#Her voice acting has improved so bad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 2 years ago

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel does everything he can to make you feel better after a civilian casualty steals your ‘sunshine’. —a fic featuring reluctantly adoring miguel and his sad spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 4k

cw character death, violence, reactive depression

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Miguel," you say, your voice grained by the communicator in his ear, "this universe is almost the same as mine, right?"

Miguel stares down at a Doc Ock variant you're staking out, lying in wait for the anomalistic antagonist to make his first move. He's trying desperately to maintain his focus but you have a nice voice, and you ask him with a confidence that betrays your total faith in him. You haven't considered that he might not know.

Well, Miguel does know. He's not sure he should start this discussion and distract you, but he has trouble saying no to you in any capacity, so he does.

"I don't know every difference, but yeah, they're the same. Same geography, world leaders, roughly the same fast food chains." He bites his lip. He's at work, more than work —you're attempting to save an entire dimension, here— and he shouldn't feed the conversation anymore. But he knows you'll be interested in this. "Donuts aren't a thing, here."

"What?"

"They have donuts, but they aren't called donuts, and they're nowhere near as popular."

"This is a very strange way to flirt," Lyla says, her flickering hazed by a golden aura as she changes rapidly between laying on her front, legs kicking, and her back, as though she's in a therapist's daybed. She floats across his vision lazily.

"That's because I'm not," Miguel says.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing. Talking to Lyla."

"How come Lyla doesn't talk to me?" you ask sweetly.

Miguel can see you in the distance, your simple black suit like an ink splodge against the blue grey glass of the skyscraper you're standing on. Anchored with a web and your body tensed, you're perfectly parallel to the ground below, as though you're standing on the windows.

"It's not that I don't want to," Lyla promises. "Miggy won't let me."

"That is not true."

Projections cover Miguel's vision, powered by his favourite lying intelligence. Movements are mapped in a bright marigold yellow, though the net turns red to signify potential danger, chance percentages bouncing up and down. Doc Ock raises an arm and it turns an eye-straining red. He sits down on a park bench and his body turns yellow again. It's a smart program, but it can't account for everything.

"Something isn't right."

You hum appreciatively. "It feels weird, how he's acting. Like he's two separate people."

Doc Ock glitches hard, the air around him fractured by colours in varying depths, like a tangible, physical screen tone. They've been coming faster. He doesn't have much time before he begins to tear apart, and that tearing will prompt panic. Panic will prompt anger.

"What should we do?" you ask.

Miguel doesn't know. He regrets asking you to come with him, not that you aren't capable. When you first joined the Spider Society you'd hadn't been Spider-Girl in your own universe for very long, and you weren't particularly proactive. You were kind-hearted but lackadaisical, and after worming your way into his life, a flower budding between concrete slabs it shouldn't have the power to crack, (he seriously doesn't know how it happened, only that you'd been bringing him things, carefully wrapped foods and trinkets you'd made, your bad conversation, and suddenly you were worrying about him and doting on him in the strange way that you do, suddenly, he was doing the same), you decided you wanted to help. You've trained hard on Spider-led courses at the Society, improving your overall fitness, your stamina, your technique, to become the fighter you are now. You can hold your own well.

Miguel knows what motivated you. You want to look after him. You'd all but admitted to it. And that's why Miguel wishes he asked someone else to come with him, because you'll put yourself in harm's way as he would for you, to protect.

"Why did you want to know if this universe was the same?" he asks, the nano of his suit morphing over his hands, claws growing long and minaciously sharp.

"Oh! Because, I used to have these favourite cookies called Butter Leaves, but they stopped making them in my dimension 'cos of the Whey disease. Even when it was better, loads of companies couldn't come back…"

You give him the entire history. He already knows it. He tries to listen to you with the attention you deserve anyway, only he's weighed the options, and taking down Doc Ock feels much more important than listening to your cravings.

"They were really thin and they had this sweet coating brushed over the top. You'd like them, I think." Miguel drops the last hundred feet to the ground, ignoring the jarring heat in his ankles at such a landing without having rolled into it. "If they were a little softer and had some sugar they'd taste just like polvorones, Miguel."

"You could say that about lots of things," Miguel argues, tone measured as not to alert bystanders nearby of his presence.

"This doesn't feel like a good idea," Lyla says. Standing now, alert.

Miguel toggles the communicator so you can't hear him.

He wonders if you'd even notice him speaking over the intensity of your excitement, "I know it's not professional but maybe we could go and look? After we beat the bad guy. They're more than worth it, I swear," you say hopefully.

"It's fine," he says to Lyla, throwing out a hand, shins braced and ready to burst into a tackle.

"It feels off, you both said it."

"It always feels off. He's in the wrong dimension, his presence caused a shift. The wrongness is unavoidable, like the body–"

"Rejecting an organ transplant," Lyla says. "I know. You say it constantly."

"If you know, why are you asking?" he asks, deadpan.

"Good to know your girlfriend can ask questions and I can't. You're a trailblazer for equality, O'Hara."

Not my girlfriend, he thinks, but he isn't sure how true that is. Miguel realigns his eyesight, the holographic netting that pinpoints anomalistic stress a menacing red where it maps Doc Ock's limbs. The colours are abrasive against the yellow-green leaves fluttering in the breeze to the grass below, trees like arms stretched toward one another standing behind the simple brown bench where Doc Ock murmurs drunken-sounding ravings.

Miguel's fangs slice through gum and lock into place. He tries not to salivate. The paralysing agent produced gives him a numb tongue.

Miguel attempts to work quickly. Approach the target. Lock the target in. Incapacitate. He rears back and takes a deep breath.

"Wait! Behind! Behind you, Miguel, there's something behind you!"

He twists backward without hesitation and swings his arm around a cold neck. He squeezes hard, hears a metallic crunch similar to a mortar and pestle, but the person in his chokehold isn't a person, it's a robot.

"Octobots!" Lyla shouts.

"HELPFUL!" Miguel shouts back, grunting as a robotic arm curves around his back, and then a second, a third.

The hills of his muscles strain against white-lacquered steel, a sweat breaking at the back of his neck as he groans, desperate to stop the octobot from crushing his arms to a powder. He can practically hear the creaking of his humerus.

Around him, civilians scatter, screaming for their lives as a small horde of octobots descends on the park. Doc Ock doesn't react to the chaos. He sits there muttering to himself as people run past him and his octobots play cat and mouse. Miguel finally snaps the arms off the robot holding him with a pissed grunt, punching the carcass of machinery away from him while you tuck and roll from a dive to the ground. In an impressive show of your improvement and coordination, you throw out a web as you roll and hit Doc Ock square in the face, a second binding his chest to the bench. You spring to your feet, shooting at bots one after another. You must take down six by the time he's gathered his bearings.

"On your left," Lyla says. Miguel smashes a bot at the apex of its white body and she laughs. "Nice. Behind."

Miguel falls into the fight as though it's a well-practised dance. With the stress maps locked on, quick-thinking, and Lyla's pointed direction, Miguel can decapitate or incapacitate each bot swiftly as long as they don't get a hold on him like the first one managed.

You're like Lyla in that a good skirmish seems to set you off —you're giggling, cheering, enjoying yourself much more than you should be. "This is just like that video game," you say, leaping onto a moving octobot and shooting webbing at the joints, gumming them up until they can't move. "With the girl and her super powered puppy, you know that one?"

"Of course I don't know that one." Miguel brings his claws down into the aluminium shell of an octobot as it swipes your legs from under you and tears it in two. It cracks like a halved apple, the gore of its inside sparking and smoking as it hits the ground in tandem with you. Your head whacks hard into the concrete pathing beneath. He doesn't have time to help you.

The arm of a bot races forward like a stinger. This one must be the head of the hive, the Queen bee so to speak, far more complicated than the others in the plating of her ivory bodice and chain-mail like shielding on her arms.

Miguel swears under his breath and vaults at it.

He pulls your droid feed up in his display, watches you writhe from one side and the other as your pained moans play in his ear. You clamber onto wobbly footing as Miguel descends, the screeching cry of metal while it's shorn apart beneath his hands not half as loud as your useless gasping —you're winded, likely concussed.

"Civilian entering range," Lyla says.

"What? Where?"

Lyla has your drone's camera spin on the spot to show Miguel the civilian stupid enough to enter an active fight zone. They aren't stupid at all, it figures, but unaware. A man in activewear jogs the beaten path with headphones in, eyes to the ground. He stops for a moment to look at his sports watch, and like the octobot can tell, it shakes Miguel like a bothersome flea and surges for him.

You're closest.

"Y/N!" Miguel shouts, knowing it's too late before he so much as closes his mouth. You turn, your head braced in your hand, breathing hard with pain. Miguel would take it back if he could.

You can't save the civilian, but you can watch him die.

—

People look at him like he's a ghost, sometimes. Wide-eyed, horrified, they move aside in the halls. They treat him how he feels on his worst days, like someone who should've died a long time ago. Today, things are different.

No less than three Peter Parker' have stopped to stare at him unabashedly. Nearly all make the same jokes, Late for a date?

He'd honestly prefer feeling like a ghost. He can't deal with their derision and he doesn't want to, ignoring their looks and their judgement as he treks to the elevator that's gonna drop him outside of the medbay. The only person he wouldn't mind poking fun at him is you.

You aren't in the mood.

Miguel doesn't acknowledge your prone form at first. He walks to your bedside table to deposit the bouquet he'd chosen, peonies for good health and strength, swapping old for new, changing the water in your small shared sink. He may orchestrate the Spider Society, but Miguel's special privileges can't reduce the extreme turnover rate of the medbay. You have curtains to partition the room for privacy, and you got the bed by the window, and that's as much as he could get you. You deserve better.

Miguel opens the window to drown out the smell of antiseptic. He stands in front of it, his shadow stretching over your twisted hip. You're not sleeping, you're resting. Doctor's orders.

Miguel wishes you'd deign to rest in your own bed, or his, but you're a little too catatonic for a safe discharge either way.

He sighs quietly. You likely hear it with your enhanced senses and still you remain an impassive lump under your blue hospital blanket.

"Good morning," he says, instead of the thousand other things he wants to say, that he's too much of a coward to ask. "Let's get up."

He doesn't give you any choice about it. Starting slow, Miguel rounds the bed to meet your eyes through your sluggish blinking. Perhaps you'd been more asleep than he thought.

Gentle, Miguel peels down your blankets enough to push his hands under your armpits. He pulls you up into a sitting position, and it —it breaks his heart. He's a monolith, he's hurting, he has years and years of loss and grief behind him and it doesn't matter, it finds him again. His heart breaks at your limblessness and your willingness to be positioned like a paper doll.

Miguel arranges the sad pillow behind you and puts the remote for the adjustable bed frame in your hand. The last time you'd been here in the medbay after a training exercise fractured your ulna, you'd spent pretty much the entire time messing around with your bed, even as they crafted your cast. It made for messy work. Miguel must've told you to quit it fifty times.

Your fingers curl around the remote.

Miguel perches on the mattress on one knee to fix the protective style your hair is in. Nothing serious, just smoothing the tiniest of stray hairs and making sure it's still comfortable. He strokes your temple absentmindedly, checking you over one feature at a time. Tired eyes, nose tip looking parched, your lips chapped. Frowning, he sits properly, and he pulls your big hospital bag from the bedside table, his hand falling to your wrist to say, Hey, I'm here, and I'm not going far.

He finds your smaller bag of toiletries and necessities and unzips it. He tries not to think about the last time he had to take care of someone like this as he cleans your face with a wet wipe, two fingers wrapped in the wipe and petting at your skin carefully. He notices the life returning to you inchingly, his touch a tether you're pulling on, so he prolongs his actions. He smooths moisturiser over your face extra slowly. If you asked why, he could say it's cold, but you don't ask.

Your face shiny in the sunshine filtering in through the wide windows, you almost look like yourself again.

"Are you hungry?"

You shake your head. An almost imperceptible gesture.

"This is why you don't feel well," he says. "You're not eating enough."

"That's not why," you say.

He aches to hear your voice. I know, he thinks, but doesn't say.

"Eat something," he says.

You shake your head again. He managed to bring you back and squash you back down in less than a minute. He really doesn't like himself, at that moment. Often, but especially now. He's failing you. He failed you with the octobots and he's failing you now.

Miguel refuses to fail someone he cares about again.

He takes the remote for your bed and lifts the top section so you can sit back comfortably. He shakes the blankets out over you, and he puts away your things. Hopeful, Miguel places new pyjamas and underwear with your shower caddy at the end of the bed and pulls a strict pose, hands crossed over his chest.

"I need to go. Shower, eat breakfast when it comes. Please."

You give him a look that might mean Yes but probably doesn't mean anything, laying down as much as the bed allows and turning your face from him toward the flowers. Miguel leaves, stopping a ways away to look back, and watches through the gap of your curtains as you reach out to touch the flowers he'd brought. Your pinky finger is less than an inch from the petals when your movement stutters, your hand falling back to your chest with a soft thud. You close your eyes.

When Miguel returns, he's thankful to find you've done as he told you. Showered, changed, a discarded breakfast tray at your feet. You've attempted the oatmeal and left the toast to go cold, congealed butter white against golden yellow.

Miguel swaps the tray for his bags. He's hoping you might be tempted to look while he's gone. He knows before you would've known the entire contents of the open bag by the time he'd left the room, but he returns having taken your tray to the rack and is sorely disappointed.

That's fine, he decides. You don't have to look. He doesn't mind laying things out for you.

First port of call: extra pillows. He pulls the plastic wrapped 'hotel pillows' up onto your sheet and tears the plastic. They pop out. He didn't think for pillow cases, so he slides them behind your hospital pillow and pushes you down by the shoulders, not cruel but not particularly gentle —you actually laugh at his handling. He bites back a smile.

"What, you got me presents?" you ask as he dumps a blanket onto your lap. It's one of those soft, shiny fleece ones patterned with those characters you love so much, the girl and her super powered puppy.

You rub your hands over it appreciatively and spread it out over your legs. "What's that mean?" he asks, pointing at the Chinese characters, '超級汪汪!'.

"Chāojí wāngwāng!" you cheer, an impression missing the majority of your usual pep. "Super woof. It's his level five power up. He yaps and Joyce gets her HP back."

Miguel pretends to know, like he'd forgotten, and you're reminding him. "Ah."

You're watching now, interested. He puts his back between you and the bag and you whine weakly, "Miguel."

"What? You think these are for you?"

"Please, I want to see."

He gives in like a cheap tent, passing you a packet of pearly beads for your bracelet making, skeins of variegated thread that change colours, a packet of pencils with frogs on the lids, a plushie. You don't know how to react and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He honestly doesn't want to say anything, vulnerability stopped being his thing a while ago, but he clears his throat. "Do you know what I look like in the middle of Miniso? Picture it."

Miniso being a Chinese home goods store lined floor to ceiling with plushies.

You laugh weirdly. Miguel knows it's guilt holding you back.

"One last thing." He sits down on the bed next to you, hands big enough to cover the box in its entirety. "You were wrong, by the way. Extremely wrong, these don't taste a thing like polvorones."

He passes you the box. You take it into steady hands, smiling widely, your thumb brushing up against the black cursive font. A box of butter leaves from one of your sister dimensions.

"I don't know if they'll taste like they did. Are they the same ones?"

You nod, loosing a breath between parted lips. "Same ones."

"If you don't eat them all, I won't get them for you again."

"That's so mean," you murmur. Miguel would apologise if he thought you meant it.

"That's how it is. Eat your cookies. I'll come back later to make sure you actually ate dinner."

He stands. You immediately grab him, cookies dropped in favour of braceleting his wrist in your warm fingers.

You look up at him through your lashes, a frown dampening your pretty features. At least, in his eyes.

"Please don't go," you say. Your eyebrows pinch together. It's even more heartbreaking than your catatonia, this pleading loneliness, like you think he won't stay.

"You have to talk to me," Miguel says. He softens at your chastised wince, sitting back down again. "Did you want a hug?" he asks.

It's an apology to offer it, though he should've asked you this morning, or yesterday, even the day before. You'd been inconsolable when it happened. Miguel's never seen you that way. Your sunshine shattered, your shoulders shaking under his hands as he led you away from the scene, he didn't hug you like he wanted to. It wouldn't have made a difference at the time. You couldn't speak. You could barely walk.

Seeing something like that happen leaves a mark, even if you've seen it before.

You sweep aside your gifts and twist your legs to climb onto your knees. Miguel hadn't realised how much you wanted to be close to him until you're bordering his lap, your arms sliding over his shoulders, your pyjamas soft and smelling of antiseptic under his nose. A switch flicks at your nearness. He pulls you into his lap and sandwiches you there, chest to chest, thankful for his stature because it means he can encapsulate you effortlessly. He can hide you from the world for a short while.

You choke him half to death.

"It's okay," he says, your back curved into the length of his forearm, leaning forward so you can take the weight off. "You're okay."

"I don't– it's not me. I'm not worried about me."

"It's over," he says. "What's done is done." Which isn't to say it isn't tragic, or that it didn't leave a permanent mark on the world. But you're punishing yourself for a crime you didn't commit.

"It's all my fault," you whisper, your cheek pressing to his shoulder, face hidden in the juncture of his neck.

He tilts his head toward you. "It's my fault. I jumped in. I wanted it to be quick."

"I let him…"

"You had a grade ii concussion, you didn't let anyone do anything. I'm lucky you didn't pass out right there. I'm lucky you had the ability to defend yourself, because I left you defenceless."

"No, you didn't, it–" You rub your cheek against his shoulder. "It happened really fast, you were making sure that bot didn't get me because I was stupid enough to leave myself open–"

"Stop it."

It's harsh enough to stop you in your tracks. Miguel sighs hard, hair blowing away from his face.

He lays down backward, skewiff on your bed, and pulls you with him in a secure but gentle hold. You make a quiet 'oof' as you go down. Apologetic yet again, Miguel rubs a line up and down your back, fingertips between your shoulders, palm flattening as he reaches the small of your back, your shirt inching up. He's sure you look foolish to anyone watching, but for once, he's past embarrassment.

"I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. It's not your fault."

You've twisted on your side on the mattress rather than crush his pelvis, though your chest remains pressed to his. You twist a strand of his dark hair around your finger. "Why did you bring me all this stuff?" you ask softly.

"To make you feel better."

"But why… do you… want that? Why does it matter that much, that you'd waste time going to get me things?"

"Why do you think?" he asks.

Your lips ghost the column of his throat. "Mm… 'cos you're nicer than you let on."

"Wrong."

You laugh again. He's more grateful than he'd ever say aloud.

"Because you care about me too much."

Too much is right. He feels like he's at the stern of the universe's most important ship. The universes, plural. That ship is heading square for an iceberg, for the precipice of a gargantuan whirlpool, and there's nothing Miguel can do but hand out buckets and veer sharply to the left, hoping it will be enough, knowing deep down that it won't be if something doesn't give soon. And he's lived a life, two lives, before he even met you. He's tired. He doesn't want to lose anyone else, and he hoped he could do that by never caring again.

What a stupid hope.

"I just want you to feel like yourself again," he admits.

"I really wanted to save him."

"You can't save everyone."

He knows better than most.

"I know," you say, no tears left to cry, voice impossibly small.

Miguel wraps his arms around you and doesn't let go for a long, long time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading, I really really hope you enjoyed! please think about reblogging if you liked it, I appreciate it <3

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pullupinarari · 5 months ago

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Lean your weight on me [LH]

6. I always wanna die (sometimes)

Summary: a 9 chapter series where you are a famous singer, living the career of your dreams. But your chaotic schedule makes your body give in, making you lose your memory and forget (almost) everything.

Author’s note: I’m back with the series! Thank you for waiting for me to figure out my chaotic life 🙂‍↕️ this is sad and intense, get ready 🤧 hope yall enjoy it! Mwah

wc: 5146 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

all chapters here

It’s been a while since you’ve felt like yourself - if you even know what “feeling like yourself” truly means. You’ve had some good days before. And whether the days were good or bad, you had Lewis by your side. You were slowly recovering, making improvements while working to get your memory back. You would laugh, your eyes would shine with curiosity and amusement as Lewis would tell you all the stories about your old life. All of this happened before you felt like you were drowning in your sorrows, in an empty mind that brought nothing but misery into your life, dragging everyone around you into the deep end with you.

You can’t help but blame yourself every single day, trying to keep pushing even if you feel like a million thoughts and emotions are slowly choking you, until you finally run out of air.

You reached out to Grace after the whole cake situation, wanting to make amends after acting like a bitch to her. You know you hurt her feelings, and there was a possibility that she wouldn’t forgive you - not even wanting to look you in the eyes ever again. But that’s not Grace. Grace has a kind heart, and she still loves you as if you were 14 years old again. So she gave you another opportunity, wanting nothing more than to have her best friend back.

She is driving you to the shopping center - maybe a day out would be nice? Maybe it will help you, distract you from the darkness erupting in your brain, growing more and more each day. Plus, you feel like having some time away from Lewis might be good for you. Don’t get me wrong, you love him to death - you feel it in your bones, with the way your heart flutters every time you hear his voice, how his stare on you can make your stomach flip, and how you absolutely dread the thought of him being in danger, or something happening to him. But, it feels like you aren’t made for him anymore. You can’t shut out the thoughts that keep telling you to leave him, that you need to let him go - he deserves to be free from all this.

You clear your throat as a way to stop thinking about all this again, looking at the tall buildings through the car window as you pass by.

“Everything alright?” - Grace asks you, taking her eyes off the road for a second, focusing on your empty expression.

“Yeah, everything is fine” - you try to convince her, “I’m just really happy and relieved that you decided to give me another opportunity. I’m sorry again, but it really feels like I’m fighting myself and my mind, while trying to move forward with life. It’s been rough” - you admit, your head hanging low, embarrassed of your current situation.

She gives you a simple smile. “It’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself. Life has been tough, but you are the strongest person I know. You might not remember this, but you are a fighter, you have been your whole life, and we are not letting you give up now. We are here for you” - she holds your hand after she parks the car, making her words echo in your mind.

Walking inside an enormous shopping center makes you feel small, confused and lost, not knowing where to go. What are your favorite stores? What type of clothes did you buy before? Right now, you only want to feel comfortable, choosing a lot of Lewis’ shirts as an impulse - they are loose, cozy, and they smell like him. And even if his scent is enough to make your heart grow, it is also enough to emphasize the way your stomach drops, everytime you think about your marriage.

Either way, you follow Grace - she definitely knows where to take you, what clothes to show you, and as time goes by, you start to feel lighter, forgetting about all the bad moments that have been staining you lately. Your best friend cracks jokes that make you laugh, you try on some clothes that make you feel pretty, helping you see yourself in a whole new light.

But, when you two decide to head out to go get some ice cream, a group of teens approaches you with their phone cameras flashing you, screaming your name, and it’s like a volcano erupts inside of you.

How do they know you? Why are they taking pictures of you while you are having ice cream with your friend? You are scared, shaking, not knowing what to do, and Grace politely asks them to leave you alone, shielding you from them. Then, she grabs you by the arm, pulling you into the exit with her, leaving that place and taking you back to the car, as she sees your desperate state.

Once you sit in her car again, you close the door next to you and you finally feel safe, far from everyone else. You let yourself cry, trying to find a way to let go of all the emotions suppressed inside of you.

Is this how your life was before the accident? Did people disturbed you anywhere you would go? Would you ever be able to live a normal life?

The thudding in your chest grows bigger and bigger, making you hold on to the car handle for dear life as your head feels dizzy, while tears keep streaming down your face.

And it’s like a snowball that comes crashing down: you started crying because of the fear you’ve felt near that group of people, a million thoughts racing through your mind about your old life and how little you know about it, and you can’t help but wonder what part you play in all this, in this new life that you have now.

The more you think, the more you cry, your breathing getting caught in your throat making you struggle to catch some air. Grace hands you a bottle of water, “breath in and out, slowly”, she tells you, trying her best to help.

“What the hell just happened?” - you manage to get the words out after some sips of water.

“Those people recognised you and were trying to take pictures of you. Maybe they are your fans, you are famous, after all. Your life is splattered on the internet” - she reminds you. And it’s so crazy to hear someone saying that you are famous. Millions of people around the world know you, they know a big part of your life, and yet, you don’t know who you are.

After a while, you calmed down, and Grace thought it was better if she drove you back home - this was already enough emotion for today.

You walk inside your empty house. You knew that Lewis wouldn’t be home, he went out for a work meeting while you were supposed to be with Grace - he would probably have a nervous breakdown if he knew that you were home alone now.

You rush upstairs, entering your closet, searching every drawer. Your mind feels heavy with the need to understand how your life was before, and you know that your phone will have all the answers that you need. So you look for it, remembering that Lewis mentioned something about keeping it inside a drawer or something similar. Your movements are fast, racing as much as your mind right now, your fingers trembling with anxiety to find it.

And when you do, you look at it for a few seconds, having second thoughts, wondering if you should really do this or not. You gulp, feeling sure that you need to know who you were before. You grab the device and sit in your bed, your hands shaking as you hold it, the weight of everything you should know about your old life is inside of it.

You unlock the phone, your face is still the same, even if you don’t remember any of your passwords, and you silently thank technology for that.

Your eyes analyze the apps on the screen, it’s like an infinite world that you could get lost in. You decide to click the messages icon first, furrowing your eyebrows to the fact that you have more than 400 messages to answer. But you don’t feel like opening chats with people that you can’t remember. Instead, you open the chat you have with Lewis.

You never thought you could find such great comfort in reading the messages you shared with your husband. The way his words always seem right, caring, worried, the way he would always say how much he loves you.

But you also note that the last few messages that you guys sent were negative, in a much heavier tone, and you were talking about how tired you were feeling, how you couldn’t take it anymore. You proceed to look at your camera roll, scrolling through a never ending folder of moments in your life.

You see a lot of pictures with Lewis, and it’s incredible how you always look so happy next to him. You laugh when you see some funny, silly videos that you two have recorded together. You see pictures of you with people that you supposed to be your friends, family, and a lot of what seem like ‘work pictures’: there’s pictures of setlists, new lyrics written on a paper, empty arenas, sold out stadiums. You see pictures of yourself performing night after night, and you can’t help but notice the degradation in your state, as the pictures show a more recent date.

The last picture was taken on the last show you gave, the one before you blacked out. You zoom in on your face, your finger unconsciously caressing your features: your skin looked so pale, your eyes looked small and tired, and you genuinely looked so sad and defeated.

When your fingers close the camera roll, you search for new information, and that’s when your eyes land on a folder: “social media”.

You are hesitant to click on it. You know how Lewis always says that people spread a lot of lies and hate on social media, Grace’s words echo in your head, telling you how your life is all over the internet, and the thought of what you might find scares you.

But still, you open the folder, opening your instagram page first. Scrolling through it, you see the type of pictures that you used to post: concert pictures, photos of you supporting Lewis on his races - letting you know that you were, indeed, used to the environment surrounding you during race weekends, domestic posts about your married life. You take lots of mental notes about your life before, hoping that your small memory will remember all this.

You open the comment section in some posts, seeing how people used to be so kind to you, complimenting you, declaring their love for you, letting you know how much your music meant to them. Reading all those caring messages makes your heart grow - maybe that’s it. That's your path. Maybe your purpose in life is to help other people, by sharing your feelings through your music, seeing how your fans relate to your emotions and how it makes them feel seen and understood.

You open twitter next, hoping to find more positive messages. But, as soon as you open your profile and read all the comments, the posts that people are tagging you in, your stomach drops. It’s like a dark cloud stops above your head now, and a storm is about to wreak havoc inside of you.

It doesn’t take long until it starts raining - tears run down your face as you read some of the meanest comments you can find. People talk about your accident, they spread rumors about you cheating on Lewis? You don’t understand how people can act so differently on different platforms. Instagram looked like a fun, safe space, where you could share your life with your fans and get nothing but love back. And twitter looks like a war zone, where you are fighting all by yourself and everyone else is against you.

It’s like you can’t stop reading all the negative stuff, your finger keeps scrolling, your eyes keep reading every hate comment that you can find. It’s killing you to know how people feel about you, all these negative feelings hitting you like a ton of bricks. And the sense of revolt comes. How is it possible that you saw all this happening and yet, you never said a thing? You never stepped up for yourself, put an end to this?

Maybe you are just a puppet in everyone’s life. Maybe you’re here to do as you’re told: another show, another song, another comment - shut up, don’t you dare say a thing because that will ruin your image. Just sing and shut up.

You can’t help but feel like you’re not useful anymore. Like you already gave everything that you had to give. Your mind feels chaotic, like the worst place where you could be right now, but unfortunately you can’t escape it.

You sob into your pillow, letting it all out, and you’re so taken away by your emotions, that you don’t even hear the front door opening, revealing that Lewis was home already.

Your husband walks inside, going straight to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, taking it slow since he believes that he’s home alone. But, when he gets closer to the stairs, he’s taken aback by the muffled sounds coming from the top floor.

He rushes to your shared room, to find a crying wife, sobbing into the pillows so your cries get muffled - hoping no one would hear you.

Lewis immediately engulfs you in his arms, worry paints his chest as he hears your sobs grow louder as you feel yourself being held by him.

“My love, what’s wrong?” - he asks you in a calm tone, only to end up not getting a response from you, besides a sob. “Please, tell me what got you in this state. Let me help you, please” - he says again, his voice croaking, feeling emotional as well, his heart breaking at the sight in front of him.

You continue crying, feeling everything so intensely inside of you, wrapped up in your own head. But you gather the strength inside of you to hold yourself to Lewis, your grip tightening on him as you try to look him in the eyes, only to end up failing. You feel way too embarrassed by all this, and you wish that he wouldn’t have to see you in this situation.

“I’m sorry” - that’s all you blurt out, hiccuping as you feel all the wet tears streaming down your features.

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure that you have nothing to apologize for, my love. Please, just tell me what’s going on” - he tries to insist, growing anxious now.

He opens the water bottle that he was holding before and hands it to you, signaling for you to sip on it. You do it, trying your best to stop your sobs now, scared that Lewis might get annoyed by having to deal with you - your mind is a never ending creator of negative thoughts.

After some minutes, you manage to stop your sobs, and you take some deep breaths while a few tears keep spilling from your eyes, silently now. He carefully wipes them with his thumb, as he kisses your temple, still holding you close to him.

“Everything is just very, very confusing, and very hard for me lately” - you open your heart to him, seeing how his facial expressions soften at your words.

His hands rub your back gently, comforting you as you gather your thoughts to let him inside your mind just a little.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take” - you take a deep breath. “I feel like I stopped making progress a while ago, and now I just feel so empty, but full at the same time - full of rage, frustration, anger. And I can’t stop myself from being consumed by all this, and I feel like it’s killing me. It truly is killing me. I can’t stand myself most days. The sound of my own voice annoys me. I hate myself. I hate my mind because the voices in my head never shut the fuck up and I just want a break. I want to have some silence inside of me, I want to be alone, everyone keeps reminding me that I lost my memory. I wish I was all alone because then, I wouldn’t have to force myself to remember old things. I don’t even know who I was nor who I am, but that doesn’t even matter anymore. I don’t matter anymore.” - you sigh, feeling like a weight left your shoulders when those words leave your mouth.

Lewis stays silent for a minute, speechless at what he just heard. He knows things have been hard, but he didn’t think that it was so bad. Listening to the love of his life saying that she doesn't matter, that she wants to disappear, it’s a bullet hitting him right in the heart. He quietly breathes, trying to keep some tears from falling - he needs to stay strong, for the two of you.

“I’ll be right back” - he says, kissing your head before leaving the room, leaving you with a curious Roscoe, staring at you from the ground.

He’s back before you know it, entering the room with his laptop in his hands. You furrow your brows at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just joins you on the bed, signaling for you to sit on his lap as he puts the computer in front of you.

Your eyes follow his every movement, as he opens a folder of videos - the videos that you have been recording through your journey. He starts playing the first one.

“See this girl? This was the first video that you recorded. This was a month ago, Y/N. Four weeks ago, you didn’t remember anything about your parents, and now you remember how their house looks, you remembered your dad’s birthday. And you were so scared to open up and to talk to other people, and now you go out with Grace, and you even take my mom’s calls when I’m showering, and you’re not afraid to talk to her anymore” - he explains, moving to play a different video.

“And this one, baby, this was two weeks ago. You thought you didn’t know how to play the piano anymore, and your mind remembered all of it after I showed you a few chords. See? You’re still the old you, you just need some pushing until your mind gets there. Because you definitely have it all inside of you, things like these just take time, my love. We can’t rush something as important as getting your memory back” - he tries to explain, his voice sounding as sweet as cotton candy to your ears, as always. “And you have come so far in this journey already my love, and I’m so incredibly proud of you” - his words sound full of honesty.

You look him in the eyes, and he can read you so well. He can see how insecure you feel, all the doubts in your mind, the way your heart feels weak and fragile. And how badly he wishes that he could take all of that away - he would rather have the pain all to himself, than to see you suffering so much.

Then, his eyes notice how your hands try to hide your phone under a pillow, trying to distract him by calling Roscoe’s name. Lewis sighs to himself, now realizing what made you cry so much.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me, like you have to do it all by yourself. Cause you don’t. I’m here for you, and nothing else matters. It doesn’t matter what other people say, it doesn’t matter what might happen in the future. It was always me and you, the whole time, and that’s how it will always be. I’m here for you, so please don’t shut me out” - he says, taking your phone from under the pillow now, letting you know that you got caught.

“Nothing that you saw here matters. The rumors, the comments, the hate. None of it matters. What truly matters is the people who love you, that are by your side through it all, that give you unconditional love. Nothing else is real, baby. Our love, our family, our protection is real. And you can’t focus your energy on people that definitely don’t deserve it” - he puts your phone on the bedside table now, seeing how your face is filled with guilt and shame. His thumbs caress your features as his hands cup your face, drawing a trail of kisses from your cheeks, to your nose, reaching your forehead, making a small smile appear on your lips.

There he is again: being an absolute angel to you. And there’s the big siren in your head, reminding you that he’s way too good to you. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve him, not after everything that you’ve put him through.

“Lew, can you leave me here alone for a bit? I have a headache forming, I need to process all this” - you say gently, not wanting him to feel like you’re pushing him again - while you are, indeed, pushing him away.

He gives you an understanding smile, nodding as he kisses your forehead once again. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me” - he says before grabbing Roscoe and taking the dog with him.

You take a minute to actually process everything that he told you. Your mind fills with thoughts and a few memories that you have - from all the pictures, the messages, the moments you’ve shared with Lewis for the past couple of months. You can’t shut the feeling in your gut that tells you that you should figure out your life on your own, and stop dragging him to the mud with you. You saw how his eyes were glossing when he was talking to you, you see how your health is taking a toll on him. The truth is, you’ve been needing a lot of attention, as if you’re a baby, needing all the maintenance possible. It’s like he can’t take his eyes off of you, or else he would find you doing something stupid - like he did just now.

You get off the bed, entering the room next door where your piano is placed, looking like it’s eyeing you, telling you to play it. Maybe that will help you get rid of some hard feelings. And just like Lewis told you before, it really comes naturally to you.

All it takes is a few chords until you feel the melody vibing inside of you, forgetting about the world surrounding you as you start singing about all the chaos that’s going on inside of your mind. You sing your heart out, letting some tears escape as you address your marriage - such a hard topic being accompanied by a graceful melody. Your words sound beautiful, but they hold a harsh meaning behind each one of them: how you should let Lewis go, how you’re not good enough for him, and how you feel like he does everything he can for you, but he can’t save you from all this, no matter how hard he tries. You mention your will to be by yourself, to find yourself in a new life, maybe even with the possibility of finding a new lover in a new place.

When you stop playing, you look up, cleaning the tears from your face, and that’s when you notice a crying Lewis leaning against the door. His facial expression lets you know that he was there all this time, listening to every single word that left your mouth.

You’re unable to speak, you two being wrapped in a suffocating silence, just exchanging sad, disappointing looks. Maybe this is proof that you shouldn’t be together anymore, and when Lewis turns his back at you, stomping through the stairs like he had lost all the reasons to keep pushing, your head hangs low.

You feel ashamed of your behavior, your actions are mirroring the desperation running in your veins, trying to find yourself. But it seems that, the harder you try, the more you actually lose yourself. And maybe it’s time to go search somewhere else.

You get up from your seat in a rush, sensing a shot of adrenaline racing through you. You run downstairs, finding Lewis in the living room, his hands in his eyes as he tries to control his tears.

He looks up at you when he senses your presence. He doesn’t dare to give you a word, while your breathing is accelerated as you gain the courage to say to him exactly what is going on inside your mind.

“Lewis, I think it’s better for me to leave this house” - you quickly say, and the anxiety in your stomach grows when you see his expression: he’s empty, confused, hurt.

“What do you mean?” - he questions slowly, getting up from his seat now, to meet your height.

“I can’t be here anymore, I need to find myself in a different place. I can’t be here” - you explain, walking through the space in front of him now, feeling way too electric to stay still.

“Listen, I know this has been very difficult - for both of us. But we can overcome this, we can go anywhere else then if you want to-” - you immediately cut him off.

“No! Not ‘we’, I don’t want you to come with me! I want to be alone, I want to figure it out by myself! I don’t need a babysitter Lewis, you need to let me go!” - you scream while tears run down your face now, making you run to the front door, trying to get away from this place as soon as possible.

It’s like you feel a rush of energy that’s telling you that you don’t belong here. You don’t know where you belong, but you need to act like a grown woman and stand up for yourself. You bet to yourself that you were a wild soul before meeting Lewis, and you need to find that freedom again. You need to find your wings, and maybe that will help you fly far, far away from here.

You find yourself outside, opening the gate of your house to step into the streets - you surely have somewhere to go… right? Your legs stop you for a second, your eyes looking everywhere around you, your brain trying to find a route that you can take on, on a mission of finding a place that you might recognize.

The cars passing by are driving fast, the wind is hitting your face, messing with your hair, almost making you lose your balance since you feel so lightheaded. You have nowhere to go. Your cries grow stronger, feeling absolutely lost, abandoned by life, in a world that you don’t know.

Some vehicles honk at you, since you’re standing on the edge of the sidewalk, and that’s when Lewis’ arm pulls you close to him, his hands go to your shoulders, trying to shake some sense into you.

“Y/N! What are you trying to do?! What the fuck is going through your mind?! Look, I know I’m not perfect, and I don’t mean to paint you a perfect picture of our marriage. I wasn’t always good to you, we have our problems, I did some things that I regret! But you can’t do this! You can’t just leave and try to figure it all out on your own! Sometimes we need to put our guard down for a while and let others take the wheel. And you need to trust me enough to let me do this, because I am not letting you go, no matter how hard you try” - he tells you, his voice rising without him even noticing - his heart is racing at the thought of something happening to you.

You feel breathless, still looking everywhere around you, almost with no reaction at all. When your eyes land on Lewis’, you realize that he is everything that you have, everything that you know. You hug him tightly, sobbing into his chest, hiding your face from him after another action that you’re not proud of.

“Please, please don’t give up on me. Please” - you beg him, your arms tightening around him more and more, afraid that he will be the one running away now, once you let him go.

Instead of leaving, Lewis holds your body next to his. Tears are now running down his face as he stays silent, taking in everything that happened in a matter of minutes.

“I’m so sorry, I know I’ve been making your life a living hell. But please, don’t give up on me” - you repeat the phrase that’s engraved in your memory, after realization hits you: you too are afraid of the things you’re capable of doing now when you’re alone.

It feels like the sun is setting down around you now, and you’re stuck in a dark space, one that makes you keep losing your light and your mind more and more - that’s life for you lately. And you feel like Lewis is the one that allows you to hide in him, the one who puts you to sleep every night, the safe source of peace and protection that you can always run to.

“I love you, I love you more than anything and I know I should set you free” - you say between hiccups and rushed breaths. “I should let you go, and I want you to go and be happy without me, but I need to be selfish now and beg you please, don’t go. The chaos is all in me, and you’re the only person who’s been helping me calm it down a bit. I know I make everything ten times harder, but please Lewis, please. Don’t leave me” - your fists tight around the fabric of his shirt, regretting all the shit you told him before, definitely biting your tongue and tasting your own venom now.

And how lucky you are that Lewis holds the purest form of love for you, being capable of turning the world upside down for you. No matter how hard things get, no matter how badly you try to push him away, he could never hold a grudge against you.

Instead, he kisses your head gently, promising you: “I will never give up on you”.

———

taglist: @illalwayswaitforyourlove @literallegendicon @goldenroutledge @scenesofobx @irishmanwhore @forza-charles @felicityforyou

#lean your weight on me series #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton oneshot #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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stirthewaters · 1 year ago

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Bad Mood

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: slightly ooc Wednesday?? angst - fluff, (not proofread I just threw it together 😭)

Summary: Wednesday has trouble figuring out your bad mood and decides to take it into her own hands

Pairings: Wednesday x GN!Reader

Wednesday was frustrated, to say the least. Though she would never vocally express her irritations towards you, you were surely a dilemma, and the fact that she was having trouble solving the puzzle that was you at the moment was most definitely the issue.

You had been moping all day, acting uncharacteristically sulky and closed off. Wednesday would’ve almost liked it if she wasn’t so put off by your sudden change of behavior. Sulking didn’t look good on you, she observed, as you sat beside her during class, not paying attention and absentmindedly twirling a pencil between your thumbs, the wood surprisingly close to splintering as you did so.

No, you had not given any reasoning to why you were feeling this way, and Wednesday did not like the sneaking suspicion that she might have had something to do with it. Though she couldn’t recall ever explicitly saying or doing anything to make you upset she knew that she was most certainly not one to know much about any sort of complex emotional drama, and therefore she was left outside of the tangled barbwire that was your emotions. Why must you be so confusing? Puzzles were supposed to be enjoyable to solve, not frustrating.

Wednesday let you be most of the day, silently hoping some time would improve your mood but you remained either irritable and snappy or moody and quiet, practically telling off Xavier when he came late to class and delayed it about ten minutes. Although the Addams had to admit that she found a sort of amusement in seeing you scold someone, it wasn’t followed by the playful roll of your eyes that you usually gave someone to indicate you were joking. Clearly something had upset you and she was getting increasingly frustrated.

The raven tried easing your irritably by placing a cold hand on your warm thigh, trying to practice the gentle rubs that she typically knew you liked, and though you stiffened as usual under her touch it did nothing to soften your mood as your eyes darkly flitted away.

But that didn’t worry her. Wednesday wasn’t used to being worried, let alone emotions themselves. To the Addams, emotions were a tangled spiderweb that once trapped in became a struggle to navigate, distracting one from common sense and rationality. Yet, she still felt the uncomfortable prickling of sickening worry in her chest when she saw you actually tear up. And it was almost without reason. Nobody had spoken to you unkindly or done anything physically immoral, yet your eyes glistened and you pulled your hood over your head, dark eyes disappearing behind its frame as you did so. You were crying? Wednesday briefly wondered whether or not she’d seen you cry before, most certainly she hadn’t without explicable reason.

Your quiet sniffles seemed to be the only thing her brain would allow her to hear amidst the sound of students around you.

Instantly she gripped your wrist gently yet firmly, pulling you into a dark corner in the hall as she searched for your eyes under the hood. That prickle in her chest started to scratch as you huffed out stiffly, in a voice close to cracking. “What is it?”

Wednesday silently brought her hand up to your hood, pulling it down carefully to see your dark eyes swimming in tears, and she felt her voice soften just slightly at the sight of them as she murmured, “I wish to know what has been bothering you throughout the day. You’ve been distant and irritable.” You tried to look away but she gently pulled your chin back to look at her, feeling you shake under her grasp. “Cara Mia, I would like to know whether or not I have been the source of your…” the Addams struggled for the right word. “Current emotional status.”

You shook your head weakly. God, she could tell you were fragile. It was as if the slightest poke could set you off, and she knew she had to tread carefully. Her brain raced to remember everything Enid had taught her on… comfort. The idea was a personal ick but with you she would make an exception. “Would you like to leave?” Your weak nod was all the confirmation she needed as she laced her pinky into yours to subtly pull you through the crowd. God, she was disgusted by pda but you weakened her, and she despised you for it.

In the privacy of her dorm, the gentle rain slapping against the large window, she watched as you shakily exhaled, clearly fighting off your tears as you closed your eyes and struggled to speak. “Today has just…been… a lot. It’s- I- I can’t-“ your voice finally cracked slightly.

Wednesday stood opposite you for a moment, in thought as the scratching of worry in her heart began to pulsate into more of a pain. Not a pleasant pain that she usually experienced, rather a more unpleasant one at the sight of the tear that fell from your eye, hitting the floorboards and disappearing. She felt as if she’d always remember that oddly specific place on the floor from now on.

Stepping forwards she shoved aside all of her disgust and apathy for touch and wrapped her cold arms around your waist to pull you in, your head falling atop of yours as she muttered into your neck, “from what I do know about emotions I have heard that it is a rather healthy way to deal with them by crying.”

As if on cue from the touch and soft words she felt you slowly fall apart, quietly trembling as you cried silently, burying your face into her hair that she silently noted to wash later to get any snot out of.

She slowly brought you down to the floor with her, letting you cry as she tried her best to comfort you, tracing small patterns on your collarbone and neck, giving you small and delicate kisses here and there as to show that she was here with you. When your sobs began to ease she felt your weight press against her more, and she quickly put together that you were exhausted. She shushed you softly, letting you burrow into her as much as you needed. God, you were so warm, it was as if you were thawing the ice that she had worked so hard to freeze.

Although still not inclined to show any major affection, she did press a small cold kiss to your temple, letting you rest in her arms as your head shifted into your lap and her hand threaded its way into your hair, slowly and softly stroking in an effort to calm you down, finally the nagging confusion and frustration easing as you both fell into a calm, the rain providing a soothing atmosphere.

Perhaps Enid’s teachings had paid off.

#wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednsday addams #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday series #angst to fluff #angst #fluff #wednesday angst #wednesday fluff #slightly ooc Wednesday #what im not projecting my mood swings into r you're insane

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inamindfarfaraway · 5 months ago

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Hnnng dehumanisation in Spies are Forever. Curt's “not a man, [he's] property of the United States government". Tatiana wasn't a child, she was an “instrument of war”, a “killing machine". It’s particularly poignant that Barb calls Curt property of their government, a cog in the machine, because she knows that she’s in the same boat, and in fact socially inferior to him as both a woman and a support worker to his more prestigious career. She herself has always seen and valued him as a person and is constantly trying to make him reciprocate. But he initially views her as just a cool gadget dispenser. Technology appears to be her only means of asserting her worth and earning people’s attention, which might be why she’s working on a global information network, essentially the internet - the ultimate technological platform for human connection and collaboration. Cynthia is so committed to overcoming her human vulnerability in order to be the best tool her country could possibly ask for that she poisons herself every day to build up an immunity. One of the villains is a literal Nazi who uses a literal puppet. And the other is Owen.

Owen's evil vision is "turning everyone into a spy", aka property. Instruments for him to conduct. Creating a global surveillance network, because the internet has as much power to distance and isolate people as to unite them. The machine failed him when he was a cog in it, so he aims to replace it with a more efficient one and control it this time; he cannot comprehend of any ethical improvement to or dismantling of the machine itself. His problem with spies is that they contaminate the ruthless political mechanisms with messy, fallible humanity... and vice versa. Agent Mega messed up the mission because he was human; Curt left his boyfriend for dead because he was a spy. You can’t be both. Person or tool. So Owen chooses the one that can’t be hurt. He willingly becomes a tool of CHIMERA, a living weapon. He kills and tortures hundreds of people, considers himself an actor in a story and others expendable characters, does everything he can to detach himself from ideas of personhood. “Who needs spies when a box in a room can do your job in seconds?" Humanity is worthless. Obsolete.

Except no, it isn't. Curt and his allies proves it. After the prologue, Curt simultaneously makes Owen’s mistake of binary thinking. First he wants to be purely a man, and an absolute wreck of one; then he wants to be purely the greatest spy ever, with no sentimental weaknesses. But he can’t maintain that divide. He has to be both. The team win with their skills, training and expertise and by being human - social, irrational animals, working together, loving each for the sake of it, acting spontaneously. They aren’t tools that Owen can perfectly predict and manipulate. Curt surprises him. And Owen, for all his icy calculations and grand talk, cannot escape his humanity any more than he can destroy Curt’s, as his last scene makes painfully clear. He lowers his gun like a person. His voice breaks like one. He bleeds like one. Meanwhile, Barb is a genius engineer and Tatiana is a master assassin. You’d think that their climactic moment of triumph would demonstrate Barb’s amazing technology or Tatiana’s combat skills, but instead the focus is on them simply talking to each other and even Mrs Mega. Human connection and collaboration. Human error that doesn’t negate their victory. “You can break a computer box, but you can’t break the will of a man.” That’s what Curt is. Not property. A man. He is a gay, unemployed man; Barb is a woman in STEM; Tatiana is a female ex-KGB Russian immigrant; all in the United States of America in the 1960s, a very bad time and place to be all of those things. Yet they will survive. They are not alone and they will endure. Spies are forever because they are people.

And the narrative consistently emphasises that everybody is a person! It mocks the Nazis, obviously, but even then Baron von Nazi isn’t a one-dimensional monster, he has emotions and cognitive biases and a backstory and fondness for cheeseburgers. Sergio isn’t just an interchangeable criminal, he’s a devoted family man awkwardly trying to lighten his work atmosphere. Richard Big isn’t just a crass parody, he has moral principles. We hear all kinds of characters’ thoughts and feelings: the Informant, Barb’s fellow scientists, the waiter at the casino, the guests at the gala. This affirmation that everyone has a inner life means that yes, anyone can be a spy.

#JUST DANCE #spies are forever #saf

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mysteryshoptls · 10 months ago

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SSR Vil Schoenheit - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: Today, I take on the role as a supporter of this museum. I'll make sure to promote well the beauty and wonder of these works of art.

Summon Line: Taking in all of these beautiful things will allow me to develop my own beauty further. I'll be taking my time to appreciate as much as I can today.

Groooovy!!: I refuse to accept a happy ending brought about by someone else. I will fulfill my dreams by my own hand.

Home: Time to celebrate the 100th anniversary.

Home Idle 1: The brilliant luster of the fabric and small accessories nicely accentuates this seemingly simple monochrome attire. Not bad at all.

Home Idle 2: There is a thin line between poisons and potions. The Fairest Queen must have delved into her research to further her understanding of their differences. She truly is someone worth our respect.

Home Idle 3: Ortho says he'd like to hold a conversation with the Lord of the Underworld. Seems as though he would like to utilize his sense of humor as a base for his acting.

Home Idle - Login: You'd like me to speak on the painting of the Fairest Queen? I suppose I could, as long as you stay attentive. If you dare to yawn during my exposition... Heh, you should prepare for the consequences.

Home Idle - Groovy: Beauty cannot be achieved in a single day, and the same could be said for a physically pristine body. Jack and I are very similar in how we will constantly endeavor towards our goals without fail.

Home Tap 1: Trey saw a painting of the Queen of Hearts smiling and commented that she had lovely teeth. Only he would focus on that...

Home Tap 2: The exhibits each give a different emotional impact based on the brightness of the lights and the way the works are illuminated. I can tell this museum has put much thought into its lighting.

Home Tap 3: I'd like to improve my drawing skills. Simply because I would like to make my own proposals if I ever have the opportunity to work with one of my favorite brands.

Home Tap 4: When I approached Malleus, he elucidated on the painting of the Thorn Fairy. He spoke of tales uniquely passed down among faes, so it was quite the learning experience.

Home Tap 5: There are so many wonderful exhibits here, and yet here you are just staring at me. I fully understand why you would, but try to focus on the paintings.

Home Tap - Groovy: You seem to be in high spirits. Were you that elated to listen to my explanations of the artwork? Yes, of course you were.

Duo: [VIL]: We'll silence them all, Jack! [JACK]: Absolutely, Vil-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: [Yuu pops party popper] Thank you for the birthday surprise. That was a rather elaborate one, too. I especially enjoyed how you tripped over your lines, despite the fact that you were lying in wait to ambush me for quite some time. That wasn't on purpose? Obviously. If that was an act, it would be something worth scouting.

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #vil shoenheit #jack howl #twst vil #twst jack #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: ortho #mention: jack #mention: trey #mention: malleus

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echoric · 3 months ago

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FIRST OFF I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR FICS!! Secondly I was wondering if I could request a little Drabble? Maybe a “Iceman is openly gay with slider, Hollywood and wolf man. But Maverick isn’t as comfortable with his sexuality and thinks he still has to act straight even though he’s got it BAD for ice”

first off thank you so much!!! :DD im glad you like my writing <3 & secondly of COURSE i can write that, i love a bit of closeted angst (i hope i got everything the way you wanted) this got a bit longer than i expected lol, it is crossposted to ao3 (HERE) if anyone prefers that format

standing face to face with "i told you so"

icemav angst (Word Count: 3,488)

Ice was staring again.

Maverick could feel those intense blue eyes burning into the side of his head as he intentionally stared forward, scanning the crowd at the bar as if he were actually looking for someone or something. He’d already gotten caught twice by the man when he had chanced a glance back to see if he was watching or not, and Maverick wasn’t sure his heart could take anymore eyecontact with the other pilot. Goose had kicked him in the shin in time for him to look away before an approaching lady caught him staring at Ice last time. But Goose had since drifted away to join the other pilots and RIOs in conversation, leaving Maverick alone at the bar and painfully aware of Ice’s attention. His pulse was racing, making his cheeks flush slightly as he thought about meeting his gaze again just to see.

“Right, Maverick?”

He almost jumped. He had forgotten completely about the lady at his arm – Sandra…or was it Sarah? He scrambled, but flashed her a smooth, well-practiced grin, and laughed, not knowing at all what she was asking him and hoping it was the right resposne. She seemed pleased with his laugh, giggling to herself as she leaned into his side to distance herself from the tall, frustrated-looking man who had followed her up to Maverick’s spot at the bar. Maverick gave the man a sharp, teeth-baring grin as he draped his arm over Sandra’s shoulders, leaning into her like a confident boyfriend.

“In fact, everyone keeps asking when we’re going to be engaged. This scoundrel just can’t commit, isn’t that right, Maverick?”

“You know what they say about us sailors. Brandy, you’re a fine girl,” Maverick crooned, half-singing with a wink. He placed a chaste kiss on her temple to keep up the act.

She laughed and put her arm around his waist, squeezing him as she looked up through her eyelashes, “What a good wife I would be?”

“But my life, my love, my lady–”

“Is the sea,” they finished in sync, laughing together. The man at her heels finally seemed to take a hint and walked off with an irritated huff, muttering under his breath.

Sandra stayed close up against his side for a while as she watched the man leave. She relaxed as Maverick leaned back against the bar, sighing and shaking her head. Her arm fell from around his waist and he took his arm back. She smiled at him, a sad look in her eyes and exhaustion in her voice as she spoke quietly enough that the music would’ve kept it a secret from anyone else, “Thank you for being a good man, Maverick.”

“Pete,” Maverick said with a smile, holding his hand out like it was a business deal. Her smile softened and she took his hand in a firm grip.

“Sandy,” she said as she shook his hand once, “but you can call me Brandy, sailor.”

Maverick grinned and tilted his head with a shrug, “It was improv.”

“It was good. Really,” she waid with a grin. She pulled a small compact mirror with an ornate carving of a flower on it from her bag and checked her reflection in it. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed again. “Some men can never seem to understand that some ladies just aren’t interested.”

Maverick raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the change in topic. He was about to respond when his eyes scanned over the crowd absently and caught another pair of eyes watching them. Ice still hadn’t looked away – or if he had, he was looking again. Maverick felt a thrill shoot up his spine as he locked gazes with the man, dangerous and electric, but it was overpowered by the familiar urge to smother it and push it back down deep where no one might see it. Not even him. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from Ice, looking back to Sandy.

“Mhm. Can I buy you a drink, Brandy?” Maverick asked waving to the bar behind him and pointedly ignoring the stares he was getting from Ice and the other pilots and RIOs. “Just between friends. I understand when a lady only wants to use me for her protection.”

Sandy laughed and snapped her compact mirror shut. She turned to lean against the bar with her forearms crossed. Maverick caught a flash of a white handkerchief in the left pocket of her jeans as she hummed, scanning over the bar’s options. Sandy eventually smiled and waved the bartender over, “I’ll have a whiskey, neat. Put it on the sailor’s tab.”

“Mitchell,” Maverick said in response to the glance from the bartender. He nodded and turned to make her drink as Sandy turned to face Maverick more. “So, Brandy, what brings you here if not to flirt with all the sailors? Everyone knows that’s the main crowd at this dive.”

“My taste is less…salty, more sweet,” Sandy said with a wink. She nodded to the bartender with a smile as he handed her the drink she requested. “If you know what I mean?”

Maverick had no idea what she meant. He nodded anyway, pretending to understand with a quiet hum. He waved to the bartender and he slid Maverick another glass of the tequila that he’d been sipping on all night. He couldn’t resist glancing tot he side out of the corner of his eye as he waited for the drink to be poured, seeing if the attention from the table across the bar was still on him – it was. Sandy lifted her cup when he picked his up, they clinked them together before tossing them back in sync.

“Put it on my tab this time. Tequila,” Sandy called out to the bartender. She ran a hand through her hair again before sliding a shot to Maverick with a grin. “You up for a challenge, sailor?”

“I can drink in circles around you, Brandy,” he said confidently. His mind was already drifting back to Ice even as they clinked their glasses on the bar before tossing them back in sync.

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the sharp, nervous edge around the other pilot, but the awareness of that was always muted, vague. He blamed the tequila for how loud it seemed now. Maverick smiled easily at Sandy, feeling easy and in his element even if he could pick up that it was strictly platonic competitive energy between them. He was good with women. He’d dated countless women he genuinely liked; he could talk with them easily, laugh with them, play the part of a flirt without breaking a sweat – it was easy. Comfortable. Ice broke away any part of that comfort with his harsh words and challenging stares. He wasn’t simple or easy to get along with, and it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“You’re not as oblivious as other men, are you?” Sandy asked before their next shot arrived. Her eyes were studying his face intensely, softened by alcohol and maybe a bit of camaraderie that Maverick wasn’t sure why she’d feel with him. Her eyes flitted briefly over to wher eIce was sitting, one eyebrow lifted just slightly out of his neutral resting face as he watched them – watched Maverick. “I mean, you’re clearly aware of your surroundings.”

Maverick shrugged and gave Sandy the grin that had saved him countless times in the past. “Iceman? Yeah, he’s competitive and a good pilot. We’re just…you know, rivals.”

“Oh, is that what they call it now?” she asked, her voice low and teasing as she grabbed two more shots for them from the bartender. For a split second, he felt his heart lurch into his throat and his face felt hot, a definitely blush creeping over his face that he couldn’t blame on the alcohol – an embarrassing reaction to what was likely just a harmless question.

Sandy gave him a sympathetic smile and pushed the shot into his hand, tossing hers back. “Relax, sailor. Just a friendly observation.” She didn’t look away from him though, and her expression softened a little as he took his shot and forced his eyes away from Ice for what felt like the umpteenth time. There was understanding in her eyes, sad and compassionate. “Listen, Pete, I know we don’t…know each other at all. But if you ever need to, you know…talk through it, or whatever, I get it.”

“Get what?” he asked – too quickly. She gave him a look that let him know that she could see straight through him. A slow grin worked across her face as she ordered another round.

“Oh, nothing,” she said lightly, “just some people like their whiskey neat, others like it with a twist.”

Maverick forced himself to laugh at Sandy’s comment, but her words lingered, stirring something he didn’t quite want to confront. He swirled the tequila in his glass, downing it quickly – he was drinking too fast, too much, he should cut himself off, but he lifted his hand to order another round from the bartender. Sandy simply watched him with a calm, knowing smile. After a moment, she leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“You know, Pete, I think I’ve had enough of sailors for tonight. I’ve spotted someone who might be more might type, think she’d be interested?” She nodded subtly toward a tall brunette with a sharp undercut and a black leather jacket, looking just a bit out of place in the sea of Naval whites. Maverick raised an eyebrow, watching Sandy adjsut her hair and straighten her jacket. She looked at him and gave him a playful wink and sly grin. “Wish me luck, sailor?”

He grinned back, feeling a strange sense of relief as everything clicked into place. He lifted his new glass to her, “Good luck, Brandy. I doubt you’ll need it.”

Sandy winked again and, with a confident sway to her hips, headed off across the bar with an impressively steady gate for taking so many shots with him so quickly. Maverick once again was alone with his own thoughts at the bar. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the full force of Ice’s stare on him again. He tossed back the drink and slid his card to the bartender to close his tab. He’d probably regret his game with Brandy in the morning, but he didn’t care in the moment as he gathered himself and headed over to the table where the other pilots and RIOs were laughing and talking.

“Hey, Mitchell!” Slider called, smirking as he looked to where Sandy was now talking to her new interest. “What happened to your date? You let a catch like that slip away?”

“Oh, come off it, Slider, she was just looking for help to get away from that creep,” Maverick said, shrugging it off. “She wasn’t my type anyway.”

Slider gave him an exaggerated look of utter disbelieve. “Not your type? That was probably the hottest lady in here, man. You’re slipping.”

“Maybe my standards re higher than yours,” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively and rolling his eyes.

“Please,” Hollywood chimed in with a grin and chuckle. He leaned back with his drink and pointed at Maverick. “Just face it, Mav, you just got friend-zoned by one of the hottest girls in this dive. Maybe she could tell you were already in love.”

“Or maybe I don’t chase after anything with a pulse unlike some people,” he snapped, his tone a little sharper than he had intended – the tequila. He glanced away as everyone went silent, feeling uncomfortable and awkward from the tension he’d accidentally caused. It was broken after a few moments by a low chuckle from Ice, which made Maverick glance over at him.

“That’s bold, Maverick. Those ‘some people’ might be at this table, you know,” Ice said, making intense, pointed eye contact that made Maverick’s cheeks burn before sipping his drink casually – vodka and lime. The usual. Always so predictable, going by the rule book even when they were supposed to be relaxing with friends.

“I’m just saying, I’m not into the…what, all the new-age ‘free love’ shit going around lately. Some of us still have standards,” he muttered – the words tasted bitter even as he said them. It was a cheap shot, a low blow, and not even something he believed, but he felt cornered and couldn’t think of an escape besides digging his way out. The air around the table grew still, and Maverick had the feeling his escape had actually been his grave he was digging deeper.

“You’re out of line, Mitchell,” Hollywood said evenly, his usually easygoing tone long gone. “It’s one thing to tease, but you don’t have to be homophobic about it.”

“Mav, I think we should get going. You’ve probably had too much,” Goose said slowly. He’d been laughing a moment ago, Maverick felt guilty over being the reason why his RIO looked so uncomfortable. “C’mon, man–”

“You know, Mitchell,” Ice said, cutting Goose off with a calm and measured tone. His depression was impossible to read, ice-cool as always but his eyes were sharp, as if he were silently daring Maverick to say something else. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have such a problem with someone like me. There are so many better things for you to hate me over.”

Maverick’s stomach dropped. He could feel his pulse pounding as he stared at Ice. His mouth felt dry, and suddenly, any bravado and defensiveness he might’ve still had disappeared. He glanced around, trying to gauged if the others known all along, trying to read their expressions – but the tequila was making his thoughts feel muddled. Hollywood seemed to take pity on him and sighed, “If you didn’t know, now you do. Ice here is about as interested in women as that lady was in you.”

“I didn’t— I mean, I don’t care if he’s— If you…I—whatever, do whatever you want,” he muttered in a voice that sounded defensive even to himself. He tried to laugh it off but it sounded hollow even to himself. Goose stood up and grabbed Maverick’s arm in a light grip.

“Let’s go take a breather, man. You’re good, just…let’s go take a break,” Goose said quietly, tugging on his arm gently. Ice’s eyes held Maverick rooted in place, steady, waiting. There was something like pity in his gaze, but there was something else too – a challenge. Maverick couldn’t look at him directly, so he looked away like a coward, mumbling something under his breath that he didn’t understand. Ice nodded to himself and stood up.

“You’re good, Goose, I’ll get him home. I was about to get going anyway,” Ice said, brushing Goose’s hand off Maverick’s arm and replacing it with his own.

“You sure?”

“Don’t play pansy with me, I’m the only one here,” Ice said, making the table erupt into laughter – the tension finally breaking.

Maverick felt like he was on fire, heat consuming him and originating from the spot where Ice’s fingers were holding his arm in a firm grip. He didn’t fight it as Ice tugged him gently to guide him through the bar. Maverick glanced around and saw Sandy with the other woman; she gave him a knowing once over before looking at Ice’s hand on his arm and back to his eyes. There was a glint of pride in her eyes as she lifted her glass to him, and then he was outside.

Outside and alone with Ice.

“Mind if I have a smoke while we walk?” Ice asked casually, as if nothing had been said inside.

Maverick shrugged. Ice took that as permission and somehow fished a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, lit it, and took a puff without ever letting go of Maverick’s arm. He blew the smoke out away from Maverick, which he appreciated – the smell of smoke was making his stomach suddenly realize how much tequila it had consumed in such a short amount of time. He was stumbling and swaying as they walked despite his best efforts, making his leg brush against Ice’s with every other step. Maverick felt like if Ice made eye contact or they touched one more time, his head might explode from the amount of blood making his face burn.

“‘m sorry,” Maverick said when he knew they were alone.

Ice glanced over, taking another slow inhale through his cigarette without saying a word. Maverick almost wondered if he’d even spoken out loud, or if his words had been too slurred for the other pilot to understand. Ice’s hand tensed around his arm and he pulled Maverick to the side, nodding politely to the man he’d almost walked straight into without even realizing. Maverick stumbled from the sudden change in direction, unable to stop his legs as he staggered into Ice’s side. The other pilot reacted faster than Maverick’s drunk brain could track, holding the cigarette in his mouth and catching Maverick with both hands, steadying him until he got his feet back under him.

“You’re a real piece of work, Mitchell,” Ice muttered, waiting for Maverick to start walking before he grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth again and exhaled the smoke. “Dangerous in the air, and dangerous on the ground. Never would’ve pinned you for one of those.”

“Of what?” Maverick asked, wincing at the look that question earned him.

“A homophobe.”

Maverick felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. He didn’t know what to say in response to Ice’s words. He’d said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, as if Ice was completely confident in Maverick being hateful and that he had almost accepted it as a fact just as easily as the sky is blue and Ice is the best pilot in the Navy. Maverick didn’t know how to convince him otherwise, he didn’t know what words could help him.

So he didn’t say anything.

The rest of the walk was in silence. Ice eventually flicked the stub of his cigarette into a random ashtray. They stayed shoulder to shoulder, and the grip Ice had on his arm was the only thing keeping Maverick from falling into the street in front of oncoming traffic. Maverick didn’t really remember most of the walk, but Ice somehow got them both onto the base and into the barracks. He came back into his body sitting on his bed, swaying in place as Ice helped him pull his uniform off. Maverick blinked up at him when Ice stepped back. The silence felt heavy. Maverick needed to break it, or risk breaking the unsteady beginning of a friendship that he’d only recently felt starting between them.

“Ice–” Maverick staggered when he stood up too fast, feeling very underdressed in his boxers compared to Ice’s pristine and perfectly tailored Naval whites, but uncaring as he caught himself with his hands on Ice’s shoulders. Ice caught him again, hands gentle and firm on his upper arms as he helped Maverick find his balance. “Iceman, Ice, I–”

“Don’t say anything, Mitchell. You won’t remember it in the morning, and I need you to remember this conversation,” Ice said; his voice sounded sad. His eyes were sad. Maverick had made the steady, ice-cold Iceman sad.

“Ice,” Maverick repeated, shifting his hands to hold his shoulders more firmly. He licked his lips to moisten them and saw Ice’s eyes dart down to them before the man looked back in his eyes. “Ice.”

Maverick threw all caution to the wind, leaning in and standing up on his toes. A hand pressed over his face before his lips could reach their target. Ice’s expression was tense, eyes still sad but filled with understanding that made Maverick feel like his soul was laid bare between them for Ice to inspect. He shook his head slowly and pushed Maverick back gently, taking his hand away from his face as he helped him sit back down on the bed. Maverick stared at him with confusion and hurt probably written clear as day in his expression, and Ice gave him a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He cupped Maverick’s face and brushed his fingers through his hair before pulling all of his touch away all at once.

“You won’t remember this in the morning, Mitchell,” Ice said softly, he tilted his head as he studied Maverick. “Go to sleep. If you remember anything, I’ll be at breakfast.”

Ice’s words felt like an order that Maverick couldn’t ignore as his eyes grew too heavy to protest. A gentle hand helped ensure he was lying on his bed as he tipped over bonelessly. He heard footsteps and shuffling nearby, but the world faded too fast. The last thing he thought he felt was a hand brushing through his hair as the sheet was pulled over his chest.

#pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #ao3 writer #iceman x maverick #icemav #top gun fanfiction #top gun 1986 #icemav fic #icemav fanfiction #gay tom kazansky #bisexual pete mitchell #theyre so special to me

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shanastoryteller · 2 years ago

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Happy Pride! One of the genderbendy stories, please? Lady Mo, maybe?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Xuanyu groans and rolls her eyes when Lan Wangji insists on treating her wounds before they continue, but apparently decides she's tested his patience enough for one evening because she says, "Fine," and and begins to untie her robe.

He steps closer and grabs her wrists. "What are you doing?"

She looks up at him and this close he can see the exhaustion lingering in her dark eyes. "You just said you wanted to bandage me up before we left again!"

"You cannot undress in front of," he gestures around them.

She frowns, following his hand, and then looks down at herself. "Oh. Right, forgot that mattered now." He quirks an eyebrow and she blinks, face going a shade paler before she pastes a too wide smile across her face. "Okay, well, the carriage then?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, instead raising her voice to shout, "Sizhui, make sure our guests get something to eat before we get moving."

"Yes, Lady Xuanyu," Sizhui says, more formerly than he would normally, but Sizhui takes after him in that he tends to fall back on formality when he's feeling out of sorts.

Lan Wangji sighs and leads her to the carriage with a hand on the small of her back. His instinct is to grab her arm and drag her there, but she gets squirmy and argumentative, and he's had quite enough of both.

She hops into the carriage, only wincing at little at the sudden motions, and he follows her in, setting down the supplies he'd grabbed and then closing the doors firmly behind them.

"It's really not that bad," she says as she undoes her robes and slides them down her shoulders. "We'll have time to bathe when we arrive at Koi Tower and I could have just cleaned them there. They don't really need bandages."

He ignores her and doesn't let his eyes linger on her breasts even as he gets flash of memory of closing his lips around a small, dark nipple and biting, his tongue running the indents his teeth had left in soft flesh.

"You didn't need to go running off alone," he says, hoping it's dark enough that she doesn't see the flush he can feel crawling up his neck.

She scoffs as he presses a damp cloth against the stab wound between her shoulder and collarbone, cleaning away the tacky blood. "Song Lan needed help and he's my friend."

Lan Wangji wants to ask once again how in the world she knew were Xiao Xingchen was, how she'd been able to lead Song Lan right to him, but one issue at a time. "You could have told us that and we would have helped."

"Uh huh," she says.

He presses down harder than he'd intended and she hisses in pain. He pulls back, grudgingly admitting to himself that she was right. The wound has already closed and the bruises covering her chest have turned a sickly yellow, looking days old rather than hours. He's never seen anyone improve a golden core so quickly before, especially using such dubious methods.

He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, so he gives himself time to gather his thoughts as he wrings out the cloth. "We are not the Mo. Or the Jin."

"Uh, yeah? I noticed," she answers, pulling her robes open even wider to reveal even more bruised skin and the curved slice around her right hip.

"Have you," he asks quietly, keeping his touch gentle as he cleans the blood from thigh. "You are not - you don't have to," he stops, taking a deep breath and pausing his motions so he doesn't accidentally hurt her again. "You are not required to tell me anything that you don't want me to know. However. I am your husband."

"I noticed that too," she says, voice coming out low, and Lan Wangji does not allow himself to be distracted by the fact that he's kneeling over his mostly naked wife, her body small and soft and strong, evening bleeding and bruised.

"Then you should act like it," he returns, and odd reversal of their argument after the waterfall. "In the Lan you are not a bastard daughter but my legitimate wife. If you'd told me you wished to assist Song Lan, I would have helped you, and others would have volunteered to accompany us. You would not have needed to go alone. "

Xuanyu glares at him, somehow even more compelling with the anger brightening her eyes. "I was fine alone. I didn't need you."

"This is not about needing," he says softly, "but about having. Whether you need me or not is irrelevant. You have me. Next time I hope you remember that."

He ties her inner robe together before jumping out of the carriage, leaving her to redress herself. He feels the weight of her gaze on him, but she doesn't say anything.

Lan Wangi sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He drops into the seat next to his brother, noting Sizhui and Jingyi sitting at the same table as their guests and insistently putting more and more food on their plates over their protests. Well, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen's protests. A-Qing seems quite happy to eat everything put in front of her.

Xichen raises an eyebrow.

"How long did it take Jin Guangyao to trust you?" he asks impulsively, regretting asking almost as soon as it's out of his mouth.

Xichen sighs, "Oh, Wangji," and doesn't answer.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #alexseanchai #untamed

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christinebloodwrittings · 2 months ago

Text

Die in your arms #4

Alastor x Fem!reader

Taglist: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan

Warnings: Implied SA, imprisonment, trauma, mentions of blood.

Masterlist

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

March 1914. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Seven am to seven in the evening, Mondays and Thursdays. Tuesday and Wednesday he gets up at six anyways, but prepares breakfast for both before he leaves. He calls around eight A.M everyday, to check in before the show starts, then he comes back at ten pm, sometimes eleven. You had his steps studied. Well, almost.

After three months, you discovered that Alastor is very unpredictable. His mouth says words but his eyes show the opposite. He keeps his body language at bay as much as he can, but there are times when he betrays himself. When he’s in pain for example, he’s bad at hiding stress and headaches.

In the dead of night, he returns from ‘work’ reeking of watered down blood. He does that every single Thursday, but the frequency has increased every week since Christmas.

What kind of trouble can a scrawny radio host like him get into?

One Saturday morning, a day in which he only writes the scripts for his upcoming week, he was more tired than usual. “Morning” he saluted you without taking his eyes off the semi-blank pages, taking occasional looks at the newspaper.

He also had your steps memorized. Decisive but soft steps, he also noticed how you walked on your toes instead of putting the weight mainly on your heels, and you don’t like using shoes.

He only had seen your routine when he’s - obviously - inside the house. It goes without saying that you act way more ‘at home’ or ‘comfortable’ when he’s not around. He was more than aware of that fact.

He detested your ‘tiptoeing’ or ‘walking on eggshells’ attitude around him. Not in a controlling way, but in a ‘could you please acknowledge that I'm not a threat?’ way, otherwise he felt like his bastard step-father who caused his mother to behave in much the same way.

Within the first three months he realized he hated your careful demeanor, in an absolutely selfish way, because he wasn’t doing much to atone it, other than avoiding being too ‘present’ or ‘involved’. But then he realized that was exactly what he needed to do in order to create the home atmosphere he started craving.

So, that Saturday morning, after breakfast, he sat nearby as you added a compost of your own making to the soil. Although he thought he was making a good move towards you, he was so difficult to read that you felt as if he was going to pounce on you at any given moment.

How fucking invasive! You thought, adding more and more strength into the hole making for the tulip bulbs. Why was he staring at you like that? A normal wife would be more than flattered to have her husband’s attention like you do, but you have seen the passive yet menacing stare of a tiger at some point. The feeling is exactly the same as how you felt under his watch, like a prey preparing itself to run for their life.

That, until you decided it was enough…ten minutes after he sat down that is.

“What’s going on?” he opened his eyes to your strong tone of voice. Which, by the way, has improved quite a bit compared to the dry, hoarse voice you had in November. “I can’t have some coffee in the yard of our house?” He avoided saying ‘my house’ on purpose, - avoiding being an asshole -.

You stabbed the small shovel hard into the dirt and turned to look at him. “The fact that you’re there doesn’t bother me, the staring is the fucking problem” alright, point strongly taken, but the “What about it exactly?” question was bugging him, and unconsciously slipped past his lips.

You closed your eyes, swallowing a lot of words to just say, “I feel your stare burning the back of my head”, then another deep breath for the following, “If I have to be honest, it does make me angry”, among other feelings. It did feel strangely formal to talk like that, but Rosemary did scold you for the excessive use of foul language, and you really wanted to avoid that from happening again.

“I just…I like watching you work the dirt” he was tongue tied, he had literal goosebumps of excitement. “Do…You want to help?” he nodded, like a kid being offered to lick the frosting off a spoon. It felt off, wrong, but you weren’t going to get more information off the distance.

If you were going to live in the lion’s den, you might as well get some ways to crush him.

“Then come here and make yourself useful” you hand-motioned him to get closer.

It came out harsher than he intended, but he felt like he'd taken a good step. He made you say ‘I feel’, which in the few psychology books he had read, was a way of communicating what your body couldn't.

You took a quick glance back at him, that turned into a solid minute, just to watch him rolling up his sleeves, realizing that he was not as scrawny as you thought. But of course the suit hid all of that.

“So, what can I do, boss?” He chuckled as you shook your head. “Your fingers are larger so make a hole deep until the brim reaches your second finger joint, not your knuckle” Your hands were considerably smaller than his, he found that adorable.

Bossy, he thought.

On the other hand, you weren’t going to lie, Alastor is a very good looking man. The mustache was a bit much, but the smart look his glasses gave him, his chocolate skin color, light brown eyes. And his hair! He had a haircut where the left side was kept gel smooth towards his nape, while the right side had a fringe of curls hanging down over his glasses. The side without gel looked fluffy and soft.

Damn you, good looking monster. You bite back.

“Is there a way to predict what color they will turn out?” you heard him, far away, echoing in the distance. Which was odd considering he was just a few feet from you. “No, you just plant them, with the green tip up, and just wait” the sunlight flickered above you, but you figured it was just a passing bird.

“What color are you hoping for?” his voice was suddenly close, his side of the dirt already done with what you had asked. “White or maybe pink tulips” you answered softly.

He didn’t want to push his luck, given that you eyed him up and down, “You also gave me roses and mint, I planted the seeds separated because they do not like each other, they compete for nutrients like leeches” you made worm fingers near your face, just to show him how nasty they were.

He seemed to listen intently to what you were saying, not in a ‘I’m forced to do so’ way, but really interested, he saw you turn your eyes away from him, light shining and fading just as quickly. “How do you know so much?” he copied the way you tucked in the bulbs with dirt, as he wondered.

“My mind is a little foggy, but I just know” you lied, it was from the first book your father gave you, an herbology book to put some color to the garden. Oh how you missed the vines with tiny pink flowers growing outside your window.

“Where I grew up there was a big cinnamon tree. I never developed a taste for tea, but my mother loved her black tea with a stick of cinnamon.” He once called it sock water in front of his mother, when he was a very young boy, she tickled those words away. The memory brought him a tender smile.

“How wholesome” memories slipped off your mind, especially your mother’s face and voice. “You don’t remember anything from your childhood?” you suddenly heard him from in between the void, “Not much, but I do remember smells, lights, and the taste of apple pie…” crunchy crust, soft inside, the lovely taste of cinnamon. But then, there was just darkness, where could everything else be? “Other than that, it’s…pretty blank”.

“I’m not a fan of sweets, but my mother had a recipe for apple pie, I can try and take a crack at it, if you wish” In contrast with his brown skin, he had lighter coloured marks going upwards into his forearms. “Your mom liked sweets?” you wondered, feeling his eyes following your stare up his arms. “Baking made her happy” Him eating them was the thing that made her happy, you thought, and you weren’t wrong.

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to try”, success! He had made a good step forward.

Soft jazz played from the gramophone near the stairs, a cheerful tune with no lyrics, just the drums, bass, and the occasional trumpet solo. When the high notes were struck but the pace never fastened, he heard you humming in repeat, softly, just for yourself. Truth be told, he noticed that any tune that carried enough feeling through the bridge brought a smile to your face.

When the needle moved to another song, he started humming as he kneaded the dough. The piano was his favorite, you could tell by the way he made the movements of the keys against the marble of the counter, and his feet moved to press an invisible pedal.

“Cinnamon and a splash of lemon” he added to the filling, your hand flinching away a little when he tapped the bowl, prompting you to move it more to the space between you.

He was so close.

He gave off a smell of tree bark, freshly cut grass and rainwater. Very pleasant, charming, and dangerous. But you remembered every poisonous stench of the men that attended the brothel, he not only was a threat, he was a true rose. Beautiful and inviting, until you get too close and get caught by its thorns. But, somehow he didn’t smell of sweat off alcohol, like other men.

You gave off a smell he couldn’t adequately describe. He couldn’t get close enough to try, either. Though, he was quickly distracted by the sight of your bare hands, a knot tying a noose in the inside of his throat.

He remembered having your hands in his, but he had never seen them without gloves or bandages. Your right ring finger was crooked, a cut where it was obvious it had been sliced like a ham and glued back onto your right middle finger. Both of your hands had healed scars on their knuckles, and what looked to be cuff scars on your wrists.

Despite the time, there were parts of your skin that would not return to their original color, nor any amount of cream and ‘regenerative’ treatments would help either. Your knuckles were forever disfigured, no wonder you were still using bandages despite them being already healed. It did caught his attention.

He wondered, what the hell happened that forced you to fight to that extent?

He swallowed a lump of saliva, then pointed to your right hand, “Does it hurt?” then moved down to also ask for your wrist. You looked up at him wondering what was the purpose of the question, if it was pity or just curiosity, but you couldn’t tell by the look on his face only.

Shrugging your shoulders you turned back to the bowl, mixing the filling, “Not anymore” you limited your answer to a half told truth. “You don’t have to answer, but, is there a reason for the bandages?” You thought about his question for a minute, not paying attention to how his eyes scanned your up and down.

“Comfort, that way I avoid unwanted friction and looks” the way you shot him an accusatory sideway eye, made him choke down a scoff. “May I?” he took a deep breath trying not to laugh, to ask for your hand. He had his over yours, with the intention to simply touch, but you ended up putting your hand over his knuckles.

‘So, not touch but look, I can do that’ he thought as he pulled a little to get your hand closer as he adjusted his glasses. He hummed, inspecting the variety of reliefs and depths. Definitely the result of a crude fighting style, yet strong.

The wrist lines though, those weren’t made by the police handcuffs. He mentally noted that it had to be a bigger and thicker kind of cuff to make such a damage, and also a lot of resistance.

Thinking about that just made his knot worsen.

He gently motioned his hand down, your hand shakily coming back to the side of the bowl. “I noticed you were looking at mine earlier” from the corner of your eye you saw him roll his sleeve higher, “If you wish, you can do the same”. You put the spoon and bowl aside, with one hand you grabbed hold of his index and middle finger, pulling down gently yet no less tensely. With your other hand you touched the pale streaks of skin upwards. Causing all sorts of chills up Alastor’s spine.

Alastor didn't know if he regretted his offer or if it was a good idea to begin with. You looked like a blind person reading braille as you touched him. There was the amusing way you made sure he couldn't grab you if that was his intention, that took his mind aside from his nerves. In the position he was in, Alastor recognized that you could easily twist his fingers if he did something wrong.

'So cautious, I like it' he thought now seeing how you simply observed the skin he was so mocked for.

He heard you humm and set his arm to his side, then your attention went back to the mixing bowl. Just like that. So it was okay for you to invade his personal space, but not the other way around?! Perhaps he could see how far he could push that boundary.

“Did it hurt?” you spoke softly, but he couldn’t tell if it was out of concern or curiosity. “Yes, but I don’t regret it” another humm, this time in understanding.

A deafening silence was created. To alastor the music of the gramophone seemed so far away, echoing in between thoughts and questions.

“Can I try something?” He bit his tongue as soon as he spoke, but he couldn’t take his words back when they already had caught your attention. “Another recipe?” you could hardly believe you sassed him, how did he get you so comfortable?

“No” he laughed, “I’ve never been fond of physical contact, but-” the feeling of his skin that had lingered on your hands began to burn, had you done something wrong, will he do something to punish you for taking such liberties? He offered, how could he be mad?! doesn't matter you were going to make sure to block anything he was thinking of doing.

“Oh, then I overstepped, I’m sorry” Alastor felt as if you had shut a door straight against his face, “No, it feels odd but, unlike others you don’t do it…with bad intentions”. He saw you eye him up and down sideways, would that mean you opened the door again, just a smidge? “I just want you to know, that you can touch me whenever you feel like it” he was probably shooting himself with that invitation, but he wanted to know if you’d take his hand or grab him by the arm - so to speak.

One motion, you made one downwards with your finger for him to move a bit to your level, given that he’s taller than you. But he had to be ridiculous, instead of bowing down, Alastor knelt down in front of you again. Just like the night after the wedding. And with a fucking shit-eating grin, definitely enjoying your confusion/flustered mix of emotions.

Before your peripheral blind spot, you spotted a knife, if you were quick enough you could grab it and slit his throat. End this whole farce once and for all. It had become oh so annoying, his smile, his confidence, and his false sense of chivalry.

He was mocking you, with every smile and soft, considerate touch. He's a fucking monster, just another pervert of the bunch, he'll be quick to take advantage of the slightest spark of trust you give him.

'But still...' you brought your hand to his face, running down his jaw to the Adam's apple on his neck. 'What a nice sternocleidomastoid, how would it look skinned and open?' under your hand you felt him swallow. Was he nervous? How shameless.

'You're studying me and you're not ashamed to show it’ Alastor mocked mentally, his eyes locked on yours. His mind was alert and yet his body surrendered to your warmth. While having your hand on his neck, it was like looking at himself in a mirror. What a depraved look you had, he felt as if you were visually making your way between every strand of his muscles, perhaps seeing how many ways to make him scream in agony.

"Soft," you whispered unconsciously. As soon as he appeared, your predatory gaze disappeared, your hands moving up to his hair, enjoying his well-defined curls between your fingers.

Where did your blood-hungry look go? It was a drastic change, almost as much as going from one song to another. From a dull and sadistic one to an innocent and happy one, how interesting.

Both of your hands were in his hair now, drawing his face to your collarbone. Now that he was close enough, he tried to decipher, what was your smell? Dirt, dried blood, burnt skin, alcohol and bandages, what a sad aroma. He was suddenly so depressed, he couldn’t enjoy being so close to you.

“May I?” he put his hands up, aiming for your arms. "No…unless. If I put your hands on a specific spot, do you promise not to move them from there?" how about giving him the chance to slip and give you a reason to harm him? A fake image of trust to feed his ego.

Your heart started pumping loudly inside your ears, as you put his hands up the sides of the unmarked sides of your waist. Unmarked, but not untouched. He felt how a shiver went up your skin, even through the thick layers of fabric.

An image of brown and red leaves flooded your mind, warm sunlight and a swing, your legs swinging back and forth, the momentum making the wind lift your hair. Oh how you missed not having to feel invisible hands touching your skin, eyes on the walls, mirrors and dark corners. Just living under the warmth of the sun and the spring breeze, sweetly and innocently.

The sound of the needle hitting the end of the record pulled you back to reality. You took a deep breath, and notice just how close you were, your unmarked cheek pressed against the crown of his head, arms around his neck.

As soon as Alastor felt you move back, he immediately removed his hands from your waist. Reluctantly closing his eyes as he was kicked down by the cold again. Couldn't you stay for five more minutes? But he just silently turned to watch you walk around the kitchen island and change vinyl records, with an inevitable longing stare you never caught sight of.

“What language is this?” you muttered to yourself, attempting to read the burgundy cover. “It’s French” his face was so close, you could smell his shampoo again. “Mon coeur s'est envolé, it means ‘My heart flew away’” Since you’ve never heard French before, you couldn’t tell if he was being truthful, he might as well be just speaking gibberish to impress you.

“You speak french?” you looked up at him. “A variety. I speak Cajun, after all I’m creole” You hummed again, this time an ‘oh’ he couldn’t decipher. “It’s a waltz version of the original, would you like to play it?” he moved the needle up for you to put the A side up.

He had you almost caged inside his arms. His right one down the level of your eyes, the other out of sight. But how come you didn’t feel so threatened? Still possibly in danger, but…how come?

To Alastor you seemed so tense, hesitant. He really wanted to hold a steady pace with you, but somehow he kept going backwards. What drove you to be so extreme with your emotions?

Most of the time you look at him like a pest, others you don’t even look at him at all. That bloodlusted stare was the most sincere sight he had of you since he met you, and he couldn’t settle with just those crumbs, he wanted more.

“Could you say something else in French?” oh wait, were you actually interested? Alastor smiled and got his face as close to your ear as he could without pressing himself at all to your back. “What would you like me to say?” his breath and velvet voice tickled your ear, “Anything”.

He took your hand, raising it so he could softly kiss your scarred wrist, “J'aimerais t'embrasser” he whispered against your ear, as if he was telling you a secret, something for your ears only. “What does that mean?” he softly lifted your hand, turning you around on your heels. “It means, you owe me a dance” his hand pulled your back from the same height you allowed him to touch, just so your chest could be closer to his, “Would you do me the honor?”.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ Alastor slapped himself internally. In his way of thinking, there were two possible options that could explain what was going on with him.

The hug you gave him made him go too far out of his comfort zone where he felt in control and he tried to counteract it by making you feel uncomfortable. Or he was actually enjoying your company.

Utterly preposterous.

He put the pie to bake, then started the song again.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel fanart

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Pretty Petals 26

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content including rape/noncon, kidnapping, violence, sexual acts (fingering, oral, anal, dp), coercion, bondage, and more tags to be added as the series progresses. PREPARE YOUR PANTIES, HOES.

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

Summary: You go on a self-improvement retreat, but not all is as it seems.

Girls and Flower Name List HERE!

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker, Curtis Everett, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Loki, Andy Barber, Hela, and multiple OFCs

Note: double chapter day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

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

Love you all like birds love to appear everytime you are near. Take care. 💖

“It was so lovely to come see you all, to see how you’ve grown,” Hela preens as she stands at the head of the table. “Immaculate, every one of you.”

Dahlia pokes her cheek with her tongue and Bucky snatches the fork she twirls in her hand. He knows her well. Maybe he even fears he’s at the mercy of the tines.

You turn your attention back to your matron of dishonour. Her black bob is wavy and her skin freckled from the sun. She’s beautiful for someone so wretched. You can’t help but wonder if you’re the only ones. You know you can’t be the first. It’s all too orderly, too planned, too perfect.

“Do make me proud, petals,” she claps her hands together and her pretty lips curl, “I may just return at Christmas with some gifts, eh?”

Christmas. It’s still a ways off but the fall is setting in. The summer is in its last dregs and you find yourself shivering in the morning as the night cools. Not a single voice rises to answer her farewell. You all just stare, rather glare, at her.

“Well, then, I’ll be off.”

“Sister, I’ll show you the door,” Loki rises and beckons her away from the table, “I must thank you for coming so quickly and bringing a fresh stem...”

His voice trails off and you glance over at Zinnia, sitting by his empty seat. She mashes down her eggs with the back of a spoon. The other girls keep there hands away from their plates. You don’t have much of an appetite yourself.

“Boring,” Lloyd says suddenly. “How about we do something fun?”

The other men seemed agitated by his suggestion. Strange how they seem to share the same malaise. Ransom’s arm drapes over the back of your chair, Curtis has Violet in his lap, Lee keeps jabbing Marigold and whispering at her. Your eyes meet Steve’s as he watches you in turn. You quickly look away.

“I’ll clear the table,” you offer as you stand and lift your plate.

“Ugh, boring,” Lloyd spits again, “Christ on a dildo, why are we sitting here playing Brady Bunch? Let’s get fucking wild.”

“Shut up,” Bucky growls as Dahlia rubs her faded bruises.

“Oh, shit, you know, I got the perfect fucking game, girls, follow Lily’s lead and clear the table.”

The mustachioed man stands and breezes away. The other women look at each other. You nudge Azalea and she stands with her head down. She takes her plate and Lloyd’s. The other girls follow in a long train to the kitchen. Andy gets up to follow, keeping watch as you cluster together to divvy up the leftovers into containers.

You hate to agree but it is dull as hell. You finish stacking up the dirty plates but none of you are eager to go back into the dining room. Only bad things happen there. The games they play aren’t much fun for you.

“Go,” Andy demands.

Dahlia goes out first, angling her head back and forth defiantly. Zinnia follows after her, Daisy, Rose, Violet shuffles noisily and clings to Azalea’s hand as she drags her, then you, and finally Marigold. As you come out, Lloyd stands in front of his seat, jiggling a pair of dice in his hands.

The other men share your level of enthusiasm. Bucky’s arms are crossed, Ransom yawns, Lee rubs his belly, Curtis picks his thumbnail, Loki untangles a shank of his long dark coils, and Steve peers over his shoulder to stare at you. You don’t like that.

“Right, simple rules, guys,” Lloyd rattles the large pair of plastic dice, “choose a girl, roll the dice, and let fate decide. I’ll go first since it was my idea.”

You nearly let out a groan. You’re so tired. Ransom points you next to him and you sit. The others follow suit. Andy stands behind his chair and watches as Lloyd tosses the dice.

You notice the imprinted images on the sides of the cubes. Various positions and words. You hold your breath and sense the rest of the room doing the same.

“Hey, Zinnia,” Lloyd calls as the dice bounce over the wood, “how about we get acquainted?”

The plastic cubes still and shows a man with his head between a woman’s legs as she sits on a chair. The other dice reads, ‘until orgasm.’

Zinnia whimpers and Loki sniffs. He stands and drags her chair away from the table. She grips the sides to keep from sliding off. He veers her around to face Lloyd as he struts behind the other seats. He snickers as he drags his hand over his mouth.

“Come on, let me see the kitty, just wanna give her a pet,” he gets down to his knees and Loki catches Zinnia’s shoulders before she can sit up. She writhes helplessly as Lloyd’s hands crawl up her thighs. He tickles the front of her panties and glances over, “hey don’t let me have all the fun, unless you wanna watch.”

There’s a moment of indecision. Then Steve reaches across the table and scoops up the dice. He examines each then cradles them in his large hand. Zinnia’s murmurs underline the lull as Lloyd growls deeply, his mouth making unsettling noises.

“Lily, how’s it we’ve never had any fun?” He asks and tosses them. They only roll a short way before stilling.

You stare at the top of the first dice. A couple in doggystyle. You clamp your lips and try not to shudder. You glance over at Dahlia and she shakes her head. The other girls slump and shrink, knowing their own turn is imminent.

The second dice makes you blanch as it lands flat; ‘backdoor’.

“Perfect,” Steve growls, “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be nice.”

He stands, pushing out his chair and waving towards the seat, “get on your knees, I’ll be right back.”

“The fuck, Steve,” Ransom sneers.

“We’ll trade,” Steve offers.

“Mm, thanks but I think I’ll try something new. How about you, Statue of Liberty?” He looks at ass, “you think you can stay awake for some good dick?”

You get up as Ransom swipes up the dice. This is humiliating. It’s one thing to be dragged off behind closed doors but these men are as good as starting an orgy. For what? Because they’re bored?

Steve helps you onto the chair. You brace the back as you sit on your knees, shaking. You don’t know if you can handle this. He rubs your shoulder, gripping it hard enough for the tendon to tweak. You wince and he lets go as he walks away. You watch after him as Azalea starts to snivel.

You look over as Lloyd keeps his face buried between Zinnia’s legs, his hand on her tits as he devours her. She puffs and pouts and squirm as Loki pets her cheek and coos. Ugh, god! You can’t keep doing this.

For now, you have to. You have to bide your time. You have to get rid of these necklaces and those damn cameras. You have to wait for these men to turn their fangs on each other instead of you.

Steve comes back as Dahlia’s snarl rolls through the air. There’s a struggle behind you on the floor you can’t see. Andy’s no longer by the kitchen door. It must be him. His voice confirms it as he calls for Rose too.

Shit. The chaos breaks out quickly. Steve startles you as he squirts a slick flow between your cheeks. You squeak as he pushes his fingers along your ass as rubs your tight hole. He clicks shut the bottle of lube and reaches to put it on the table.

He grips the back of your neck and forces your head straight. You his and latch tightly to the chair. You sit on your heels as he bends against you, contorting so he’s flush to your back. He pushes his head next to yours and growls.

He rescinds his touch for just a moment as he jostles around. His brings his firm tip up along your cheeks and presses against your ring. You babble and reach back to press on his hip.

“Please, no--”

He loops his hand around the front of your neck and chokes your voice away. You gasp and wheeze as he pushes into you. He stretches your ass just around his tip, just enough for your to let out a whistle through your tight throat. Ow. Oh shit.

He rocks and dips a little further inside. Your eyes prick and you shake your head, grinding your teeth as you quake. He thrusts again, deeper. Several more times, sinking in as your insides burn. Even the lube can’t help the resistance of your body.

He brings his other hand to your throat, crisscrossing his fingers in front of it as he forces your head up and back. Your spine arches as his pelvis claps against your ass and he grunts. The chair rocks with his motion, teetering dangerously as your tears stream down your cheeks.

The pain is blinding. Your eyes roll back as you puff out shallow breaths through the constriction of your throat. He snaps his hips harshly and you spasm. Again, again, again. Each time crueler than the last.

Steve shifts his feet and moves closer again. He bucks into you so that the agony radiates from your core. You would sob if your could breath. He adjusts his hands, wrapping them full around your neck. Your lashes flutter as your vision speckles with black dots.

“Steve, take it easy--” you hear someone warn but you can’t make out their timbre.

“Hey, whoa, slow down. She’s--”

Your tongue lolls out as all the air traps in your chest. The heat in your lungs is as fiery as that in your ass. The slap of flesh and the cracking force mingles with the swirling in your head. Your eyelids close of their own volition as all resistance gives out and your body goes limp. The world fades though the pain remains.

🌸

“You could’ve fucking killed her,” A snarl seeps into your ears, making them itchy. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

“Whatever. We can get another--”

“Fuck off. The new one’s already pissing me off,” Bucky’s deeper tone breaks through the veil over you.

“Like you even like the one you got--”

“Lily,” another voice drifts in and your eyelids part, your vision hazy as Dahlia’s blurry figure sits over you.

“Keep it down,” Lloyd sneers, “some of us are trying to eat.”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Andy barks as he stands behind Dahlia, looming over you both, “if we lose another one, maybe you should just sacrifice the tall one.”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic. He was getting kinky--”

“She’s awake,” Steve looks over at you, his pants still undone but his dick tucked away.

“Fucking lucky,” Ransom shoves him and sidles through. “Lily pad, you okay down there?”

You blink at him as Azalea sways nearby, twisting her hand around her finger. You look at the faces you can make out and Dahlia helps you sit up. You nod and rub your temples, wincing as your ass throbs. Oh, yeah...

“Come on,” Ransom bends over you and hauls you up, “someone send that douchebag to his room.”

“Who put you in charge?” Steve growls, “not my fault she can’t take it. Maybe you’re getting soft.”

“Some of us don’t wanna fuck a corpse,” Ransom retorts as he wraps an arm around your back and lifts you.

“I’m sure you do so much work, pillow princess,” Lloyd cackles from his knees. He has three fingers inside of Zinnia as she continues to squirm and squeal.

Ransom huffs and carries on past the others. You lean your head against him, blocking out the rest of the room with his body. You can’t look. It hurts even more to see the rest suffer.

He takes you into your room and elbows the door shut with a quick jerk of his body. He tuts and put you on the bed. You can’t help but curl up, hugging your legs as the ache pulses from within.

You’re groggy with the aftermath of Steve’s strong hold. You rub your cheek, trying to get some sense back. Ransom paces, a hand on his hip, the other opening and closing in silent monologue. He’s uptight. You haven’t seen him like this.

“I told him to stop. Fucker. Can’t fucking listen to save his life,” he snarls and stops, facing you as he stomps. “You heard me tell him to quit.”

You bat your lashes and nod. Slowly, you muster your strength to sit up. You wince as you do. You stay balled up small as Ransom pushes his chin up and heaves once more. You consider him and his frustration; the words from before. How the men constantly battle for control, not just with you but each other.

“He should listen,” you croak, coughing and rubbing your throat, “they should all listen to you.”

He lowers his head and looks at you with an arch in his brow.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” you drop your shoulders.

“No, what are you saying?” He narrows his eyes.

“It’s only... Maybe... if you’d been upstairs, you could’ve saved Iris. And... and if they’d all just listen it wouldn’t all be a mess. You always tell them not to... not to go so far,” you temper your words as you speak them, uncertain and yet you think that makes them seem more genuine. “They don’t listen. First Curtis with Violet, now this.”

You chew your lip as he stares. Your heart pounds in your chest. Does he know what you’re doing? You’ve never been a very good liar.

“They’re all breaking the rules but didn’t you all agree to them?”

He comes forward and you fight not to cower away. He reaches for you and you expect a slap or a grope or jab. Instead he strokes your cheek and bends to meet your gaze. He looks you in the face, his blue eyes searching.

“You know what, lily pad, you’re right,” he sits lightly on the edge of the bed and draws you close. “that’s why I like you. ‘Cause you know better. You listen.”

He shifts and lays on his side, pulling you with him. You let him. You put your hand on his chest and rest your head on his shoulder.

“You’re... you’re the only one who doesn’t hurt me,” you say.

He hums and sucks his teeth, “I know, lily pad.” He exhales and closes his eyes, “this can’t go on. I gotta get these guys in check.”

You nod and nestle closer. Not because he makes you feel safe. Not because you meant any of it. Because it makes him think you do. That sliver of doubt is under his skin, it will only continue to poke until he has to rip it out.

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lightlycareless · 6 months ago

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I found a picture of Naoya playing the piano and want to show it to you. My fav scene where naoya teaches his wife piano. I love the scene sm 🤭🤭

HIIII how are you!!!!??? Thank you for patience 🥺

Omg thank you so much for sending me this ajkghajgajgs Naoya is a man of many talents, and him using them to brighten your day is 🥺 I'll always hold that scene close to my heart, them bonding together is just 😭 oh, I wish we could have more moments like that.

And we can... I mean, I wrote a little something, like a deviation from what I have planned lol a what if, if you must 😏

warnings: none. fluff. it's based on this fic. now that's a whole can of worms. proceed with caution.

Imagine you deciding to continue your piano lessons after growing somewhat genuinely interested in learning.

After a few sessions you’ve began to show improvement. Sure, you still struggle with certain things, such as jumping from one octave to the other, but anyone could easily admit you were not the same amateur from before.

And yet… there seemed to be something holding you back from taking the next step. You were already a master of twinkle twinkle little star, so why couldn’t you move onto something a bit more difficult?

Well, it was plain simple. Quite obvious, actually, for an outsider that is. Naoya was too blinded by his role as a teacher to even notice.

It was all intentional, made from your desire to keep him close, enjoying the way he’d place his arms around you, his large hands over yours as he guides you into the correct position to play even if you already knew how.

All to keep feeling his breath on your skin, the cologne you now solely associated with him, and you suppose his attention too, especially when you played the shy, tense student that desperately needed the guidance of her sensei.

To voice such ploys made you feel silly, if not selfish, but you didn’t know how to voice your need without feeling embarrassed. You didn’t want to appear needy before a man that is always busy, and yet, here you were, acting as if you’d never seen a piano in your life.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Naoya loves spending time with you, even though seemingly mundane activities. But even he was getting a bit… frustrated with these lessons that were quickly growing repetitive. His perfectionist temperament demanded he’d do everything right, or at least strive for it, naturally extending to you. Obviously for you, the woman whom he wanted to please more than anything in this world.

You showed enough promise, a talent that could be polished if pursued, so why weren’t you advancing?

Was it… him, perhaps? Your actions consequence of his failure as a teacher?

Maybe. Naoya isn’t known for being a particularly good listener, less of an educator. There’s enough witnesses to asses to it.

Your husband just hopes his incapability doesn’t push you away from wanting to learn piano, Naoya would rather die than to cut short these already scarce moments with you.

Though it’s more likely that he’ll do that anyways, a well-prepared teacher appears to be a better alternative.

“… but I don’t get it. Maybe there’s something I’m not seeing.” Naoya frowns, adjusting his position near you and taking your hands with him once more, hoping that it’ll come to him. The solution to your problem.

He sighs when it doesn’t. For the nth time. Maybe he is a bad teacher after all.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll be able to teach you anymore.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I’m just having a tough time figuring out how to help you.” Naoya laments. “I may have underestimated my skills.”

You know what they say, the best way to check if you know something is by teaching it to someone else. Something like that, or so he’s heard.

“Don’t say that I think you’re doing great!” You encouraged, looking over to Naoya and his deep frown, evidence of the frustration your little ploy has inflicted on him. Had you known he would be so affected by it you would’ve gone easier with your obliviousness…

And yet, it was endearing to see your impact on him. How hard he was trying to make things work for you—you still couldn’t believe how much of an influence you had on him, even if he’s already proved the lengths he was willing to go to make you happy.

…Like the protective husband he swore to be on your wedding day.

“You don’t have to mock me, mochi” Naoya insists. “I think you’d be better off with an actual teacher if you still want to learn.”

You do, but…

“…I want you.” You murmur, so lowly, so… sweetly, that Naoya had to double check he heard you right the first time around, quickly swirling his head onto your direction, frozen the moment your doe-like, hypnotizing eyes, those he could never get enough of, landed on his, with such intensity that let him know it was all true.

The purpose you were attempting to convey many lessons ago instantly becoming clear to him. The intentions you were too shy to speak out loud, but not enough to sway you from trying, an unknown edge of yours that had him both impressed and absorbed.

One never stops knowing their partner, do they?

What an enthralling thought to have.

“Is that so?” He murmurs back, leaning closer to you. “You’d be fine with someone like me as your teacher, princess?”

“I couldn’t think of anyone… better.” You blush. And though intimidated by his piercing gaze, you persisted. When you once cowered away, you now wished to be the only person his eyes saw.

“Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Maybe it’s because he was within your reach, or because you had enough of going around in circles, whatever it was, you couldn’t hold back anymore; and with the noise of your heart deafening your ears, you lean closer to him, removing the gap between the two and placing your lips over his. Gently, sweetly, like it was your first time, and took him in—sealing your newfound sentiments with a kiss he’s long been dreaming of.

So much that he’s almost in disbelief, remaining still as he tries his best to both contain his excitement, heart ready to burst through his chest, hands itching to pull you closer and keep you there, afraid that the moment he peels away you’ll disappear, just as he’s forced you to through the beginning of this marriage.

Naoya too felt like it was the first time he’s ever kissed anyone—perhaps kissed anyone with love. With that soft warmth he could only label as true love. What he feels for you now, has always been so, and hopefully, you too.

After a few seconds, much to Naoya’s dismay, you’re the first one to separate, slowly pulling away and opening your eyes to the sight of your flustered husband, the adorable face of a man that has dreamed of this day for god knows how long, giving you the impression (alongside a sense of guilt) that maybe you should’ve been a bit more direct with your actions.

Though how everything came to be… wasn’t that bad.

“You didn’t have to go through all that, you know?” Naoya teases, his attempt to cool down the heat on his cheeks. “If you just wanted to kiss me, you just had to say so.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you joke back, and he smirks, letting out a chuckle. “…But I guess I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“Being with you is no waste of time.”

Now it’s your turn to grow speechless, face red, perhaps even more than Naoya’s, due to the vast, unexpected sweetness of his words, and the overwhelming embarrassment it provided you, leading you to cover your face with your hands and making him laugh even louder.

“You don’t need to act this way with me, love.” Naoya says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “We’ve done more… heated things, after all. This is nothing.”

“Oh, stop it! Is that your way of comforting me?!” You gasp, burying your face deeper into his chest.

“It is the truth, love. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“You know well I wasn’t referring to that” you murmur. “…but… do you really feel that way…?”

“I’d give you the whole world if you asked.”

But even if you didn’t, he was going to do so, because he has long sworn in his own life that he’d do everything in his power to make up for all the wrongdoings he’s inflicted upon you. His best to erase the vile acts he did when he called himself your so-called husband.

For as long as it takes, all of his lifetime if so needed, and the next one, and the next one.

“I think I’ll be happy just to hear you play the piano for now.” You eventually add. “If you don’t have anything else to do.”

“I’m all yours today—”

“And...” you interrupt, Naoya blinks.

“And?”

“If I can kiss you again.” You say, shyly looking up to him. “If you want…”

“Hm, I don’t know… you’ll have to convince me.”

“How do I do that?” you tilt your head.

“By giving me a kiss for each time you had me going around in circles.”

With unprecedented speed, you quickly grabbed his face and begging to pepper kisses all over his face, Naoya more than happy that you were, and a bit startled too.

“Wait, Y/N—did you even want to learn how to play??” He rightfully concludes.

“A bit, I guess.” You giggle. “But really I just wanted to be with you.”

Naoya immediately succumbs to your gestures soon after that, putty on your hands as he lets himself be appreciated by the woman of his dreams, the love of his life—the owner of his heart.

Your heart squeezes with longing. Who knew Naoya could be this… adorable? So sweet, you didn’t have the heart to deny him—

Nor would you, setting to live out the rest of your life as his wife.

For good, this time.

I always liked the idea of you being able to feel Naoya's heart. Like, how fast it is beating because of how happy he is with you 🥺 Thankfully I do have another prompt with that exact same situation, though it's a HS au. Also, this is not their fated kiss I owe y'all, I think what I have planned is much better 😏 (or so I hope)

Now, thank you so much for waiting for my answer 🥺 I'm still slowly but surely working through them requests :> I always appreciate whenever you send me something (so don't be afraid of sharing more hehe)

Take care and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #ask series: first it hurts—#au ask series: first it hurts—#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you

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missvelvetsstuff · 8 months ago

Text

No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, angst

Notes: I'm sorry this update took so long. I had a big dramatic scene in the meeting with Nick Fury planned but I wrote and rewrote it for three days and it just never hit right so, hopefully this works.

Lemme know what you think, I live for likes, shares and notes.

Nick Fury landed at the compound late Monday afternoon and went straight into Maria Hill's office to meet for over two hours. He left to go back to his quarters for food and sleep.

Maria immediately logged on to her computer to send a meeting invite to the Avengers for the next morning.

The team discussed the email over dinner in hushed and worried voices. Even Tony and Steve seemed concerned. Sharon was done with her treatment and appeared to be back to her normal self, even if she did act like the ankle monitor she was wearing weighed a ton. There was an ongoing investigation into when Antonia first gave her the serum, before or after Sharon became the Power Broker, so the ankle monitor helped Friday keep track of her and prevented her from going outside of the residence floor, common room and medbay.

Sharon grabbed the seat next to Bucky and was flirting with him, although more subtly than previously. Bucky moved his chair over as far as he could to get away from her until Sam elbowed him in his ribs. Sharon didn't get the hint and tried playing footsies with Bucky until he 'accidentally' kicked her in the shin while still wearing the steel toed boots he had on when he was playing keep away with Sam's shield earlier.

Sharon yelped "What the fuck Barnes? Are you wearing steel toes? You nailed me right in the shin. It's not bad enough that my other leg has that stupid monitor which makes my leg ache, if anyone cares."

Bucky shrugged "Shouldn't have been trying to play footsies." He smirked at her "and, No, no one cares. Maybe deciding to become a crime lord wasn't your best call, huh?"

Sharon shook her head as she felt her face heat up and stammered out "B-b-but I, I w-was just uh st-stretching mmmy legs."

Sam choked on his drink as he tried not to laugh "Fuck! Sorry, went down the wrong way."

Bucky smirked as Sharon glared at Sam then looked down swearing under her breath. "I helped you assholes and ended up an enemy of the state, I should have let Ross deal with all three of you."

Steve cleared his throat and looked at them like a disappointed father whose kids are acting up during dinner, which made Sam laugh out loud.

Tony sighed "Alright children. A little play to ease the tension is fine but this shit is serious. Fury is going to come down on all of us and I don't feel like taking his abuse for something that I wasn't involved with. You!" He pointed at Bucky and Sharon "And Romanoff, are the reason Cookie left so I vote for you taking the brunt of his anger."

Bucky looked down at his plate as he moved the food around. "I know and I plan on accepting responsibility for my part in it. I've been trying to figure out how to convince her to come back but I'm stuck. I'm open to any ideas."

Tony nodded, unconvinced "Riiight, good luck with that.

Well if anyone's interested, Romanoff is still in a holding cell while medical takes care of her. She's reportedly a difficult patient but seems to be improving."

There was a collective groan before Bucky shook his head "Pffft, not interested."

Sam snickered while Steve gave Bucky that dad look again to which Bucky just shrugged. "Well, I don't care. She's caused me too much trouble."

Steve sighed "She was being controlled, Buck. You can't hold her completely responsible."

"Maybe not but that doesn't mean I'm interested in her condition. I'm sure that the medical team will take care of her and it's not my problem. She was being weird even before all this drama. She tried to restart the whatever we had in the Red Room and I don't want her." His face dropped and he muttered sadly "I just want Cookie."

"Right, jerk." Steve looked around "It's getting late, we should all get some rest so we're up to dealing with this meeting tomorrow."

The others nodded and mumbled agreement before getting up to clean and heading to their rooms. Sharon tried again to talk to Bucky but he strode away too quickly for her to catch him.

Bucky tried to sleep but couldn't, like most nights since he pushed Cookie away he laid in his bed staring at the ceiling. Looking at the 'glow in the dark' galaxy and blue twinkle lights that Cookie decorated his room with. She said it was too impersonal and decorated with posters, soft pillows with matching blankets and such. All space related, galaxy patterns. Usually it was calming but not right now.

Now he spent most of his time either in therapy, writing to Cookie or wallowing. Feeling angry at being controlled again, feeling sorry for himself, feeling empty because she wasn't here.

He got up to sit at his desk and write another letter to her. The letters started as declarations of his love and apologies for his actions, whether he was in control of himself or not. Now they were a running commentary of each days events and activities, plus whatever topics branched off from that, like they used to have in the evenings after dinner. They would lay on his bed with his music playing softly, holding hands and staring at the galaxy overhead, talking about their day and whatever else came to mind. Sometimes they had stayed awake talking until the sun came up.

Bucky fell asleep at his desk as he was writing, only to be jolted awake by Friday. An alarm and reminder of the meeting in 1 hour. A hot shower didn't help wake him up so he headed to the kitchen for coffee. He grumbled the entire way, Fury scheduling a meeting at 5am was just cruel and unusual, Bucky knew it was just the beginning of the punishments they would endure until things were set right.

Just to ensure that this day was shit from the gate, the first face Bucky saw was Nat, in the kitchen. He sighed and cursed his luck.

Nat smirked "Morning Barnes, you look like you haven't slept. I can come by later and help tire you out." She practically purred.

Bucky scoffed "Hard pass." Proud of himself for remembering some of the current slang that Cookie had been trying to teach him. As he looked down he noticed Nats ankle monitor and chuckled "Nice jewelry you've got there."

Nat scowled at him "Fuck you, Barnes."

Bucky smirked "In your dreams" as Nat stomped off.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and headed towards the conference room where Steve was already waiting. He grunted a greeting to Steve and took a seat. The rest of the team trickled in until a few minutes before 5 when Nick Fury strode in, Maria Hill following right behind. Tony ambled in shortly after and sat down.

Three hours later, everyones ears were ringing from the yelling. As they walked out of the conference room, Bucky and Sam were arguing over how many times Fury hollered "mother fucker/s" over the course of the meeting.

Sam just shook his head "I've never met a man who could yell for that long without losing his voice." He looked at Bucky then towards Sharon and Nat

"All y'all better get your acts together because if I ever have to sit through 3 hours of being yelled at by Nick Fury for something I didn't do again, someone's gonna pay."

Fury had cancelled all leave, every extra perk the team had and assigned additional training and chore duty. None of them would be having much fun anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day Cookie came home from work there was another letter from Bucky. She ate dinner alone, staring at the stack of letters, afraid to find out what they said.

Every time she thought about it she started thinking he was ending their friendship for good, then argued with herself that he wouldn't keep writing if that were the case.

On Friday night she sat on the couch eating takeout with the news on in the background. It almost felt like the letters themselves were calling out to her. Once she finished eating she cleaned up her mess and poured a second glass of wine. She sat back on the couch, turned the news off and turned some soft jazz music on before looking at the stack and sighing.

Cookie took a long drink of her wine before finally picking up the first letter. She looked over it for a few minutes, searching for any hint of what was said inside but it was just a plain envelope with Bucky's writing.

She carefully opened it and pulled the papers out. She took another drink to calm her nerves and unfolded the papers, gasping when something fell out, onto her lap. She looked down and her eyes grew wide as she picked up Bucky's dog tags. He never took them off, being one of the few items left from his past, he was very attached to them.

Cookie looked at the tags only to notice a second pair of tags. They were nicer than the set the Army gave Bucky when he enlisted. They had his full name and nickname, birth date with his birthstone and instead of his serial number it said 'Property of Y/N Y/L/N, bka Cookie, please call or return to the Avengers compound.' She laughed and couldn't hold the sob in.

With tears running down past the smile on her face, she put the dog tags over her head, held them against her heart and started reading.

Dear Cookie,

I'm not sure where to start, I have so much to say and the words keep getting mixed up in my head.

I miss you, more than I ever imagined missing someone. This place feels empty and cold without your warmth, your smile lit up my days and now everything seems dark.

I'm so, so sorry for everything, I never wanted to hurt you. I've only ever wanted to love and worship you like the goddess you are.

You probably already found my dog tags, I want you to have them. The other set were kinda meant as a joke but it's true. You own my heart and I think you always will.

I knew, that first day we met, that you were it for me. I know it might not have seemed like it at first but you scared me. The way my body reacted to your simple handshake scared the Hell outta me. I was a mess and you were so beautiful and smart. And caring, patiently waiting for me to come out of my shell. I know you deserve a better man than me but my time with Doctor Raynor has taught me that I do deserve happiness and good things.

The night we spent together was the best night of my life. I was finally feeling like I could be the man you deserve and even if you hate me and never want to speak to me again, I will Always hold the memory of that night, of being with you, making love to you, that feeling that everything is exactly how it's meant to be. I'll never let that go, even if I live another 107 years.

I'm sorry that our bliss was destroyed so quickly but if you let me, if you want to, we can rebuild it into something stronger.....

The letter went on with an update on life in the compound and Bucky's thoughts about everything. Cookie skimmed through that part, Sam had been keeping her updated on the gossip so she barely paid attention.

The letter finished....

I hope you are happy where you are now and I'm sorry for avoiding you. I didn't think I deserved your forgiveness or grace but now, I'm hoping I can earn both and prove to you that nothing is more important to me than your happiness.

All my love,

JBB

Cookie held the letter and dog tags to her chest as she cried herself to sleep, a deep restful sleep like she hadn't experienced in a long while.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx @blackhawkfanatic @casey1-2007 @scott-loki-barnes @selella @hiireadstuff @winterschildren8

Chapter 11

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #no benefits

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storydays · 1 year ago

Text

Overture: Part 2

(3rd POV)

*With Charlie*

"Hello? Creepy..." Charlie called into the building as she looked around, walking towards the front desk. "Oh!" Charlie watched as a scroll and quill came in front of her. "Also, creepy." she smiled awkwardly, as she signed her name. A door opened up into a dark room, and Charlie walked in, calling out again, "Hello?"

" 'Sup." A male voice startled the demoness, making her fall on the floor. "Holy shit!" She yelped. Light had came on to reveal two angels, one sitting and the other standing behind the first.

Standing up, Charlie pushed her bangs back. "Hi! I'm Charlie, and my brother has sent me to meet you." "Yeah, I know." replied the yellow angel, lazily. "Okay, well, it is nice to meet you." Charlie held her hand out to shake, the angel leaning forward to shake it, "Totally, nice to meet you too." Charlie gasped when her hand passed through his.

"Ha! I fuckin' got you! DId you fuckin' see that?!" He cackled to the grey angel beside him, who nodded at his answer. "Good shit." He laughed to himself.

"Uh, so wait, you aren't here?" wondered Charlie. "No, you think I'd come down there?" He laughed again.

"No, I mean, I love the vibe, totally; I love your tunes. Pretty fuckin' hardcore, don't get me wrong. But it's such a bummer, man. Everything down there, is so..eugh, ya know. Ew." He cringed at the thought.

"Right..so I'm happy that we got this opportunity to meet! There's a project that I've been working on that I really want to talk to you about--" Charlie eyed the angel as he shushed her.

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down. We got time; how about we get to know each other, mm? How about some lunch? You hungry? I got you!" The yellow angel held up a plate of ribs, offering it to the demoness. "Here's my personal favorite. You'll love it."

Charlie smiled politely. "Um, thanks." As she reached for some, her hand went through it. The angel laughed loudly. "I got you again, bitch! Haha! Fuckin' hilarous! Haha!" The princess laughed sarcastically, annoyed by his childishness.

*Back at the hotel*

Vaggie had gathered everyone in the main foyer. Angel had his legs on (Y/N)'s lap again, and was enjoying how flustered the prince looked. The blond tried to ignore the spider but was failing miserably.

"Okay, Charlie's doing something very important, so while she's gone, we are making a new commercial." Vaggie smiled, thinking of her energetic girlfriend, before holding her hand out expectantly. "So, we need a camera. Alastor?"

The deer demon snapped his fingers and an old fashioned camera meant for photos appeared. "A video camera." snapped the Latina woman. "Hmm." Alastor hummed before giving her the requested item. "Alright, let's do this." Vaggie grinned.

"Aaand action!"

" 'Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. Can I help you?' " Husk read from the script, from where he was standing behind the bar.

"I've been a bad boy, and I need a big, strong Daddy to put me in my place....on the path to redemption." Angel started sultrily, purposely stretching his body out, showing himself off. (Y/N) snorted behind his own script; that spider was such an idiot sometimes.

"Well, you come--" Husk started before being interrupted by Angel's moan of , "Oh yes!" (Y/N) started laughing harder, as Husk continued his lines through gritted teeth, "To the right place."

"Cut!" Vaggie sighed, putting the camera down and turning towards the men.

"Okay, Angel, I need you to be less horny, if possible. (Y/N), stop encouraging him. And Husk, can you not have the script right in your face?" Vaggie commented. Husk bristled, clearly angry, "I ain't no act! I can't memorize this shit!" He slapped the paper in his hand as Angel leaned in closer.

"Well, we could improve this shit, babycakes. Rawrr." The Italian spider purred seductively.

Husk frowned and pushed the spider into (Y/N) who wasn't even paying attention, and sent both men to the floor. "Oof," grunted Angel as he landed on (Y/N), knocking his glasses off and--

"Fuck, my nuts!" groaned (Y/N), curling in a fetal position.

Angel had accidentally kneed him...right where the sun don't shine.

"Whoops." Husk winced; he'd only meant for the spider to get out of his personal space. (Y/N) was really one of the only people he'd gotten along with. "My bad, (Y/N)."

"I could do something with your nuts, (Y/N)." Angel teased, but shivered when the prince shot a icy glare in his direction. "Or maybe later," he muttered, rubbing (Y/N)'s back soothingly as he waited for the pain to stop.

"Guys, come on." Vaggie sighed, as Husk picked up a bottle and started drinking again.

*Back with Charlie*

"So I was playing this gig, and for some fucking reason, this virtue chick was diggin' on the drummer and it's like, do you know who I am? I'm fuckin' Adam! I'm the original dick. All dicks descend from me! You think you want drummer dick? No way! I'm the fuckin' dickmaster!" Adam obnoxiously slurped on his ribs before continuing his story.

"So anyway, we fucked and it was awesome. What'd you do this weekend?" He asked a very bored looking Charlie.

"Wait, your name is Adam? Like the first man, Adam? That means you--Ohhh, that explains so much." Charlie realized. "I know, I fuckin' rock." Adam sent the princess a 'rock on sign'. "Well, Adam, sir. Mr Adam, sir--"

"Call me dickmaster." smirked the angel.

"Adam," Charlie emphasized, clearly done with Adam. "You seem like a smart--well, stand up guy."

"Uh-huh." Adam agreed as he picked his teeth.

"And I know you are the leader of the Angel Army and you are a big thinker, a revolutionary, a--a genius," Charlie complimented.

"I mean your words, babe." Adam was clearly enjoying the compliments.

"Who would really love to put his name on something." Charlie kept revving Adam up. "Fuckin' love puttin' my name on shit!" Adam stood excitedly. "Shit's the best!"

Charlie nodded along, "It's a solution to our biggest problem!"

"Ohh, herpes! Yeah, that's a bitch." Adam cringed.

"No! Our other biggest problem." The princess tried hinting at again.

"Oh, uh, ugly people? Math? Global warming? Nah, wait, that's Earth's problem. Umm...." Charlie blinked at the Angel...there was no way he was this stupid, right?

*Back at the hotel*

Niffty giggled as she chased a bug with a giant needle in her hand. "Hehehe, stab, stab, stab!" "Alright, Niffty." Vaggie called before turning to kneel in front of the cyclops. "Niffty. Niffty? Niffty! Your line is, 'We have the cleanest rooms.' Okay?" Niffty nodded excitedly, "Got it! I'm ready!" Vaggie grabbed the camera and started to record. "And action."

Niffty's smile dropped immediately and she zoned out, her pupil shrinking to a little dot. Vaggie stopped recording and lowered the camera,as she, Angel and (Y/N) stared at the cyclops with wide eyes. "Uhh...cut."

Niffty smiled, "How was that?" "Well Niffty, you have to actually say the line. Let's try again."

Same results as last time.

Angel leaned down to whisper in Vaggie's ear, "Yo're doing great Vagina." He whispered, mockingly. "Cut! Alright, um, maybe we can try to fix it in post." Vaggie thought aloud. "Do you even know what that means?" asked (Y/N). "I'll figure it out." the white haired woman snapped, not noticing the looks that the two men exchanged.

Vaggie went into a room and groaned in annoyance as the TV showed a lot of static,and barely audible sound. "Seems like you're having a bit of trouble there, eh?" Alastor grinned as he watched Vaggie.

"Ugh, este pendejo. " She cursed, before turning to the deer demon. "Why are you even here?"

Alastor sat on the opposite couch of Vaggie, his shadow crouching behind him with a sinister smile. "I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly, like you are doing now! Good job!" He mocked cheerfully.

Scowling, Vaggie turned the camera on, and started recording, "And here is Alastor, an egocentric piece of shit--" She yelped as the camera shorted out from the demon's power. "I wouldn't try that, my dear. This face was made for radio." His eyes changed into radio dials, his mouth changed to a speaker,and his body began changing in bendy ways, as voodoo symbols floated around him.

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. "That's it! I don't care who or what you are. If you're staying here, you are going to make this work. Because it won't be so 'entertaining' to watch over a empty hotel, will it shitass?" She snapped, walking back to her chair.

Alastor's eyes and smile narrowed before he shrugged.

"Fair enough. I'll tell you what: let's make a deal." Scoffing, Vaggie flopped back into her seat.

"You think I'm that stupid? Making a deal with a demon like you?"

"Not for your soul." The Radio Demon rolled his eyes before continuing, "Just a simple deal: I do this for you, and you never ask me to engage with this frivolous television technology again." He narrowed his eyes at the television. "Or...Charlie comes back to absolutely nothing!" The deer dropped the radio effect from his voice as he turned to smirk at Vaggie, "Your choice."

Sighing heavily, the purple demoness agreed. "Fine." She handed the video camera into Alastor's waiting hand, sealing the deal.

"Now then!" Alastor clapped his hands, and the hotel occupants and a camera crew appeared with equipment. With another snap, the Hotel company were all dressed in outfits from the 1920's.

"Alright, let's make a fucking commercial."

*Back with Charlie*

"When you take her out for the fifth time, and she still expects you to pay the check, but you're like, 'Hey, I thought you want equality/'?" Adam mocked a woman's voice. "NOO! Our shared problem of overpopulation in Hell!" Charlie snapped, a desperate look in her eye. "Ohh! Well, that's not a problem. We've got that covered. Lute, how many demons did you kill this year?" Adam asked the silent lieutenant.

"Got a good 275, sir." she replied, coldly.

"275?! Woah, badass! Awesome job, danger tits! Pound it." The two angels shared a fist bump.

"Uh, no, that's not awesome! Those are my people, you know that, right?" Charlie stood, worry written on her face. "Ohh, yeah....That must suck for you! Hahaha!" Adam laughed.

"But these are souls. Human souls, just the same as you have in Heaven." the blonde frowned. "They are not the same." Lute said bluntly, "They had their chance and they earned damnation."

"You're wrong!" Charlie disagreed. "Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes." "ANGELS don't make mistakes." hissed Lute. Charlie crossed her arms, "You really think that?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I know that." replied the exorcist.

"Yeah, I've never made a mistake in my fuckin' life." Adam agreed as Lute circled the princess. "The only reason you're still here, is because Daddy gave you and your Hellborn kind, a pardon from an exorcist blade. How's that you feel? To know how little you matter." Lute said coldly, returning to Adam's side.

"Oops! Almost out of time. Guess we should get into it." Adam sighed lazily.

"Oh fuck!" Charlie face palmed, and rushed closer to the two angels."Okay, I've got a lot to get through and not a lot of time." Charlie summoned a stack of paperwork. "And I feel like you weren't hearing me before, so here it goes."

"Awh, shit!" Charlie cursed banging on the door from where she was thrown out.

*Back at the hotel*

Charlie walked into the hotel sadly, before being greeted by her brother, who was sitting at the bar, with paperwork and a another strawberry Daiquiri in front of him, glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

He looked up at the young woman and smiled, waving his hand to send the paper work away, and taking his drink in his hand, before going over to Charlie. "Hey, sis...how'd it go?"

As he got closer, he noticed his sister's bubbly demeanor was gone, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Charlie opened her mouth before being interrupted by Vaggie hugging her. "Charlie! How'd it go? Did they listen?" Vaggie looked at Charlie hopefully.

"They sure did...hear it. But um,--" "Oh! Come here! We have something exciting to show you!" Vaggie excitedly dragged Charlie to the living room where everyone was gathered.

"Alastor pulled a few limbs, and it's about to air." (Y/N) grinned as he came to stand in between Husk and the Radio Demon, as Charlie and Vaggie sat on the couch by Niffty and Angel Dust who lounged on the floor.

"I pulled a few limbs, too!" Alastor laughed. (Y/N) shook his head at his antics.

"Wait, the commercial? You all made a new one?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, one of my better performances if I do say so myself." Angel smiled lazily as Charlie teared up, holding her hands over her heart.

"That's amazing." She said, tearfully, before Angel shushed her. "SHH! It's startin'" He growled.

On screen, we see the hotel members dressed up; Angel blowing kisses to the camera and at (Y/N) ,who was fighting the urge to blush, before sending smirk at the spider followed by a playful middle finger. Husk was drinking his cheap booze, Niffty staring at the camera, and Alastor wasn't even facing the camera, and glitching slightly.

Vaggie smiled at the camera, "Welcome to the Hazbin Hot-" Suddenly, it was cut off to reveal a news story.

Vaggie and Angel both shouted in their native languages at the TV and the royal demons' eyes changed to their demon form eyes, both barring their teeth in anger.

"Breaking news in Hell today! We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before! Do you know what that means, Tom" asked the female reporter, turning to her co-host.

"What does that mean, Katie?" Tom asked with a head tilt.

"It means we are all royally fucked." Katie replied as the screen showed the clock changing the days to 176.

"Wait, what? Why" demanded Angel.

"Charlie...." (Y/N) turned towards his sister, "That'd be the kind of thing that's important for me to know before hand." "Sorry, got distracted by the commercial." Charlie sighed, placing her head in her hands in dismay.

*meanwhile*

A angelic hovercraft was scanning over the rummage of the remains of the extermination.

"We found the body, sir. They've never managed to kill one of us before. We should just go down there now and destroy them!" Lute hissed, her wings fluttering in anger.

"No,no. We can't risk them catching on. But don't worry, when we come back, there won't be a demon alive to pull a stunt like this again!" Adam yelled, smashing the projector, before smiling wickedly.

*With (Y/N)*

With a groan, the prince of Hell flopped back onto a couch. Bending over paperwork for hours on end, did nothing for his back.

Fuck, he was only 225, why did his back hurt so much?

(Y/N) sighed, closing his eyes as the little cat from earlier came over, and curled up on his arms, purring loudly.

"Hey, KeeKee. Hey pretty girl," he cooed, running his hands over the cat's soft fur.

"Ugh, my back." He groaned, feeling his muscles protest at the movement.

"Hey, sweetcheeks." A voice purred in his ear, making him lazily open his violet eye to peek at the spider who grinned widen seeing he had his attention.

"Mm, not now, Angel, my back his killing me."

"Oh, as much as I'd love to take you in position, big daddy, I was actually coming to offer another one of my services." Angel held up a bottle of oil. "Being bent over something for a long time can really be hard on the back. Lemme help?"

(Y/N) eyed the spider, looking for any of his usual antics, but found sincerity. "Okay, let's go to my office. I have a spare bed, for nights I don't feel like going to my room." He used his magic to transport himself and the spider, before lazily walking to the space bed.

Angel looked around the office, smiling softly at all the photos of the prince and his family. "Take your shirt off, and lay on your belly. Don't worry, I'll be careful with your wings." He waited patiently for (Y/N) to take his shirt off, smiling as he took in the view of the blond's body, clearly he took care of himself.

"No funny business." (Y/N) said, groaning softly at the pain in his back. "No funny business," agreed Angel before he straddled (Y/N)'s butt, causing him to blush slightly. "Um, what--" "I won't be able to properly massage you from the side. I swear, no funny business. Just wanted to help ya," Angel waited until (Y/N) nodded.

Angel poured the massage oil in his ungloved hands, all four, and warmed it up in his hands, before getting to work.

(Y/N) sighed softly, enjoying as the Italian spider worked out his sore muscles, being sure to include the demon's wings as well.

"Thanks, Angel."

"Qualunque costa per te, bambola."

(Y/N) smiled to himself, deciding to keep the fact that he knows every language in the world to himself as Angel hummed an old song from his childhood.

The two sat in silence as unaware as Charlie closed the door, smiling, letting the two be.

'They would be so cute.' she grinned to herself.

#hazbin husk #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin angel dust #x male reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin niffty #viziepop

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baxxartist · 22 days ago

Text

A short story based on @aychama 's royal au and comic.

Part 1

Next here

(thank you for being an inspiration, your art and story is amazing and this has been on my mind forever)

✨Disclaimer✨

THIS IS VERY MUCH NOT CANNON FOR EITHER AUs

I do not speak for the creator

This is a fan creation of a fan creation. I do not expect this to ever be cannon and please never treat it as such.

I am writing this on my phone, instead of sleeping, so this will very likely be bad writing and under researched.

If you don't like oc x cannon in any universe, keep scrolling

Ari was watching from afar, he's been a loyal servant since he could remember. Abandoned by his nobal family due to being a hybrid, despite this Ari still did his best to hide his horns and wool-like fur mostly to blend in. Ari is trying to avoid harassment, but his family essentially wiped their hands clean of him...accept for his grandmother. Who took Ari into her care, despite it causing her to be disowned herself, and through many trials and errors. She got a job as one of Narinder's servants and trained Ari so he would be able to support himself after she died. Landing the job as her replacement quickly as all he ever knew was to serve.

He's been loyal...well despite occasionally sneaking off to meet with his "siblings" who are more his close friends. Sal, the oldest is an advisor of Shamura, Kay, is one of Kallamar's husbands, Harper, she's mostly in charge of the farms and villages ensuring they're all running properly, and Levi, the youngest, who was sent by Shamura to protect Leshy and to act as a guard. Despite this Levi acts more as a guide and personal serveant

They all taught Ari most of what he knows now, though most of his knowledge he keeps to himself. Despite being a skilled fighter and having a vast knowledge on medicine, scavenging, and hunting. He only plans to say something if needed.

Despite Ari trying his best to focus on his work. He kept glancing over at Aym who was sparing with a few of the knights. Mentally going over every mistep, wrong swing, bad form. Yeah that's why, he was looking for weaknesses in the knights that needed improving...not focusing on Aym, his perfect form, quick thinking...yeah Ari's not looking at him at all.

Ari snaps out of his thoughts, mumbling to himself before continuing his tasks for the day, though occasionally his eyes wonder back to Aym. He smirks seeing many struggle against Aym. "He's easy if you watch him long enough and not focus on him..." Ari mumbles as he felt his face getting red as he snaps his thoughts back to his tasks. "That's completely ridiculous, I'm a servant. I shouldn't know any of this" Ari says softly to himself, but he can't help but want to spar. But doing so could make things very bad for him as this is knowledge he's never told anyone he has.

Ari tried to get his mind of what was essentially the kingdoms military leader, before getting flustered again. Aym was so nice every time they interacted, speaking occasionally when they were younger.

Later that afternoon, as Ari finished his tasks, he snuck off into he forest. Occasionally he'd travel to the more monster ridden lands, but that was more for a day off. So for now he made his way to a clearing a good distance from the kingdom before reaching into a tree stump, confused. He kept the sword his grandmother gave him...the only sign of his noble heritage...now gone? He panicked, no one could've known about that until Ari heard a voice behind him.

"Looking for this?" Aym asks, his tone dark, protective. Ari knew he was screwed as he turned around, looking at the sword in Aym's hands. A silver handle with a red gemstone, protected by a leather sheath, prayer and symbols of protection and strength in an ancient language.

Ari knew he was fucked, if only he could think of an explanation

#cotl au #cotl oc #not my au #not cannon #wrote this instead of sleeping #cotl aym #cliffhanger because it's almost 1am and i have to be up in 5 hours #oc x canon #baxx writing

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marie-snape · 3 months ago

Text

"Shhh"

Severus Snape x professor!slytherin!reader

Chapter 1, part 2

Previous part: here

Word counter: 1k

Warnings: -

Movie/book: Philosopher/Sorcerer’s stone

================================

You were drinking coffee in the staff room after the school day, when Pomona Sprout opened the door and said "Did you hear that Harry Potter is the new Gryffindor’s seeker?!" then she took her stuff and left the room.

You were confused. First-years don’t play quidditch.

"Wait, WHAT- "

"Do you have any hearing problems? She said that mr. Potter is the new Gryffindor’s seeker." said a low man’s voice.

When you turned to where the voice came from, you saw professor Snape sitting in an armchair and reading a book. How i couldn’t notice him sitting here all this time?, you thought.

"I heard it. I am questioning the fact that they allowed a first-year to the team."

"Certainly, it is another act of Gryffindor captain’s incompetence."

"Or perhaps their past seeker was so bad that any first-year who never got to fly on a broomstick would play better"

Snape was definitely satisfied with your words. Before you there weren’t many teachers to mock Gryffindor with him.

"They say he got the “talent” from his father."

"Oh, i think i knew him. James Potter, wasn’t he?"

"yes." Severus’s face expression turned into a tense one.

"Pitiful that one. I think he spent every moment of his school life on bullying Slytherins."

"He definitely did." he was more pleased with the mention of James in that way.

The next day, you were in Dumbledore’s office, suggesting what you could do to increase the Stone’s protection.

"Is the Mirror of Erised still in the property of Hogwarts? I could put a spell on it so if someone wants the stone but does not intends to use it, it will be given to them. And if someone wants to use it, it won’t."

"Yes, it is. Very ingenious, Y/N. I need to check something, but i’ll send you an owl when we’ll need you. Thank you for your help."

You left Dumbledore’s office, when you accidentally bumped into Severus and fell on the floor. As he watched you trying to get up, he said:

"A truly entertaining spectacle."

Then Snape gave you his hand and helped you.

"Thank you, but it was possible to do without mockery."

"I do not think so." He smirked and continued walking to his class.

Over time, your relationship with Severus has improved. Almost to a friendship. He even allowed you to call him Severus.

It was Halloween. The Great Hall was decorated and you had themed meals. You sat next to Severus and Hagrid, talking with the half-giant when professor Quirrell ran in screaming "T-TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! T-T-TROLL IN THE D-DUNGEON!"

Dumbledore told teachers to go with him to stop the troll, when Severus was going somewhere.

"I think the dungeons are that way."

"And i think that someone should go check if the Stone is safe."

"I’ll go then, you should go after the troll."

"No, you should go after the troll."

Minerva came up to you. "You two idiots, there’s a troll in the castle!"

Snape went to the third floor, you went with others to find the troll.

After you saw that three young gryffindors fought the creature, Severus joined you. You noticed Snape's leg which had a large cut on it. Snape noticed and covered it up.

"You alright?"

Minerva then talked loudly, not allowing Severus to say anything, probably because she didn’t hear you and was talking to the students.

"5 points will be taken from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgment. As for you two gentlemen I just hope you realize how fortunate you are. Not many students could take on a full grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. 5 points...will be awarded to each of you. For sheer dumb luck."

Severus then talked "I consider that taking away only five points from mrs. Granger isn’t quite right. It may escaped your notice, but mr. Potter and mr. Weasley were acting unwise too. Also, I can’t remember that house points can be given for “sheer dumb luck”. I’ll take them from Gryffindor, so we won’t have problems later."

Then he came back to where he stood, next to you. You smiled and whispered: "That’s how you win the House Cup."

"I don’t really care about the House Cup. Winning it just keeps my students motivated."

"Really?” You smirked. "Not even a bit of proudness for your house?"

Severus rolled his eyes.

When the teachers were finally allowed to go, you and Snape headed to the dungeon.

You came up to the door to your chambers. Severus was about to go to his, but you stopped him.

"Not so quick."

"What?"

"There’s a thing that a certain three-headed dog left on your leg."

"Why would you care?"

"Because, you know, some nasty Gryffindor students could notice it and think-."

He interrupted you. "I will repeat my question. Why would you care?"

"Uhm, maybe because i care of my friends?"

Severus stared at you for a bit. "How did you call me?"

"A friend."

"Why?"

"Tell me then, how i should have called you? “Man with whom we talk shit about students every day in the staff room?”?"

"Alright. I think i will allow you to call me this."

You answered sarcastic. "Thank you, my lord." then bowed jokingly.

"This one would be better." he smirked.

Severus was sitting on your sofa in the living room, with a rolled-up trouser leg so you could see the injury. You were looking for something on your bookshelves.

"Why would you have so many books if the school has a library?"

You mocked him. "Why would you care?"

"Right. I got that it’s annoying. Instead I will say “it is none of your fucking business”."

You laughed. You read something from a book and went to your bedroom. There you have a shelf with potion ingredients. Snape knew it, he stole from you few Ashwinder eggs for his lesson when he brought you drunk and asleep there.

You poured phoenix tears over his injury, and casted "Vulnera Sanentur". Then you took out of your bag a white plaster.

"To hide the trace." "Alright, now get out." you stayed with a serious expression for a moment, then laughed.

"You behave like a muggle nurse that hates her job."

"Shush!"

"Thank you, by the way." Severus left.

================================

Masterpost

If i made any writing mistakes, please let me know in the comments section.

Also sorry for this one being too short.

Would appreciate if you follow me 💚

With love (for Snape), M.S.

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