's own admissions of weakness and self-doubt. Levi fulfilled his duty to Erwin specifically because he never left his side or stopped believing in and following him as a trusted leader, and he did right by Erwin, repaid Erwin for being that leader to him, by letting him rest.

So, let's get into why it's absurd to question whether this meant Levi only cared about that duty toward Erwin and didn't give a rats ass about humanity. I could write a hundred pages on this, there's that much evidence to the contrary.

Levi's reaction when Erwin admits to him that he cares more about finding out what's in Eren's basement than about saving humanity. Levi is horrified, and shocked, and feels a deep sense of betrayal and hurt at this revelation. He's distraught that the man he put his faith in to lead humanity to freedom and salvation has just admitted to him that he doesn't care as much about that as he does finding out what's in Eren's basement. Now, why the hell would Levi be so horrified and hurt by this revelation, if he himself didn't care about humanity, and only about serving Erwin? The answer is, he wouldn't. He wouldn't have given a shit what Erwin was fighting for if all he cared about was serving Erwin and being Erwin's loyal dog, like these idiot haters claim. He would have just shrugged and said "Okay, what next then, boss?". But, instead, he fell into a state of angry depression, gave up on trying to convince Erwin to stay behind (something he was trying to do in the first place because he believed humanity would be fucked without Erwin's guidance), felt so enraged and upset that he kicked the shit out of Eren and Jean for acting like undisciplined idiots, and went off to sit, isolated and alone, and questioning everything he'd been doing up to that point. He believed in Erwin so much in the first place because he genuinely believed Erwin was an altruistic, selfless, visionary leader who took on the great burden of leading the Survey Corps in order to save humanity. He admired Erwin for his dedication and commitment to that cause, for his ability to put aside personal feelings to do his duty, and for his great insight and intelligence and hope for a future for humanity. And he was so upset after Erwin's admission because that admission shattered that trust and belief in Erwin, and made Levi question whether he himself had made the right decision in following him. That doesn't sound like the reaction or behavior of someone who's just blindly loyal to or in love with Erwin and only cares about where he goes and what he does. Again, canon in your friend. Defer to canon.

Another point. Levi continues to serve in and fight for the Survey Corps, years after Erwin's death. If Levi really felt he had "fulfilled his duty" by being with Erwin in his last moments, and that he had nothing else to contribute or provide, then he would have simply quit the SC. But he didn't. He stayed, and continued to participate in and contribute in any way he could to their cause. He continued to fight for humanity, as the SC has always done. He continued to fight for the dream that every member that had died believed in, for them. People mistake Isayama's comment about Levi feeling directionless after Erwin's death as him meaning Levi didn't care about humanity, (which, I still don't know how you extrapolate that from his comment, but whatever), but that just shows a lack of understanding Levi's relationship with Erwin to begin with. Levi relied on Erwin to be his guiding light. He trusted in and relied on Erwin to use him to further the cause for humanity. Levi let Erwin choose how to deploy his abilities and strength, he followed Erwin's orders, because he considered Erwin infinitely more qualified than himself to determine these things. He believed in Erwin as a leader. He trusted in Erwin's judgment, in Erwin's ability to make the right choice, even if Levi himself couldn't understand or see where he was coming from at first. When Erwin died, Levi lost that guide. He lost Erwin's judgement. He lost Erwin's vision. When Isayama says Levi felt "directionless", he means Levi didn't know how he himself could contribute as effectively to the SC cause anymore, because he didn't have Erwin there to tell him how. Erwin always told Levi what to do, and Levi followed, because he trusted in Erwin's ability to see what he couldn't. But it was always, ALWAYS to serve humanity. Not to serve Erwin, but to serve the cause of humanities salvation. Without Erwin, it wasn't that Levi no longer cared about saving humanity, it was only that Levi no longer felt he had the person who could point him in the right direction and tell him what to do to attain that goal. He was on his own for the first time in this fight, and he didn't know what he could do now to advance it. He didn't know what role he could play. Again, it's not that he didn't care about humanity, or no longer cared about fighting for humanity. It's that he simply didn't know what role he was meant to play anymore in that cause. But even with that uncertainty and doubt, he kept fighting. He kept trying to do what he could. That isn't the action of a man who doesn't care about the cause. Someone who doesn't care wouldn't have kept in the fight the way Levi did. It's why he never quit fighting, even when he was half-dead from getting caught in a thunderspear explosion. Why he refused to run away, even when he was barely alive. That's also why I think it's absurd when people say Levi's choice to let Erwin die was "selfish", because Levi gave up his own feeling of placement in the world by doing so. He gave up his own comfort, his own sureness, his own sense of direction. He took on a massive burden when he let Erwin die, and he did it for Erwin's sake, because it was the humane, compassionate thing to do. That's the opposite of selfish. It's mind-blowingly selfless.

And lastly, Levi keeps fighting, even after he fulfills the vow to Erwin and his other comrades. If all Levi cared about was fulfilling the vow he made to Erwin, the vow to kill Zeke so that he could give meaning to the sacrifices of his comrades that day in Shinganshina, then he would have simply laid down afterward and done nothing to help the alliance win. But, he didn't do that. Even when Levi felt convinced that he wasn't going to be able to kill Zeke, he kept fighting in any way he could and trying to lead the alliance to victory. He came up with plans of action, he gave orders and directions to his comrades, he risked his life and nearly died to save both Jean's and Connie's lives, he helped Gabi to take out different targets with her gun, and finally, after killing Zeke, he rallied Mikasa and Pieck to not give into their grief at what was happening, and urged Mikasa on to deliver the final blow to Eren to finally end the whole damn thing. Without Levi, in that moment, Mikasa very likely could have given into despair and given up. Levi wouldn't let her. Those aren't the actions of a man who doesn't care.

Levi's inner monologue, about not regretting letting Erwin die and choosing Armin is further proof of how much he cares about the cause. He talks about Armin having the same light in his eyes as everyone else, before cynicism and doubt crept in from seeing too much horror. He talks about what they all fought for, whether it was to see people's lives trampled and their freedom stolen, or for a ridiculously idealistic world, and concludes it was for the latter, because that's the ONLY THING that would have made their sacrifices worth it. Again, these aren't the thoughts and feelings of someone who doesn't care about humanity. If all Levi cared about was Erwin and serving Erwin and fulfilling his vow to Erwin, he wouldn't have been thinking about any of those things at that point. He wouldn't have cared what his fallen comrades lost their lives for. It wouldn't have been a question at all in his mind. But instead it's the centerpiece of Levi's character in the final arc.

And then, Levi's salute to his fallen comrades in the end, and the first and only time we see him cry, because what they fought for has finally been achieved. A world without titans, and thus, a world where they could be free. Levi salutes them and cries because it meant that much to him, fulfilling the goal they all fought for, ensuring they didn't die in vain. Again, that isn't the reaction of a man who didn't care about the fight for humanity.

I really don't know what else to say. Again, canon in your friend. Levi's actions speak louder than any words. If you're having some sort of doubt as to how committed Levi was to the cause for humanity because of a bunch of brainless bleating from online haters, then simply do yourself a favor and go back and read the manga or watch the anime, and all your fears will be assuaged.

And that's all I'm going to say on this particular subject. If you want to know my thoughts, well, here you are. I hope it's an extensive and thorough enough answer, because it's the only one you're going to be getting from now on. If not, just go back through my blog and search, because I've talked about this innumerable times before as well.

#Levi Ackerman #Erwin Smith #Attack on Titan #shingkei no kyojin

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lolitafushiguro · 11 months

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I Can't Remember Love (Zhongli x Reader)

Lolita's Note: This is a fic I impulsively wrote inspired by this song! It's one of my favorites. I've been feeling under the weather lately so this is very self-indulgent.

Reminiscence. It is one of the many bittersweet things that Zhongli goes through in his life countless times. There are instances where he wishes he has the memory of a normal human being.

Fickle, fleeting, yet like the essence of the cycle of seasons, the memory of a human being eventually forgets to make room for the new.

Sometimes it forgets the most monotonous thing; sometimes it forgets the most painful encounter. Though, sometimes it also remembers, but unlike him, the memories inside a mortal's mind become a mosaic of fragments unique to their own journey in their lives.

But to him, he remembers it all. Whereas, instead of a fragmented mosaic, they are all clear paintings that move through every fiber of his being.

Memories of the archon war, of the many eras he had lived through, of the many battles he fought, and of the people whom lives he had witnessed blossom and wither - it all melts inside of him, an unpleasant mixture of despair, bloodshed, triumph, and change.

But, out of all the things he remembers, he chooses to reminisce about you.

His beloved.

His treasure.

The first time he saw you was during one of your travels, lost in the mountains where the adepti resided, and he remembers the questioning look in your eyes when you found him sitting alone by the stone table at Mt. Aozang, and he always smiles at himself when he remembers the cautious way you asked him for directions to get back to the harbor.

Back then, he thought he will never see you again, part of him wanted you to take a seat beside him and rest for a while, but he sensed your urgency to return back to where you came from.

So when he saw you again, he remembers how surprised you were when he visited the restaurant you temporarily worked for.

He remembers how hardworking and clever you were. You always loved what you were doing, and he admired your unbreakable resolve to keep moving forward despite the many obstacles you faced in life.

He remembers the day he realized he became too watchful of you, and he remembers the day he found himself accompanying you too often in your journeys.

When you asked him why, he remembers how he told you that he just grew fond being around you.

He remembers how you used to buy yourself beautiful clothes after a commission with a hefty pay.

He remembers how you always dreamed to be part of an opera troupe, and when he tells you he can refer you to one of his acquaintances, you politely refuse him. He remembers you telling him that you've grown 'too old' for it, and that you didn't 'have enough time and resources'; but you always tell him that it can happen in the next life.

For every dream you didn't achieve, he remembers how you always tell him that, often with that sweet smile in your face.

And he almost laughs bitterly at that.

When he thinks about you, he also remembers the archon war.

He remembers searching for you far and wide. For each step that he took, he looked for any sign of you. Anything, even the faintest tune of your voice. He remembers desperation.

To see you,

To feel you,

Alive.

He remembers how the flames engulfed the traces of your life. He remembers the embers of what was once your home.

He remembers the sight of burnt silk and shattered pieces of jade ー one of your favorite possessions.

He remembers how he lost himself at the sight of losing you. And it was painful.

He remembers that it was the moment where he grew tired of losing people that mattered to him.

At the time, he knew nothing but wrath and despair. Zhongli grew coldhearted, his heart hard as stone. But, he found that the passage of time does heal you little by little.

Yet, out of all the things he remembers about you, Zhongli seemed to forget one thing.

Love.

He thinks it's better that way, to forget about how much he loved you. In a sense, it makes remembering you less painful.

With each passing of the seasons, his heart ached less, and his scars healed better. A few hundred years have passed, and Zhongli became a man of many duties.

Presently, the man puts up a facade of a polite and dedicated bachelor, dutifully fulfilling his responsibilities as the esteemed consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

He seemed to take it as his favorite pastime, drinking tea or having wine and reminiscing about you, especially when he is alone.

Whenever he stops by the Heyu Teahouse, he pictures you as one of the guest performers alongside the Yun-Han opera troupe.

Oh, how you'd look beautiful in their delicate costumes. Zhongli always wishes to a fallen star that maybe someday, you'll return to him living the life you once dreamed of.

But he knows it won't be coming true. So he holds on to every bit of memory he has of you.

Zhongli wants to remember how he loved you.

He wants to remember how he kissed and touched you.

Out of all the things he can forget, why would it be the one? He asks himself.

They say it is bad to open up old wounds, but he does so whenever he thinks about you.

He hates to admit that he wants you back.

Zhongli wants to see and feel your existence again, and maybe he is desperate about it, but he doesn't want to live his life like this anymore.

He doesn't want to pretend. To put up a facade. He has become so restless and empty for the last 500 years. He can't help it.

It's not the same without you.

"I remember springtime, I remember when it rained"

A familiar voice rings through his ears and he looks up to see who the next performer is.

"I remember night time"

His eyes widened at the sight. He saw the one person he had longed for so long.

"The happiness and pain"

There you were, standing on the stage as you sang a mellow song from a foreign region. The guests were intently listening to your melodic voice, as you sang a song of melancholy and love.

"I remember you"

Zhongli found himself walking towards you, cautiously, as if he was reliving the moment of your first encounter. Your eyes were closed, and you had the familiar smile on your face. He remembers it clearly, the expression you have when you were enjoying yourself.

"But I can't remember love"

He found it ironic. You were so beautiful. You felt so complete, like you weren't chasing ends to meet anymore. So, he knows this is different. This is not you from many years ago. Still, you looked the same as ever ー as if you haven't aged at all.

"Was it only yesterday, or many moons ago?"

Zhongli realized you were looking into his eyes, still smiling ー as if you were asking him the lyric you were singing, reminiscing about the archaic past together. He felt his heart beat again, and he wanted nothing but to hold you tight in his arms.

"When I turned and walked away, where, oh, where did it go?"

The lanterns of the teahouse illuminated your face, and you both stood there. Zhongli patiently waited for you to finish the song. He doesn't know how to approach you, or how you'll react when he calls you by your name.

"I remember you. Yet, I want to remember love, and I do…"

You sang the last lines of the song and people clapped as you ended your performance. It turns out you were a local singer who performs in taverns and teahouses all across Teyvat. Zhongli felt nostalgic at that fact. You are still a traveler at heart.

He felt a pang at his chest when you started to walk away. He figured you still had places to go.

No.

He cannot let this happen.

He cannot lose you again.

He called your name as he started to chase after you.

You were about to get inside your carriage when you heard his voice.

"Are you referring to me, sir?" You asked innocently.

"Yes." He replied, catching his breath.

There was silence for a while. While you were studying his appearance, he felt a mixture of feelings as he took in your beauty.

"It… it really is you." He smiled. He doesn't want to scare you, but he remembers now. He remembers how his heart beats fast whenever he's around you. He remembers how it takes all of his composure to remain calm and collected whenever he is near you.

He remembers it all.

And for once, he wishes he won't forget anymore. He'd rather have the curse of remembering everything as long as there's you in it.

He remembers now.

He remembers how much he loves you, even if you don't remember him anymore.

He'll watch over you, just like he did in the past. He'll protect you. And if the time comes when you need him by your side, he'll stay with you ー for as long as you need.

To Zhongli, your existence is enough to make him love you, even if it's just from afar.

So, he thanks every fallen star he has wished to; because he can truly feel alive, now that you're here again.

ー Lolita

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bronx-bomber87 · 1 year

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Hello all :) I wanted to post this yesterday but had some technical difficulties. Also thank you to all those that have liked, commented or reblogged my reviews. Very Encouraging so thank you. Glad to have you all along with me. As always will credit all gif usage at the end.

Onward we go to 1x03 'The Good the Bad and the Ugly.'

Tim is back on duty after his gun shot wound. He’s is not ready physically and most definitely not emotionally. Despite that all Lucy is glad to have him back riding with her. Tim replying like early S1 Tim would in regards to her being glad he's back. Reserved and Cocky.

They Get their first call of the day at a bank with a man trapped behind an ATM wall. Tim takes charge like he doesn't have a wound in his side. Keeps going till he's grimacing and in major pain.

Theme of Tim Bradford in the early days. Man doesn’t ask for help. Ever. So when he’s hacking at that wall he’s trying to prove to himself he’s fine. The gunshot wound doesn’t affect him. When his body is telling him otherwise. Instead of asking Lucy to help to him he barks at her asking why he’s doing this and not her. S1 Tim you’re so rough around the edges my love. Don’t you worry Lucy is gonna soften those edges slowly but surely Haha

After Lucy fails a mini Tim test (gif set I just could not seem to find) Of him stealing her duty belt because she didn't secure the bathroom properly. He receives a phone call about Isabel OD'ing. Another set I could not find is Isabel basically ripping into Tim. Telling him to leave her alone to ‘Save your tough love for someone else’ and boy does he ever.... Lucy gets quite the helping in this episode.

We know he is very much no where close to being 'Okay' After his convo with Isabel he is out of control angry. Doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. Too damn blinded by his hurt. It shows in their next call with the biker gang. By putting not only his healing self in danger but Lucy. He’s so desperate for help but refusing to ask again. So instead he implodes. Fights a biker gang prospect. Searching desperately for an outlet for his frustration/anger. Doing it in the worst way imaginable. He’s in so much pain he cannot see straight. Poor Lucy can only stand there and watch him self destruct. Luckily he wins the tussle but it comes at a cost.

In s5 Tim bringing up his past with Isabel to Lucy. This is what he's referring to. How it cost him nearly everything emotionally. Unless you watch s1 recently you forget how badly he was burned. How she utterly wrecked him. Watching her destroy him with a 2 min convo hurts to watch. He was adrift in his emotions and drowning at a fast pace. He needed a life line so badly. He had no idea that life line would show up in the form of Lucy Chen. The Ray of sunshine that challenges his ass and puts him in place like no one has before.

By the time they get back to station she's crawling out of her skin with worry for Tim. She has no idea what she should do if anything. He is her superior officer after all but he's also endangering them both. By the time she gets their "suspect" into booking Tim is still in a bad head space from his convo at the hospital. Checking out NARCAN clearly for Isabel. They pull up to Isabel's apt and Lucy is restless in the car when he tells her to stay put. She can't take it any longer and jumps out to confront him.

She takes a deep breath and starts her fight to save Tim's sanity. To keep him from going completely off the edge and taking her with him. That’s what makes what Lucy does in this scene so incredible. One she's barely 3 weeks at best into her working relationship with him and two It was like fighting the sun with Tim in s1. She not only stood up for herself she put him in his place. He had been encased in his emotions so long he lost clarity completely. He couldn’t see past his pain. So she took a stand and won.

The biggest part of this moment is he concedes, listens and lets her take control of the situation. Has her run the NARCAN up to Isabel. I can’t even begin with how massive this is. This obstinate, grumpy man who would scare most rookies into washing out didn’t stand a chance against Lucy Chen. Its one of the main reasons he falls in love with her. She challenges him and rights him when he’s on the worst path. That look of defeat and resignation on his face. He know's he in the wrong and can't fight her anymore on this. Eric once again crushing it. Killing me softly good sir. His face says it all.

This following scene back in the shop is underrated and beautiful. Something about Lucy draws out his vulnerable side whether he likes it or not. The crack she started in ep 2 continues its growth in this ep. Her standing up to him, laying down boundaries and bringing him back to earth earned her this moment with him. Tim opening up to her. Sharing what I'm sure no one else has heard.

The most beautiful part is she’s doing it for more than the fact he’s her T.O. She cares about him as a person. He's realizing this and its why he's opening up to her right now. He's baring his soul to her and there couldn't be a better person to accept it. Why she follows up the way she does. Lucy is very aware how precious the information that is being shared with her is.

Her telling him about her apt is her olive branch back. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things just looking at this conversation. Telling him this as her reply. But it means the world to him. She knows this which is why she lets him know her apt is decent. It’s what he needs to hear.

Listening to him let out the deep breathe and tell her ‘Thanks’ it’s a loaded thanks. It means so much more than that single word, but once again this is s1 Tim so the fact she’s getting this is big. Its what he needs to hear in order to to be able to drive away from her apt. She's given him peace of mind to be able to do so.

We barrel towards the end of the episode. Tim and Lucy chasing one of the two remaining suspects. They corner him and once again just like at the beginning of the ep Tim can’t ask for help. He physically can’t climb the top of that truck. Lucy knows this and helps him out. Saying it would be ‘good for her training’ for her to do it. Tim goes along with it because his pride can’t handle it otherwise. She conducts herself flawlessly of course.

She’s so proud of herself and he can’t allow her to see he is too. He’s already been too ‘soft’ today for her. He always defaults back to being the hard ass whenever he opens up in the very beginning with her because S1 Tim be S1 Tim.

~~~~

Side Notes non Chenford.

I love Grey taking Tim out for a drink. Poor man needed it so much.

Talia being soft for the train burglar and his son.

Not much side stuff to mention this was a pretty heavy Chenford building ep and I’m happy with that.

Please like/comment if you can I love it when people do either hehe

Gif Credit To

Chenfordsbee

Chenfordsource

Chenfordgifs

#Caitlin rewatches the Rookie #chenford #chenford hiatus #the rookie #Tim Bradford #Lucy chen #1x03 The good the bad the ugly #s1 #tim x lucy #Eric winter #melissa o'neil #summer rewatch #otp: doing my job #chenford nation #tim bradford x lucy chen

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worriedvision · 1 year

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Here is part 2 of this fic! Gender neutral reader,l, Tighnari is basically the one sided academic rival of the reader. Well, before the outcome of part 1.

Taglist: @samarill @nina3871 @toasterinabathtub @kazeniya @tighnaripretty

Tighnari kept looking for you every time he was in the library after that, hoping he could find out what your letter was about. Nobody was allowed to tell him you were expelled, that your mentor simply didn't waste their breath on you. Your parents didn't seem to care too much about your absence from Sumeru, nobody has seen you recently.

When he started to look for you, your parents caught wind of it after some missing persons reports showed up, and the person to report to was not an official body, but rather to the very person that you were constantly compared to.

After a few months of nothing, your parents went to Tighnari to tell him you were the family disappointment. They expected him to understand, to just nod it off and forget about you, but that didn't happen.

"Tighnari, is it?" Your mother sings, the man turning to face who had called his name out. "We saw your posters for our child. We appreciate your concern, however the search won't fix the fact they failed to keep up with you."

Tighnari tilts his head, silently asking them to elaborate.

"Our child brought shame to the family name, I'm sure your family understand the importance of maintaining-"

"You are so obnoxious." Tighnari crosses his arms.

"Excuse me?" Your mother gasps, hand flying to her chest.

"Our child failed to keep up academically, and after our advice they failed to change." Your father explains.

"I'm sure you're aware your approach to parenting does not work." Tighnari tuts. "They started to fluctuate with their test scores, and they refused my support. You must have told them something."

"We only told them the truth, Tighnari." Your father spits out. "They were a disappointment to the family, and we informed them you were-"

"I was what? Holding them back?" Tighnari raises a brow. "Oh please, it wasn't like I was telling them every single thing about the subject. I gave them nudges in the correct direction, they are not incompetent."

"A child that needs a nudge in the correct direction -"

"And stop referring to your child as 'a child'." Tighnari shakes his head. "I would be disappointed to have parents like you."

"That is horrible! What would your parents think?"

"Well, if you must know, our family all have different academic goals. We do not focus on how others perform compared to us, that is not productive." Tighnari states. "Neither of my parents have made such...disgraceful comments about family."

"Excuse me?"

"Is your entire vocabulary 'excuse me'?" Tighnari sneers, rolling his eyes. "My point still stands. You are the problem."

Your mother splutters, your father gritting his teeth together, and Tighnari shakes his head before attempting to find out where you moved to.

"And what happened to the extra 500,000 mora that is, still, unaccounted for?" You ask, your client looking away bashfully. "You asked for me to give you advice regarding your business, and why it is failing, but it is clear you have been using this more inefficiently."

"I agree with you." A familiar voice hums out, catching you by surprise.

"I don't need your validation." You dismiss Tighnari, handing the papers back to your client. "If you are serious about your business, you need to stop betting." You state, walking away.

"_, can I talk to you?" Tighnari asks, keeping up with you.

"No." You curtly reply.

"Please? I miss interacting with you." He explains.

"What, are you going to tell me I shouldn't have found a new life elsewhere? I didn't have an option, I was humiliated when I was kicked out." You state, still walking.

"Did you enjoy your time as a student? Not with your parents, but the other part is it?" Tighnari asks. You nod your head, and Tighnari knows you're staying silent because you're on the verge of a breakdown. "I have an idea. We are looking for forest rangers. Join me, and I will do my very best to vouch for you. I won't inform your parents, in fact I found out how toxic they were recently."

"And what happens if I fail?"

"Well...I think the forest ranger life can be very fulfilling." Tighnari responds.

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #angst #tighnari #tighnari x gender neutral reader #tighnari x reader

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takami-takami · 5 months

Note

,,,, hombre it is presently //squints

8:03 in the PM

i should be HONESTLY working on other projects atm on my plate

but my brain refuses to let go of disgusting Fantasy!AU fluff that's been CLINGING TO MY BRAIN LIKE WINE STAINS ON A WHITE T-SHIRT AND I NEED TO LET THEM RUN RAMPANT!!!!

so!!! here's the quickie sales pitch bestie;

Keigo since boyhood has always been… on the unfortunate side when it came to the more tangible leisures of life. Income is something I’m sure plenty of families struggled with, his situation being no different. To alter that, he'd been enlisted in the Royal Knight's brigade since a very, very young age as a result. He's solely devoted the time and energy to keep his kinsman safe from whatever horrors lie beyond and within the city's walls, occasionally being fed a “thank you, brave knight!” from the passing kids running the streets being kept safe to see the light of the next dawn, feeding his drive and purpose even if it were a crumb’s worth of gratitude. That was “enough” for him. To his surprise, the noble family often needs a fine swordsman who is better than Keigo, revered an exemplary star student who caught the eye of His and Her Royal Majesty's eye when searching for a personal bodyguard to secure their precious child and next heir to the throne.

Keigo of course, just sees this as an ample opportunity to just overall better his quality of life for likely a higher risk per the reward. Graciously accepting the new role and the gilded uniform to boot.

He was completely baffled that the first day on the job was simply to escort the heir through a Flower Viewing Advent they'd been looking forward to for a while now!! The castle is very, very stuffy after all and I'm sure the heir's newly appointed Knight would appreciate the fresh air as well. This heir being so, so chatty and utterly keening to get to know Keigo and asks a million and one questions whilst covertly picking some idle wildflowers to keep their hands busy. Keigo was utterly baffled that their charge was just... so... endearing? Excitable? Would it be wrong to say/think that they're adorable to some extent? Is that disrespectful to refer to your charge as cute? That revelation gave him very mild panic, an unfamiliar concept to him.

He's just so not used to being taken interested in and asked about what he likes to do, what his favorite season or flower is, or if he has a favorite meal. What memories are most cherished to him, and a lot of which either were lukewarm (at best) or unanswered responses. Keigo had his tongue caught which, was also a foreign concept, given his silver tongue paired well with his blade in tandem. Swathing through his thoughts trying to muster even a false answer proved more difficult and the poignant silence was palpable at best. However noticing that his typical, automated charming maks were slipping and those catty responses died in his throat, he felt a tussling of his hair which finally dragged him out of his messy thoughts. His hands immediately lifted to his head only to be greeted with leaves and stems braided together… “A flower crown!” Compiled of Cornflowers, Honeysuckle, and Hyacinths. “Did you know that each flower has its own meaning and language, Lord Takami?” Almost caught off guard by the gesture itself, he stammers briefly before regaining that same approachable persona of his.

“I do not, Your Eminence. I’d be honored if you enlightened me perhaps what my crown means?” A gigantic smile grew on their face, pointing to each flower in order and relaying the meanings accordingly. Cornflowers being a mild-mannered plant, speaking of gentleness. “Be gentle with me,” Honeysuckle, soft and delicate. “Devoted affection,” and finally Hyacinths, expressing a delicate fondness, “Your loveliness charms me.”

Keigo could suddenly feel the outside feeling… a little uncomfortably warm, unbeknownst to him that a pink shade was tinting his face. “Y-You flatter me, truly…” Clearing his throat and turning his bashful expression away from the heir. Nothing but those playfully coy giggles ringing in his ear.

“It suits you,” They spoke, delicately navigating a loose golden lock from his flustered face to its intended place, “I’ve seen many flower gardens both wild and domesticated, and you are the most beautiful among this garden, Lord Takami.” A noticeable ‘Ba-dup’ resounds beneath the family crest… ironically set over his heart on his uniform. Oh dear… that hammering in his ribcage is going to be a problem, now isn’t it?

Fin.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY SALES PITCH IM GOING TO SCREAM LIKE A USELESS HOPELESS ROMANTIC INTO A CORNER KAY BYEEEE 🖤🖤🖤 (P.S: I am not a professional Florist so my flower language could be abhorrently incorrect, I just ripped that from the local farmer's almanac I had on hand lmfao)

- Krow Anon ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

KROW IF YOU DON'T WRITE THIS FIC RIGHT NOW

#I WOULD EAT THIS UP EAT IT UP EAT #I LOVE THIS???? HELLO???????? KNIGHT KEIGO?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!???#begging #krow anon #💌 asks

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eddie-van-munson · 2 years

Text

A Kiss on the Mouth (Eddie Munson x Reader)

***********

Summary: Eddie comes down with Pneumonia and that sweet boy is hurting :^( He needs to be held and loved on, and what are friends for? A classic Sick Fic with a dash of Friends to Lovers.

Requested by: @arigatopuppy

Warnings: GN Pronouns (I think!), Pining, Cursing, Vague Mention of Throwing up (non-descript), References to Alcohol Consumption, Eddie Recalls an Instance Where he was Bullied.

***********

Eddie "didn't get sick".

When he was a kid, he had always been the type to eat food off the ground and put all kinds of shit in his mouth, so his immune system was pretty fuckin' tight.

He'd never made himself a stranger when you weren't feeling well, either. He always brought you your school work when you got stomach bugs, and sometimes, he'd even surprise you with one or two of your favorite tapes from Family Video. He'd sit beside you in your bed and watch them with you until you drifted off. Sometimes, you'd even drool just a little on his shoulder.

Still, he never once caught anything. That being said, when it rained, it poured. He refused to go to the doctor, but your mom was a nurse, and you knew pneumonia when you saw it. And you could see it. He even looked sick...his skin pale and his pretty brown eyes sunken in.

You laid your school bag down and closed his blinds before kneeling beside his bed, which was just a mattress stacked on top of a box spring. He stirred just a little when you felt his temperature with the back of your hand, but it didn't quite wake him. He was burning up.

You let him sleep for a few minutes longer while you searched out a washcloth and soaked it under cool water, wringing it out before bringing it back to his room. It was impossible not to feel guilty as you slowly pulled the comforter down off his shoulders. The soft whine he gave was pitiful, but all he could do was tuck his arms and legs in around himself.

He shivered, brows furrowing as he felt around for the blanket. You laced your fingers with his, grazing your thumb over his knuckles.

" 's cold." He whimpered, his eyes scrunching as he rubbed them too hard. You coaxed his hand away from his face, gently.

"I know it feels cold, bub, but you're burning up. Your cheeks are all red."

You wondered if Wayne had realized how sick he was. He'd called you before school that morning to tell you Eddie would be absent, but chances are, he would've stayed home if he'd understood how miserable his nephew really was.

Eddie reached for the blanket again, still half asleep, but you stopped him.

"Hey, no... Shit, you're gonna give yourself a heat stroke, Eds. You're already sweating." You frowned, brushing back the baby curls that had stuck to his forehead with sweat. He stayed still enough for you to gather his wild hair messily, and you tied it up with an old scrunchie to keep it off of his nape. He cringed and tensed when you carefully tucked the cool washcloth beneath his neck, but he quickly relaxed again when you stroked his hair soothingly. "There we go...That's it."

"I got sick." Eddie rasped, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your hand in his hair. "Wayne had already left."

"Oh, bud, It's ok. Do I need to clean up?"

"No..."

You nodded. Eddie had had enough experience with alcohol to know when he was about to be sick. "Did you brush your teeth, after?"

He hummed a pitiful 'yes', though it was hard to understand him through his stuffy nose. You frowned, digging through your pocket, and moved to sit beside him on the bed.

"C'mere, Tiger." He sat still for you as you uncapped your Chapstick, carefully rolling the balm over his lips once before moving to the tip of his his angry, red nose. "There we go. That should help it feel better where you're all chapped huh?" You laid your Chapstick (which was now Eddie's Chapstick) on his bedside table.

He was pale all over, apart from the red in his cheeks that darkened when he coughed too hard. Even though he said he was cold, there was a light sheen of sweat over his chest. You rested your cheek on his hip, your heart stuttering a little when you felt him toy with your hair.

"I feel gross." Eddie whimpered, his nose scrunching unhappily.

You gave him a sympathetic look, taking his free hand in yours to keep him from reaching up and rubbing his eyes too hard. "You want to take a bath?"

He looked unconvinced, and you wondered for a moment if it was worth it to make him get up. It was, surely. He was pitiful.

You ruffled his sweaty curls affectionately, "Come on, Spaghetti. I'll run you a cool bath and we can get you all cleaned up?"

Eddie's displeasure melted a little at the silly nickname. His teacher, Mrs. Barnett, had started calling him when the two of you were in her fourth grade class, and it stuck. He hadn't heard it in years. He gave a fond smile, "Eddie Spaghetti."

"Edward...Spaghedward."

He made a face at the use of his full name, and you laughed sweetly. A bath wasn't such a bad idea, really…

***********

He took quite a bit of work on your part to convince him that no, the water could not be warm, but you'd managed to slip a thermometer into his mouth as the tub filled, and he was just under 102°, so you stood firm on the matter.

You'd originally planned on giving him some privacy so he could undress and climb into the tub. You'd hoped you could search out some fresh sheets for him in the meantime (having clean bedding always made you feel better when you were ill), but he took your wrist in his hand timidly when you reached for the door.

"You're gonna leave me in here all alone?"

You chuckled, turning back towards him. "I think that tends to be how people like to bathe, yeah. But if you want me to stay…"

He thumbed at your wrist sheepishly, "I was just…I was wondering if you could um…" He fumbled for words. "Do you remember when Jason Carver stuck gum in my hair? And you got it out for me and washed it?"

You nodded, charmed by his uncharacteristic nervousness.

"Well..it felt really nice. And I was kind of hoping you'd…um…if you don't mind to, that is-"

"You want me to wash your hair for you, bub?"

He nodded, sighing in relief as he gave you a grateful smile. In that moment, you found yourself wanting to pamper that sweet boy until he could be pampered no more.

He stripped down to his boxers and sat on the mat beside the tub, waiting patiently as you made quick work of his new bedsheets and threw the old ones in the wash. Your heart stuttered when you returned to the bathroom to find him anxiously awaiting.

He was good for you while you worked, using an old cup to wet his thick curls down before lathering them up with shampoo. You sat in his lap, Eddie's hands steadying you at your waist as you leaned over the wall of the tub for more water. He looked pretty like that, his head tilted back, eyes fluttered shut as you scrubbed your nails over his scalp. He gave sweet, content moans at the feeling, and you had to laugh softly to keep yourself from squirming in his lap. By the time you were finished, Eddie had drifted off beneath you.

"Hey…Hey bub…" You hummed softly, feeling an odd wave of affection towards him. You scrunched his freshly washed curls in your hands as he stirred, "There you are…"

" 'm sorry." He rasped, wincing at the uncomfortable angle his neck had been laying at. "Jus' felt nice."

Your heart ached. Somehow, even sopping wet and half asleep, he was still ridiculously endearing.

" 's alright." You scratched his scalp reassuringly, fighting the urge to kiss his forehead. 'Why don't you rinse off in the tub, and then we can get you tucked back in, ok?"

***********

Eddie's teeth were chattering when he wandered back into his room, his t-shirt sticking to him in spots where he hadn't bothered to dry off too well. His fever had finally broken, and the poor boy looked like you'd just offered him a million dollars when you wrapped a blanket around his trembling shoulders.

He sat patiently with his back against the headboard as you dug through the messy tub of over the counter medicines that you'd found shoved under the sink. You started with some cough medicine to soothe his sore throat, which wasn't technically expired, but the bottle was suspiciously crusty. Eddie reassured you that it was fine.

You set aside a few things he might need once he could take them…Motrin and Mucinex and whatever you could find buried in the basket, but made it very clear that you would be dragging him to the doctor tomorrow.

"What do you mean?" He yawned, as you flashed him the jar of Vicks Vapor Rub that you'd just found in the mix. Obediently, he fished for the hem of his shirt and tucked it under his chin, exposing his chest to you. "You're doctoring me up right now. I'll be better in no time."

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile, and scooped some of the salve onto your fingers. He was looking much better than when you found him, but a bath, clean clothes, and fresh sheets can do that to a person.

He shivered as you spread it over his chest. Eddie didn't love the feeling of the smelly balm, but he definitely loved the feeling of your hands on his skin, and his sinuses instantly cleared.

His eyes fluttered shut, and his visible enjoyment of his little massage made you want to prolong it as much as you could. You wiped the residue from the balm off on your jeans when you finished, tucking his shirt back down over his tummy. Eddie shifted on the mattress, making room beside him, and patted the bed expectantly.

You chuckled softly, "You want me to stay?"

His dark brows furrowed, "I always want you to stay."

You felt a wave of love sickness wash over you, and you followed obediently as he pulled you in close against his chest. You sighed happily, tangling your legs with his.

"You take such good care of me." Eddie slurred, voice groggy with sleep. "Always takin' such good care of me." His warm hand stroked up and down your spine a few times before sneaking beneath your shirt to give your back a doting scratch.

You hummed, crooning against his touches. "You take good care of me too, Eds." Your own eyelids were growing heavy now, and without thinking about it, you pressed a soft kiss to his throat.

It was barely a peck, but Eddie groaned just the same, gathering you in closer with the arm he had wrapped around your waist.

"Y/N…" He turned his head, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, too sleepy and happy in his arms to worry about being embarrassed.

"N-No…" He sputtered, lacing his fingers in your hair gently. He tilted his head back, as if he was trying to guide you back to the spot. "I liked it…I-....I liked it."

You chuckled, waking up a bit more at the realization that he was pleased. The heat of your breath fanned his skin, "You want me kissing your neck?"

He scrunched his face, frustrated. "Well if I'm being honest, I want a kiss on the mouth, but I can't. You'll get sick."

"Oh, poor lamb…" You chuckled softly, pushing his wet curls off his neck. You nuzzled your face in against him. He still smelled like body wash and shampoo, and your nose fit beneath the curve of his jaw perfectly. You were hesitant at first, chastely grazing your lips across his jaw, but as soon as you heard the sigh that escaped him, your muscles melted against his body warmth.

Your mouth whispered down his throat, and Eddie felt like, for a moment, that you were curing all that ailed him. He cooed your name when you reached his collarbone, but when you looked up to meet his gaze, he was having to fight valiantly to keep his eyes open.

You chuckled softly, crooning upwards to kiss his forehead, gently. His lashes fluttered as you snuggled in. "Get some rest, Lover Boy."

***********

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #eddie munson inagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie imagine #eddie imagines #eddie x reader #eddie x you #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munsen x reader #eddie munsen imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munsen

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miguel-ohara-wifey · 1 month

Text

Lincoln Clays nicknames for you Headcanons

Lincoln Clay x Fem!reader

Warning: 18+, violence, mention of the mob (duh), crime, 40’s America racism, swearing, not a native Spanish speaker I’m doing my best, haven’t played the games either but I love this man 💜💜💜

Tag; @himbo-hunter-hadrian thank you for introducing me to this fiiiiiine man 💜

🧨Sparky🧨

You two first came face to face after Lincoln came to your illegal fireworks ring in search of supplies. Ordered by your boss to facilitate the deal between your people and his. The pair of you undressed each other with your eyes under the mural of the starry evening. On the scene of the exchange dwelling in the outskirts of the hollow.

As the aroma of finished rain fall permeated the meeting. Sal’s assassins bullets jumped from behind the bushes to clean everyone present out. Naturally you and Lincoln dispersed the attackers, even as some of your people didn’t make it. Once the dust and firecracker smoke had settled. He charmingly referred to you as sparky, in response to refusing to tell him your real name.

The deal carried on despite the setback, you personally promised to keep him touch with him

🍷Cherie🍷

Months rolled by as your ring aided Lincoln in his crusade against Sal. You agreed to accompany him undercover at a fancy ball. In order to steal some files for Donovan. You posed as husband and wife, so of course he called you his Cherie, you more than didn’t mind. Not to mention it was the fanciest you had seen the scrappy young vet.

You feel muscles tensing under his soft skin as you laid a hand onto his chest. Your finger tips rub against the buttons of his suit. And you shiver as the palm of his hand lands on the small of your back. He instinctively plays with the ends of your hair, and you don’t mind at all. The scenario was tense due to how natural it was. Awkwardness itself evaporated entirely when you two held each other. Every touch now matter how small you both felt over your entire being. It was as natural as breathing, as if you’d walked on phantom limbs your whole lives and finally found your other half.

A reality neither of you were ready to admit just yet, as you switched gears to the true reason you were there. After disguising yourself as the maid and being slurred at by your “boss”. Who clearly believes all hispanic people look alike. Because he didn’t bat an eye at the fact he’s never seen you work there before. Lincoln managed to slip in and out to steal the info he needed regardless.

✨sugar✨

After the victory over Sals brother, Lincoln’s dealings with your ring had found it’s inevitable end. A fact which saddened you; more so you’ll now see him less. Such despondency fell on you even when partying with his people and friends at the progress of deposing Sal. Lincoln had made it further than he could’ve believed and deserved a night of wine, whimsy, and dancing. You couldn’t say no, never to Lincoln.

You two shared a few bottles too many, before you knew it you wound up crushed between Lincoln’s body and his bed. Both of your clothes littering his floor, as his thrusts into you test the foundation of his bed frame. Your drooling mouth mewls as his sweaty body caged yours in midst of his manhood exploring your g spot. Despite his brain moist in alcohol he’s still a gentleman. In between every few minutes asking if you still want this, and if he’s hurting you. You implore him every time he asks not to stop. After god knows how many climaxes he’s subjected both your bodies too, he rolls himself beside you on the mattress.

As he whispers into your ear believing you to be barely conscious after your latest orgasm. His sugar, he then tucks you into himself. Wanting his very muscles to shelter you. You moan in approval, as you cuddle him back.

💜mi amor💜

It took only the paper thin walls of his apartment bedroom that night for everyone to know you’re sweet on each other. What you have isn’t labeled yet but that doesn’t stop him from making breakfast for you. The soreness between your thighs was washed out by the rich smell of his special pancakes in the morning. As Donovan couldn’t look you in the eyes since last he “heard” you.

The sexy, vengeful stoic you’ve come to interact with for most of your time together. Is replaced by a sexy and nurturing teddy bear. He adores using his height to his advantage weather to place something you want on a shelf he can reach but you can’t. Or to arc over you completely as he kisses you silly.

Calling you his amor is personal; he never knew his biological father and mother. An aspect of himself he’s opened to you about before. How his connection to his Dominican heritage is stingy at best, aside from a few Spanish phrases he knows. Mi Amor being one of them. It’s a signal that you’ve seen all of him both mind and body, and he’s not afraid to share that with everyone who hears him call you that

#Lincoln clay #Mafia #Mafia 3 #18+#Lincoln Clay x reader #headcanons #Mafia 3 headcanons #hcs #short and sweet #had to make something for my man #my new man #mmmmm

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arianna-bradshaw · 2 years

Text

Baby Rooster

TW: Possible Miscarriage, Surgery, Blood, Pregnancy

Summary: You and Bradley were so excited to have a baby, but somethings get in the way.

When Bradley found out he was going to be a father, he realized he could never love anything more than this baby and the woman who was bringing him into the world. As soon as she told him, he was of course convinced the baby was a boy and only referred to the baby as such. He'd call him baby Rooster or Nick all the time, and Y/N never realized she could be more smitten with him. They'd opted for the gender to be a surprise at birth, and bought mostly neutral clothing, with the occasional frilly pink bow or striped bow tie.

Bradley was the best while she was pregnant, refusing to let her work too hard if he could help it, constantly giving back rubs and providing for her cravings. He had managed to only miss two appointments in the six months since she'd become pregnant- constantly refusing missions to make sure he could be there for her. Maverick and Penny were also a huge help, and had promised endless babysitting for free after the baby was born.

Everything was perfect- in just a few short months Y/N would have her beautiful baby, who would have the best dad in the world. Whenever her baby would kick, she'd squeal for Bradley to come feel- and then he'd gently whisper against her stomach as he grinned. Her pregnancy was easy, no morning sickness, no migraines; obviously it was still painful but to her it was all worth it.

One night, after Bradley had come back from a week long mission she awoke in the middle of the night. Y/N was wrapped in Bradley's arms, but gasped when she felt a sharp cramp near her stomach. She panicked as it continued and she felt liquid pour into the bed. She shook Bradley, sobbing.

"Some-somethings wrong- Brad please!" He woke up, being a solidier he could be up and fully awake in seconds. He quickly searched her face and knew he needed to rush. She was scooped into his arms and he was shaking.

"I-It's gonna be okay baby, just breathe." Bradley held her close as he drove towards the E.R. He didn't know what to do- he hadn't prepared for this at all. Nothing could prepare him for this. He could not tell if time stopped or sped up as his wife was placed on a gurny and rushed inside. He held her hand tightly.

Y/N was lightheaded, trying to focus on anything- she felt like she was gonna pass out. All she could think about was her baby; her baby who was probably gone. She'd failed, failed Bradley, failed the baby, failed herself. She became unconionus and Bradley ran faster beside her.

There was a pool of blood between her legs as she arrived in whatever room they'd taken her to- Fuck, he didn't know what to do. Then he was pushed out of the room. He recieved a small explanation about needing to see if they could recover the baby or even save Y/N. After half an hour of no news he called Maverick.

"Hey bud- it's late. Is everything okay?" Maverick's scratchy voice asked.

"N-no. Something happened M-mav. Y/N's in- we're at the E.R. please come, please." Bradley sobbed slightly and Maverick sprung into action, waking Penny.

When the two arrived, Bradley was sitting in the waiting room with red eyes, and his knees held near his chest. Maverick immeidelty sat beside him, rubbing his back.

"I'm so sorry kid." Mav whispered softly, swallowing. "Have you gotten any updates?" He asked.

"N-No." Bradley whispered, leaning into Maverick's side.

After another 10 minutes, a doctor finally came out. He looked exhausted from the work he'd clearly just done. "Y/N is stable, and awake," He started.

Bradley let out a sob of relief, holding tighter onto Penny and Mav. "We are still trying to save the baby and keep her stable, she is premature- but also hadn't fully formed her ears because she was a bit behind the curve, we've attempeted one surgery so far." Bradley's heart broke and he nodded.

"Can I see them?" He whispered, he had a baby girl- he couldn't believe it.

Bradley was allowed into the room and his stomach dropped at the sight. Y/N was pale, yet her cheeks were red from crying. She was okay- physically she was stable. Just some blood loss which had been stabilized and a c-section stitched up. He couldn't believe he couldn't be there when his babygirl was brought into the world and he rushed to Y/N's side.

"I'm here now. I'm so sorry love." He grabbed her hand tightly, and sat as close as possible.

Y/N nodded softly, and turned towards the bassinet that Bradley somehow didn't see. Inside was his baby, she almost looked healthy besides being a little too small along with the tubes attatched to her. His eyes watered and he stood to walk over to her.

"Jesus she's beautiful Y/N. She looks like you." He whispered, kneeling beside her enclosed bassinet- "Hi baby, it's me. Do you remember my voice?" Bradley sobbed, touching his hand against the clear plastic.

"I-i was thinking Nicole." Y/N whispered, staring at them- her heart was so full. Bradley's eyes widened a little and he nodded.

"H-hi Nicole, baby. I love you so much." After he stared at her for a few minutes, he moved to be as close to Y/N as possible. After an hour the doctor came to check on Nicole- and she was doing so much better. She'd only need to stay a few weeks hopefully and could have visitors in a few days.

The first time Maverick met Nicole Josie Bradshaw was 3 days after her birth; and he was wrapped around her little finger just like Bradley. He'd held Y/N for a few minutes, mumbling about how he thought he'd lost you. Penny thought she was the cutest, and the both were estatic over the tributes to Goose and your own father. A few more days later and Nicole's feeding tube was removed, she'd passed her hearing tests barely and was surprisingly good atlatching while being fed. There were talks of further ear surgeries, but not for another year or so.

After two weeks Nicole Josie could breath on her own and 24 hours after that they were allowed to go home.

Nicole was so comfortable, being around her parents, their smell, touch, and sound 24/7. Bradley and Y/N were so ecstatic and some of the aviators had come together to finish the nursery while you were in the hospital. Nicole Josie was beloved by all of them, and soon enough- she was spoiled rotten. You knew that Bradley would be an amazing father- and he was truly the best. Spending every moment he could with her, even if it meant giving up flying fulltime to become an instructor at Top Gun. A permanent position that would keep him safe and secure and stuck in Miramar.

He raised Nicole the same way his daddy raised him. Except he'd stay, he would never leave her. No matter what came his way.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw imagine

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quibbs126 · 1 year

Note

Hmmm.. What if, Dark Cacao x Second Watcher? I think they're cute :>

Meanwhile, Dark Choco and Caramel Arrow in background: ...

*yea, it's fankid request*

Alright, this time I ain’t fooling around, I will make sure these drafts save!

So Carrow and Dark Choco probably already know who this is (this guy’s from like an alternate timeline instead of a hypothetical future and here watchercao has always been a thing for them. I may have somewhat misunderstood the prompt so sorry), this guy is Panela Cookie

I called him that because panela is essentially just unfiltered cane sugar, like kokuto (also I’m making Second Watcher’s new name Black Sugar Cookie). Granted, his name worked better when I called Second Watcher Toffee Cookie, since panela is like brown sugar and that’s one of the main things toffee is made of. But oh well, I still like the name. Also it’s a potential name I’ve heard for Second Watcher Cookie

Panela:

So I know Panela’s hair is quite a bit lighter than his fathers’, but that’s closer to the color of panela, so I just went with it. Though it is supposed to be a slightly darker shade of Second Watcher’s highlights. Then I added the white both to reference his other father and the sugar on the panela. I wanted his outfit to be relatively simple because this isn’t his formal wear, rather what he wears out in the wilderness. Though also I feel like the colors are a bit too dark. I’m considering redesigning it

I wasn’t sure which weapon to go with, sword or bow, since while I first envisioned him with a bow, but he’s also part of the Dark Cacao family, and they all seem to use swords, and you’d think his father and brother would teach him. So I decided, “why not both?” so yeah. He switches between them depending on the scenario

But anyways, on to Panela himself. So he’s the second prince of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and younger brother of Dark Choco Cookie and Caramel Arrow Cookie (for those who don’t know, I like the headcanon of SW being Carrow’s dad. The age order goes Dark Choco > Caramel Arrow > Panela, though Carrow and Panela have a much smaller age gap). So Dark Cacao and Second Watcher have been together since close to the time Dark Choco was baked, though Dark Choco and Caramel Arrow were each baked separately (basically I say that Dark Cacao is Dark Choco’s only parent and Second Watcher is Caramel Arrow’s). Panela however belongs to both of them. Now unlike with Dark Cheese, Panela had a very close relationship with his siblings, particularly his brother. He looked up to him and wanted to be just like him one day. But then, Dark Choco betrayed the kingdom. Panela refused to believe that Dark Choco would ever do this willingly, and tried to learn as much as he could about what happened (which wasn’t easy as many didn’t want to speak of it), so try and find any proof of foul play.

He eventually is led to the topic of the Strawberry Jam Sword, the thing his brother had gone in search of when last they saw him before all this, and the biggest unknown in the equation. So, he starts to research everything he can about the sword, in hopes he can find some explanation in there for what Dark Choco did. However, he has to do it in secret, as he’s looking into the very same thing the elder prince did before he betrayed them, and to make this public knowledge, particularly to his father the king, could lead to him getting exiled just like his brother, or at the very least, all his research taken and destroyed, and him likely never being able to find out the truth. As such, Panela keeps his research somewhere outside of the Citadel, away from prying eyes. Second Watcher might know of his research, but he also knows the reason for it. In recent years, with Affogato gaining more and more power in the kingdom, Panela’s had to be extra careful, especially after Caramel Arrow’s exile for seeming crimes, as if Affogato ever knew the subject of his research and its significance to the kingdom, Affogato could easily implicate him for treason of the highest order, plotting to assassinate his own father just like his traitorous brother, and he’d be banished at the very least, if not worse. Not to mention, were his father to believe this, he’d probably be devastated at the the thought that even his youngest would betray him, and Panela doesn’t want that, he just wants his family to be together again like they used to. However, Panela is also aware that with Affogato, he is walking on very thin ice, and it’s likely only a matter of time before it breaks

Now, Panela is currently the crown prince of the kingdom, however in recent years, he’s spent less and less time at the Citadel and more time out in the wilds. Part of it is that he simply likes being out in the wilderness—he’s an expert survivalist and could stay in the wilderness for months and be perfectly fine—but the more prominent reason is that he can’t stand to stay in the Citadel as he sees the kingdom fall while he’s powerless to do anything. And worst of all, his father, Dark Cacao Cookie. Ever since Dark Choco’s betrayal, he hasn’t been the same and has been falling into some sort of deep depression, and now Affogato Cookie’s practically running the kingdom and puppeteering Dark Cacao’s every move, and Panela can’t stand to see it. So he holes himself up in his hovel, burying himself in his work despite so few leads, hoping that something good will come of it

After the events of Episodes 13-14 however, his family has been starting to mend and heal, being closer once again, though not yet to the level things once were. The only missing piece is Dark Choco, but even that is looking like a potential possibility. Since then he’s been spending more time back at the Citadel, and while he’s still doing his work, he’s been going at it at an easier pace, and has even been considering telling his father about his work

I think that’s about it for Panela (at least as far as I can remember), I hope you like him!

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