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elleclairez · 4 years

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The Starless one and his star - Darkling x reader

Alina didn’t know what to do exactly. She sat silently in an armchair of her chambers in the Little Palace, her gaze focused on the figure of her worst enemy who decided that it would be a marvellous idea to torment her a little by playing tricks with her mind.

The Starkov girl knew that the Darkling wasn’t really there, but it certainly did not ease her worries in any way at all. The man on the other hand, silently stood, watching young Grisha train with Botkin through the window. No one could guess what was going on inside his head. Saints even he didn’t know why he chose to pay a visit to his enemy.

The silence in the room was heavy, almost unbearable for the young woman. She wanted to cry, shout and hit the man all at once and yet her body couldn’t move even a little. She was petrified and she couldn’t understand why. Was is fear? Hatred? Anger? Or was it something else stopping her from crying out for help or banishing the man from her mind herself?

The silence didn’t stop until the beautiful, silky voice of the Darkling resonated through the walls of the room.

“Have you ever heard of a young woman by the name of Seren Heijman?” Confusion flashed through Alina’s eyes. Seeing that the Shadow Summoner sighed and added “You might know her as the Star Saint. A bloody ridiculous name if you ask me.” The last sentence was muttered and Alina could barely hear it to properly decipher all the words. But as the words left the man’s mouth, the young Grisha suddenly had old memories of childhood stories crossing her mind. Alina could still remember the tales that Ana Kuya would tell them back at Keramzin. There was one story that Alina always adored, it was about a young, beautiful and selfless woman who chose death to save her comrades and the now long dead king.

“All I remember is that she died sacrificing herself to save the king and her friends. Let me guess she was Grisha too?” Asked Alina with her brows furrowed. Why would the Darkling talk about Saints with her?

“I always told you that those tales were propaganda for peasants. Seren was indeed Grisha, a powerful Inferni actually. And no, she did not sacrifice herself as everyone chose to believe. She was killed. Stabbed and left to die alone. Without anyone to save her or to at least be by her side when she would let go of her last breath.” Spat the Darkling with anger. Hatred could be deciphered from his eyes quite easily. It wasn’t hard to understand that this story was quite a sensitive topic for him, but Alina didn’t care. She was too curious as to why the man who was as heartless as a volcra would care so much about a mere woman and her unfortunate fate.

“You knew her didn’t you?” Carefully asked Alina too afraid of his reaction. The last thing she wanted was to anger her enemy. The Darkling chuckled.

“I did not know the martyr that people made of her against her will. I knew a young Kerch Inferni who was too good for this world.” And with those words, the Darkling pulled out a chain out of his pocket, and attached to it were two rings.

Two wedding bands.

While at court Alina was able to see many jewels but all of them paled in comparison to the beauty of those. It was no doubt Materialki work.

The first was a man’s ring, quite simple, black with silver engravings on it, but it was the second one that caught her eye. A silver ring with black engravings that were too small to be read but big enough to be visible. On top of it, three diamonds were placed. Two were small, white ones looking like stars and the third one in the middle seemed to represent a full black moon.

At the realization, the Sun Summoner gasped.

“You...” Words couldn’t form themselves. Never in a million years could she have guessed that the most heartless man could actually be married. But most importantly it seemed that the marriages was based on love, a feeling that Alina thought the Darkling could not feel.

“Yes, Alina. We were married and loved each other dearly. She was the only one for who I was ready to give the world to on my knees but even more, she was the only one for whom I was ready to give it up. The moment she would have said it, I would have given up everything. The Second army, Ravka, everything.” The Darkling paused to take a breath, eyes full of sadness and grief. “What people say is true. She was everything any person would want to be. Intelligent, beautiful, sarcastic, a real firecracker if you ask me.” At that the Darkling laughed a little, memories seemed to flash in his eyes. “Loving, brave and selfless and yet selfish enough to dream of a peaceful life with me, away from all the fighting. She was the only one that I needed, and yet she was still taken from me.” At those words the man’s fists clenched, knuckles white from tension, his eyes full of hatred and yet still held the same sadness as before. Alina could even feel herself pitying the man.

“What happened?” Almost shakily whispered the raven haired woman. She knew asking that would be dangerous, but she wanted to know what happened.

“The ancestor of our so lovely King Alexander desired her with all his body and could not bear the idea that she chose to marry me and decline his advances. So he did what many Lantsov men did as it seems, he tried to take her by force. But my Seren was powerful, something that the bastard forgot, she burned him but was kind enough to simply leave burns on his hands. She hoped that he wouldn’t approach her from then on but that man, if you can call him a man, was vengeful, so he sent her to Fjerda on a mission, as he said. I was away the day she was sent away, and I only found out a few days later. The moment I received the news I rushed to Fjerda as fast as I could but when I arrived at her camp, it was too late. All I found was dead Ravkan soldiers both otkasatsya and Grisha and when I found her tent I already knew something was wrong, I felt somehow felt it. And there she was in her tent, laying on the ground, eyes blank, a single dried tear on her cheek, the spark that I used to adore in her beautiful orbs, gone. She laid there, on the floor, in a pool of her own blood and all I could do was to stand there, paralysed with this raging urge to destroy the monster who did that to her.” A deathly silence succumbed the room, Alina did not know what to say, and she became even more speechless when she saw a tear run down the Darkling’s cheek. He didn’t look so terrifying anymore but more like the young man that Baghra so desperately tried to save. “From that day I promised myself that I would avenge her. That I would take over Ravka and destroy every person who would think of hurting my and her people, of hurting Grisha people.”

“Make me your villain, Alina Starkov. But even you should see right now that I am not the villain but only the victim. The one who lost too much by the hands of others.” Alina didn’t know what to say, how could she respond after such story? Was she even supposed to respond? Was he even saying the truth? It wouldn’t be a surprising for her that the Darkling was simply playing tricks on her, again.

As if reading her mind, the Shadow Summoner said. “If you don’t believe me, there is proof in a secret drawer of my desk, well your desk now should I say, in the war room, go see for yourself.” At that the Darkling’s figure started to disappear, but Alina had one more question.

“Wait!” The Darkling looked at her expectantly. “I know not all tales are true, but some said that... she was...” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because if those stories were indeed true then the Darkling would be even less of a monster.

A dark chuckle left his mouth, he knew what she was trying to say. “We were going to name them Elizaveta if it were a girl or Piotr if a boy.” And with those words the man disappeared.

Alina didn’t even notice how tears escaped her eyes but a few minutes later she found herself in the war room, opening the same drawer that the Darkling talked about.

It was a portrait. An old, small and dusty but still very well-kept one.

On it was painted a young couple, dressed in wedding attires, those same rings on their fingers. Smiles and eyes full of love, so bright that even the painting couldn’t dull the sparkle that they had while looking at each other.

At the bottom of the portrait Alina was able to decipher the writing.

“Seren and Aleksander Morozova. The Starless One and the Star”

Hope you liked this angsty Aleksander x reader one-shot. Had this idea since I saw the trailer (which is INCREDIBLE by the way) and gotta be honest I literally wrote all of this during my philosophy class because it was better than falling asleep...

If you have a request don’t hesitate to send me a message. You can find all the fandoms I write for in my bio, but I warn you that it may take a little while for me to write it because I’ve been a lot of writer’s block lately....

Ps: Hello! This is me again from the future or present (depends on how you see it). Just wanted to say that I edited the story a little. Again English is not my native language, so there may be some mistakes that I’ve missed, do not hesitate to comment if you see one. Again I hope you enjoyed this story and if you did go check my other ones 😉

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

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Time of Death

Dr. Derek Shepherd x Reader

Words: 1966

Summary: Receiving the news after coming out of a long surgery, Derek rushes to comfort his fiancé whose sister committed suicide.

Notes: I hope to write some fluffier McDreamy imagines and more for Grey’s Anatomy, but when I got this idea, I had to go with it. This is a very very dark story, so it will not be for everyone, but I really had an interesting time writing it. As always, I’d love to know your thoughts and if you guys are excited for more Grey’s Anatomy imagines.

Warnings: Suicide, grief, guilt (This starts out fast so I’m putting the break at the beginning so if you don’t want to read, you don’t have to.)

You couldn’t hear them say it but you still heard it in your head. Time of death… You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at the clock. Time had stopped. Everything had stopped. As you looked down from the gallery, nobody in the O.R. seemed to be moving an inch. Until Dr. Bailey looked up at you. As soon as your eyes connected, everything started again but it started too fast. Your heart was beating too fast, your legs were moving too fast, the tears were coming too fast.

Your sister was dead. She threw herself in front of oncoming traffic. Her body was so broken that even Bailey couldn’t put it back together. Your baby sister killed herself.

Nurses and doctors alike watched you sprint by. Fellow residents, interns, attendants, all of them watched you run like maniac through the halls of the surgical wing. Of course, you were careful not to be in anyone’s way, but you had to disappear.

“What’s with Mrs. McDreamy?” Cristina asked George and Meridith quietly.

“Her sister just died on the table.” Izzy sighed, having been with you in the gallery. She looked at the floor. “Jumped in front of a car.” The other interns’ eyes widened.

“She killed herself?” Meredith whispered, her gaze following your running form down the hall. “Has anybody told…”

“He’s been in surgery for hours.” Cristina shook her head. “I doubt he even knows she was admitted.”

“Should someone page him? Should someone go get Y/N?” George wondered but nobody moved. They all just looked at each other. Cristina crossed her arms.

“I’ll go. Somebody has to go tell Dr. Shepherd that his future sister in law turned herself into roadkill.”

“No.” Meredith blurted. Cristina’s bluntness was the last thing anyone needed right now. “I’ll tell him.” Meredith and Derek were at least friends. He needed to hear this from a friend.

Derek smiled as the water ran over his hands. After several long hours, the surgery was a success. The 18-year-old girl was going to be okay. Thanks to him. Another life saved. His smile grew when Meredith stepped into the room.

“Dr. Grey, you missed a pretty amazing surgery.” He beamed. Something about her face was off.

“I’m sure you did very well Dr. Shepherd.” She wasn’t looking at him.

“Meredith what is it?” He dried his hands quickly and followed her out into the hall. Her expression made that cocky smile of his fall. “Meredith?”

“A Cierra Y/L/N was admitted about when you started your surgery.”

“Y/N’s sister?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “It seems that she ran in front of a semi truck. Dr. Bailey did everything she could but… she’s dead, Derek.”

“Cierra… killed herself?” Derek ran a hand down his face. “Does anyone know why? Are they sure that’s what happened? Does Y/N know?”

“We all saw her run down the hallway, so I’d say she knows.”

“Do you know where she went?” He exclaimed, raising his voice. He didn’t have time for the doe-eyed confusion. He needed to know where you were. Meredith just shook her head. He calmed down enough so he wouldn’t yell. “Thank you for getting me.”

He took off, scanning the hall for any sign of his fiance. As he hurried past doctors and patients, he thought of Cierra. He’d never even met her. Sure, you had mentioned that you had a younger sister, but you didn’t say much other than that. But suicide? It was how you lost your mom when you were in medical school. This was going to hit hard and he needed to make sure there would be pieces of you left.

“Dr. Shepherd!” A voice called out behind him. He reluctantly stopped his pursuit to turn to Dr. Bailey. She gave him a sad, grim look. “We did everything we could, but the extent of her injuries… I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do.”

“Have you seen Y/N?”

“Since she couldn’t operate with us, she stayed and watched from the gallery.” She sighed. She paused for a second before putting a hand on his shoulder. “I think I know where she might have gone.”

Bailey had found you there once before. You’d lost a patient and needed a quiet place to be alone. If there was ever a time you needed a quiet place to go, it’d be now. She brought Derek to a closet on the fourth floor. It was mostly filled with extra linens and paper and such so it wasn’t used often. Bailey knocked on the door, but received no response. Slowly, she opened the door.

“Dr. Shepherd?” She called out into the dark storage room. With still no response, she let Derek pass her.

“Y/N? Honey, I know you’re in here.” His eyes adjusted and he could see a form standing behind one of the shelves in the corner. He exchanged a look with Bailey. She nodded in understanding.

“I’ll go tell the chief. You’ll probably want to be heading home.” As she turned to leave, Derek put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Miranda.”

The chief resident quietly closed the door behind her and Derek walked further into the closet. The closet may have been small, but you felt far away. Hearing the sound of him approaching, you turned your head.

“Cierra is… she’s- they said that she-” Every time you tried to finish the sentence, your mouth stopped. Like your body was trying to deny what your mind clearly knew. Derek tentatively put his hands on your shoulders. When did he get in front of you?

“I know.”

He pulled you to his chest and you tried not to push away. You wanted to. You wanted to run again. But his arms wouldn’t let you. He kept you from drifting away.

Chief Webber had all of your surgeries for the next few days rescheduled or taken over by Dr. Bailey. Derek rescheduled the ones that he could, but some of his surgeries were on a time crunch. After he drove you home, he was paged back to the hospital for an emergency. He told you what it was, but you couldn’t remember.

You didn’t even remember the drive home. You remembered the bloody surgical tools and the machines and the clock, but it didn’t have any numbers on it. You remembered running in the halls and Derek finding you in the closet. Now you were home. Now you were alone. Alone with the knowledge that you killed your little sister.

Your brain started a single train of thought. You moved slowly, every motion draining more and more energy out of you, but you still made your way to your closet and found your suitcase. You couldn’t put this much pain, this much baggage on someone with a heart like his. To you, this was mercy.

When Derek finally returned home, not a single light in the house was on. His shoulders were weighed down as he tossed his keys on the counter. The surgery was a success, but he didn’t feel that usual rush of adrenaline that came from saving a life. He just wanted to get back to you.

He was about to call out for you when he saw something catch the light. Sitting on the kitchen table was your engagement ring.

“Y/N!” He called out, tucking the band into his pocket and ascending the stairs two at a time. He burst into the bedroom and found your suitcase sitting on the bed, clothes hurriedly piled inside. “Y/N!”

Light pooled into the room from underneath the bathroom door and was sure he could hear something inside. Derek knocked lightly before slowly cracking the door open.

“Y/N?” His voice was quieter now but still held the same amount of urgency. You just whimpered in response. He opened the door fully, finding you sitting on the bathroom floor having thrown up any meals you had that day.

“It’s my fault, Derek.” You cried, your voice so low he could barely hear you. “Cierra killed herself because of me. I can’t force you to live with that too.” You pulled your knees up to your chest.

“Honey…” Derek sat beside you, putting on a hand on your cheek to make you look at him. “Cierra was sick. She’d been sick for a really long time.”

“She was sick because I left her.” You spat, jerking away. “I abandoned her when I moved here for my residency. I knew what she was going through, stuck living with my dad, and I went off to medical school anyway.”

“Deciding to make a life for yourself and to help save lives was not abandoning her.” He took your hand in his and this time, you didn’t pull away. “Y/N, you called Cierra every chance that you got. As far as you knew, she was getting help in San Diego. She told you she was getting better. You couldn’t have known how bad it had gotten.”

“Then why did she come here, Derek?” You felt that sick feeling in your stomach turning and twisting again. “Why drive up to Seattle and jump into oncoming traffic close enough to be taken to Seattle Grace unless she blamed me?”

Derek was quiet for a moment. Your body was still shaking from both sobs and from getting sick and you looked desperate for answers that he couldn’t give.

“Maybe she wanted to see you one last time. This was her way of doing that.”

It may not have been the answer you wanted to hear, but it was enough to get you to calm down. Derek shifted so that you were sitting in front of him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your arms from behind. He gently kissed the top of your head and pulled your ring out of his pocket.

“As for this…” He held the band out in front of you. You just stared at it, laying your head back against his shoulder.

“I was leaving.” You were half packed before your body ached so much it made you sick.

“I noticed that.” Derek blew out a long breath. “You said you ‘couldn’t force me to live with that’. Is that how you think? That leaving will spare me of your faults?”

“I didn’t think that you…” You sighed, trying to collect your reasoning into words. You spun around so you were facing him, holding his hands in your lap. “Derek, you love saving lives. You walk into life ready to save someone else’s. I couldn’t make you look at me everyday knowing that I was responsible for Cierra’s death.”

Derek lifted your hands up to his chest and laid them flat over his heart.

“This day- this tragedy- does not define who you are. You are still the beautiful, talented, brilliant surgeon that I fell in love with. The one I asked to marry me. You will still be that woman tomorrow and the next day and the one after that. And if you ever need reminding I will ask you to marry me every single day until we walk down that aisle together because I’m not backing out. Better or worse.” His gaze searched yours for a reaction. “Okay?”

All you could do was nod and lean back into his embrace. You stayed there on the bathroom floor, his legs on either side of you and your head tilted back against his chest. While Derek’s words didn’t erase everything from that day, they helped to take even just a little of the weight off of your heart. It was enough, at least for now and so you slipped your ring back onto your finger and fell asleep in his arms.

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

#derek shepherd #derek shepherd x reader #grey's anatomy imagine #miranda bailey #Patrick Dempsey #dr. mcdreamy #suicide #grief

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l4verq · 4 years

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almost yours | s. r & b.b

pre-serum steve x reader, bucky x reader

in which you’re sure you’ll fall for bucky soon enough

warnings : angst, mentions of death, war, fights

fic : oneshot?

masterlist

|| gif by @go-fandom-imagines ||

“I can do this all day.”

You roll your eyes cause you know he can’t.

“No, he can’t.” You trudge in between the filth, your peep-toe heels doing little to help you walk.

On closer inspection, the man is clearly intoxicated. He has his hands squared up, body swaying slightly but firmly planted infront of Steve.

You know he’s already had a few punches in judging by the bruises on his knuckles and the cuts on Steve’s face.

Steve mutters a silent curse as he sees you walking up to them.

Why did you always have to see him in such a pathetic state like this?

You give a stern look at him like always and he can’t meet your eyes every damn time.

“Who are you?” The man slurs, the smell of alcohol almost suffocating you.

“His friend.” You lift your neck a little higher as you meet the man’s eyes, your heart beating out of your chest.

Friend. Of course, that’s what he is to you.

“Y/N.” Steve steps in between, shielding you from the man.

You’re about to give him a piece of your mind when you’re shoved back roughly, falling into a pile of trash.

“A broad should know better than to meddle in men’s business.” The man wags his finger before repeatedly hitting Steve who’s yelling at you to run.

You hastily unstrap your heels and fling it across with a smack against the man’s back.

But the punches don’t stop.

“Stop, you stupid geezer.” You scream, grabbing his hair and thrashing your arms around, hoping you get a solid punch in.

“Hey!” The man slips away from your grasp as Bucky grabs him and pulls him away from the both of you.

“Pick on somebody your size.” He snarls, ramming his arm into the man’s body, making him double over in pain.

The man staggers off and Bucky turns to face the both of you, anger evident in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He objects as soon as you open your mouth.

“Steve, you good?”

“I’ll live.”

You two share a sheepish smile as Bucky helps him up.

“Okay, just so you know, this thing you guys have with getting beat up in alleys is stupid and moronic.” Bucky huffs, hands on his hips, foot tapping the ground impatiently.

“I was just trying to help Steve.”

“I didn’t need any help.”

“Says the guy who’s just had his ass handed to him.”

“Okay, funtime’s over. You have an aptitude test today, we can’t be late.” Bucky intervenes, retrieving your heel.

“Go to the hospital!” You shriek as Steve limps his way out.

He never stayed. He never could.

Because he didn’t like his thoughts when he’d see you and Bucky together.

Bucky sighs, kneeling on the ground, with your heel in hand.

He glances at you for approval before strapping on your heel for you.

“Thank you.” You mumble, a dull ache spreading throughout your elbows as the adrenaline subsides.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asks, concern in his eyes.

This is when you hate yourself the most. Disgusted with yourself because you can’t bring yourself to accept the unconditional love that he has for you. Disgusted that you keep telling yourself you’ll fall for him soon enough.

“I’m fine.” You lie, something fairly common to you.

“Still mad?” Steve sits next to you, hands shoved in his jacket.

You notice he did go to the hospital, judging by the white bandage on his hand peeking out.

“Maybe.”

He smiles but it quickly turns into a grimace, the cuts on his lips still healing.

“Heard you got in.” You continue, transfixed on his blue eyes.

“Had to see the look on your father’s face. Priceless.”

The two of you burst out laughing, his face contorted in a mix of pain and laughter making you laugh even more.

Your father, Colonel Chester Philips had made it clear on several occasions that Steve would never make it in the army despite your best attempts to convince him otherwise.

“Don’t forget about me when you get all buffed up and go off fighting scary men.” You joke, half serious.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

There it starts again. The stupid fluttering in your heart as you dare to think his gaze at you right now means anything more. And the guilt that floods in right after.

“You two take care of each other.” You both look over at Bucky waving at you from the registration office.

Childhood friends, you’d never known life without the two of them. And now both of them were leaving to possibly never return.

“We’ll be back before you know it.” He gives a soft smile because he knows how much you hate that he’s going too. How much you hate the war. How much you hate that your father’s never home.

He’d made up his mind about this years ago when he realised an asthmatic 90 pound man wasn’t exactly the ladies’ man but the butt of the joke and an easy prey for bullies.

And he didn’t like bullies.

But right now, the way you’re looking at him, his heart wavers a little.

“We are all set to go. You have been assigned to Camp Lehigh.” Bucky arrives, waving a form at Steve.

Your heart drops as it sinks in that they have to leave now. Tears spring to your eyes which you try to blink away.

“I’ll write you whenever I can.” Steve gets up, eyes glossy.

“You’d better.” You smile at him, an uncomfortable ache growing in your heart.

You almost give in to embracing him but the rock on your left hand weighs you down.

He lingers around for a while, perhaps thinking the same. But, he gives a smile, walking away towards the office.

“He’ll be okay,” Bucky reassures you, placing his hands on your shoulders, “Steve’s a tough cookie.”

You look up at your fiance, a lump forming in your throat.

“I’m going to miss you two.” You bite down on your quivering lip as a single tear trickles down your cheek.

God, were you beautiful, he thinks, gently wiping your tears away.

He hated leaving you, each time hurting quite possibly even more than the previous.

If you’d just ask him to stay, he’d leave everything right then and there all for you.

But you never do.

He leans in and you think he doesn’t catch the slight clench of your jaw but he does, everytime.

Each time, he rationalises it in his head, chiding himself for overanalysing.

Cause it’d hurt to think otherwise.

A ghost of a kiss on your forehead you barely feel as you force yourself to swallow the growing lump.

The mornings were tolerable.

A few chores here and there. Breakfast if you felt like it. Maybe drop by the salon, have a little chat with the girls.

You kept busy, finding faults in your own cleaning everytime. A spot you definitely missed while cleaning yesterday, you immediately attend to it, scrubbing away.

Sometimes, your father stopped by during the late afternoons, carrying a bag of fresh produce from the local market.

He’d little to say about Steve’s training, gruffly humming whenever you enquired.

Then, you’d have dinner with him, pretending that it wasn’t awkward having an empty seat across you that once belonged to your mother.

The last time you saw your father smile was during your engagement to Bucky. He’d pulled you in a tight embrace, wordless.

It wasn’t like this before.

He actually stayed home, smiled often and had a spark in his eyes.

But after your mother passed, it felt like he was just going through the motions everyday. Buried himself in more work, drowned himself in alcohol somedays.

You couldn’t blame him. You were no better, bottling up your own feelings.

But you wished he’d remember he still had you.

The nights were unbearable.

More often than not, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart still racing from the nightmares that plagued your mind.

Then, the worries’d take over.

The war was unforgiving and cruel and you’d pray every night that they wouldn’t fall victim to it.

The shiny rock on your hand catches your eye as it glistens in the moonlight. It’s a thin, silver band with a delicate diamond on top.

You felt like an impostor wearing it.

But, you’d gotten used to it. You’d just remember your mother’s wish, the way Bucky’s face broke out into a smile when you said yes and your father’s brief moment of happiness.

It didn’t help when you remembered Steve.

You don’t really know what you were expecting when you gave him the news. Maybe, you wanted to see if he’d be affected by it? If he felt the same way for you as you did him?

“I’m happy for you two.”

He had the biggest smile on his face as he tugged around with Bucky, teasing him.

But his eyes. You could swear you saw a flicker of sadness in them for just a split second or maybe you were just delusional, projecting your own feelings.

Most probably, the latter.

You pull the neatly folded up letter from your drawer, opening it for the umpeethn time.

Skimming over the scrawlings, your eyes land at the very end where Steve promises to return in the next few days.

You’d received the letter three weeks ago.

Your father’d informed you that Steve’d agreed to an experiment, where he’d be injected with a serum that would apparently make him a super soldier of some sorts.

“Is it safe?”

The grim silence that followed twisted your insides up into knots.

“We don’t know.” Your father grunted, the greying on his hair more prominent.

The following week he came bearing news of Steve’s successful transformation. That he’d grown two feet taller and more than a hundred pounds heavier.

You muttered a silent thank you to God as the coil in your stomach loosened.

“Do you want to see them?” Your father looks up at you from the table, eyes not leaving his newspaper.

He couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. Not after he’d failed as a father. He’d done a lot wrong but the worst was dissappointing you each time you welcomed him back with a warm meal and forgiving eyes.

You nod, a small smile breaking out at the thought of them.

One of the few privileges that came with being the daughter of a Colonel was to be able to go to the Army base closed off to everyday people.

That evening, Bucky arrived, daisies in hand cause he knows how much you like them.

“For my daisy.” He’d say everytime, a grin plastered on his face as you’d roll your eyes, unable to hold back a smile.

You carefully place the letter back into your drawer and crawl under your blanket, hoping to cram in some sleep.

Travelling to Camp Lehigh would take the entire day on a train and you could never really fall asleep anywhere but your own bed.

Envy.

The green eyed monster that doesn’t seem to leave your shoulders as your gaze flickers over to them.

A total of atleast six different women have made their rounds, tossing their hair and giggling when he leans in to say something in their ears cause the music’s a little too loud.

But who could blame them?

Steve stood tall at an impressive 6.1 feet, a far cry from the 5.4 he used to be. Though clothed, anyone could see the mass of muscles bulging out, the suit straining whenever he raised his arm.

The first time you saw him, you were speechless.

Bucky had emphasized on the drastic change in Steve’s appearance but you were still taken aback, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

Everything about him was so different yet his eyes still had that twinkle to them that you always swooned over.

You down your fourth shot in a row, throat burning.

Did she really have to feel his shield and kn-

“Dance with me?” Bucky gives a coy smile, eyebrow quirked up.

Taking his extended hand, he chuckles as you wobble sightly while getting up.

“Someone had a lot to drink.” He comments, guiding you to the dance floor.

A hand slightly above your waist, the other holding your own, Bucky was always a great dancer.

You always let him take the lead as he swayed you back and forth, always managing to expertly avoid stepping on your dress.

You start to regret the alcohol, your head spinning a little.

He seems to notice and lulls down to a gentle pace, holding you tight. You lean into his chest, breathing in the sweet musk that’s just so, Bucky.

He calls your name, barely above a whisper, which you probably wouldn’t have heard if you weren’t so close to him.

You hum in reply, head now leaning on his shoulder.

“Remember that time you got mad at me,”

“and you came crying to me, begging for forgiveness.” You finish his sentence, chuckling.

A throaty laugh rumbles from his chest as well.

“And we promised that we’d never lie to each other anymore.”

You lift your head, to see a soft smile playing on his lips.

“It’s time you kept that promise.” His eyes trails over to Steve.

The low tune that crooned on fades out as a ringing in your ears take over. You could only stare at him, paralysed.

It takes him everything he has in him to stay composed. But he has to do this.

“Tell him, before it’s too late.” He whispers, an urgency in his voice.

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill any moment.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me.” He reassures you, taking your hands in his.

Shuffling bodies bump into you as you look away, incapable of holding his stare.

If only you’d known it would be the last time you saw him.

It’s the last thing he wants to do.

But he tells you anyway that he has to leave. That he needs to go.

Ever since Bucky fell to his death, Steve knew nothing but revenge. All he could really think about was taking down Hydra.

When you found out about Bucky, you’d done the same thing you always did.

Bottle your grief, pushing it down and down and keep busy.

Steve knew this too so he was patient, never poked around too much, lent a shoulder to cry on.

He often blamed himself, the event still haunting him at night, his own mind locking him in an endless tunnel.

But you’d always be there, at the end of it, a dim light that led him out.

“Just don’t die on me.” You whisper, hand grasping onto his jacket as he turned to leave.

This time, you don’t think twice before embracing him.

You want to keep him right there, safe with you.

And he probably would stay if you asked enough but you know he has to do this.

You just wanted to be selfish for once.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He wraps his hands around your waist, allowing himself to bask in your arms for a while.

As he pulls away, his face is so close that you can see the golden flecks splattered throughout his blue eyes, forming a psychedelic pattern that seemed to only hypnotise you.

He leans in before stopping himself, eyes flickering down to your slightly parted lips.

You can’t help but stare at his too.

But, the both of you awkwardly pull away, perhaps both appalled by their own selfish thoughts.

He couldn’t do this to his bestfriend ; you’d always be Bucky’s, not his.

As he leaves with the soldiers, the coil in your stomach tightens even more, heart sinking when he fades out of view.

You immediately station yourself at the air traffic controller office, where you man a radio transceiver.

It’s a large room filled with machines and a screen that displays the plane that he took.

It’s a long, long while before the transceiver crackles, a familiar voice blaring off it.

“Steve?” You grab it, almost jumping out of your seat.

The screen shows the plane heading north, further beyond the grid.

You think he called your name too but it’s barely audible.

Then, you hear it.

The whistling of the wind. The rattling of the controls.

The screen blares a warning when the plane doesn’t seem to stop going down.

“Steve, get out of there now!” You beg as it sinks in that he doesn’t plan to.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” His voice breaks.

“No, come back to me, please.” The room grows smaller and smaller as the air suffocates you.

A distorted reply arrives.

Your heart breaks at the thought of him all alone in that plane, headed for his death.

“I never really said thank you for all the times you beat up my bullies.”

You smile, swallowing the lump in your throat.

A surge of courage runs through your body as you say the words you’ve wanted to say to him ever since you discovered what love even was.

“Steve, I love you.”

But the line goes dead.

a/n : idk wtf this is, it was better in my head lol, might fk around and make this into a mini series😬 also tfatws🤑😈

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harveywritings92 · 4 years

Text

BNHA Dad scenario: You get your quirk! 2

Izuku: [You inherited your grandmother's quirk, you can telepathically pull objects towards you, but your is a tad bit stronger then hers.]

He was worried when you didn't show any signs of having a Quirk, and was mentally panicking that you'll wind up singled out like he was growing up! Of course today that was all going to change Izuku was taking a nap, when he heard something topple over, his green eyes opened as he looked over and saw you weren't sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons, he sat up now fully awake. "Y/n?" called out looking around the living room for his four year old.

then heard something fall in the kitchen. "Y/N!" Izuku jumped from the couch and ran into the kitchen to find you sitting on floor, mouth and hands covered chocolate with snack cake & cookie wrappers surrounding you; whimpering and holding your stomach, obviously not feeling well... Izuku was about to scold you for sneaking into the snack cupboard! But paused when he realized the snack cupboard was on top of the fridge... Way too high for you to reach. "Y/n, how did you get those cupcakes?"

You looked at him like a deer in the headlights... before turning green in the face and throwing up all the snacks you had stolen, causing your broccoli haired dad to briefly forget about what he was inquiring, pick you up and rush you to the bathroom!

He made sure you were on empty and got you in the bath and than cleaned the kitchen, he then went checked on you... just in time to see you telepathically pulled a bottle of bubble-bath off the shelf towards the tub, ready to pour it all out! only for him to grab it at the last second. "Nice try..." He huffed giving you a stern look, yes he's happy you weren't Quirkless, but that didn't mean you were off the hook for raiding the snack cupboard!

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Shoto: [Your mom's Quirk is called Cyclone breath, she can breath in air and blow out powerful winds, His ice half combined with her wind quirk, Creating yours: Frost-breath, which is pretty powerful on it's own, the only downside is that just like your mom if you over use it, you get asthma like symptoms, so you gotta carry around an inhaler.]

Your family had sat down to dinner, you were having mac and cheese, but it was little to hot so naturally you did the logical thing and blew on it! both your parents flinched at the sudden drop in temperature they looked at each other, then at you to see you gawking down at your now frozen dinner shock, giving them both this help me look.

It took a lot of training with your mom to figure out how breathe with without turning everything in front of you into a skating rink! It sucks you got to carry around an inhaler around now, but ever since your quirk manifested it been harder to breathe without it, That Your older cousin [Dabi kid.] and her creepy friend {Shigaraki kid} seemed love using you as their personal Air conditioner and popsicle maker in the summer despite your uncle Dabi telling them to stop!

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

Warning here: Hawks scenario is fricking long! Cos my lazy but decided to combined two ideas into one, it might as well be it's own one shot!

________

Hawks: [Technically You inherited your mom's quirk Cheshire, it's a teleportation quirk it kinda works like.... um, If anyone played God of War 4, It's like how the dwarves can slip between realms, like people can see it, but their minds can't properly comprehend it, so it just look like your walking behind a tree, only to be seen coming out from behind a flagpole a few feet opposite the way you were just walking, however you also have little red wings on top of your head.

that are pretty much useless, but they're the only thing (aside from his eyebrows) that you got from your dad, Which Hawks finds adorable especially when they flap up and down when your happy or puff up when your angry.]

You ran away from home some bullies at school and your mean babysitter had convinced you that you weren't Hawk's real daughter and your Quirk seem to solidify that theory, so while your sixth babysitter? (You lost count) was distracted, you packed up some clothes and a sandwich and left, the whole time watching this delusional woman, (She thinks she's dating Hawks) rummage and steal from your mom's memory box, not even concerned that you've been quiet this entire time.

That was fine you'll be long gone by the time she notices... you thought as you put your hat on to cover the tiny wings on your head, ignoring the itchy feeling you got from your fuzzy down feathers brushing against their nylon prison, You looked at your room one last time as you remember all the fun times had here before slipping away into oblivion... and stepping out of the haze from behind a light-post across the road from your apartment building, and started walking you didn't know where, but anywhere was better then here, maybe if your lucky you'll find your real parents... You paused and glanced back at the apartments one last time then kept walking... sniffling all the while.

Meanwhile...

Hawk took a break off patrol he had weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong, as soon as he step through the balcony door his heart dropped, he couldn't sense you anywhere in the nest! his instincts were on fire! as his feathers surveyed the penthouse for you, then stilled when they sensed someone moving around in his room. Keigo's eyes narrowed as he silently walked to his room to find your babysitter going through his late wife's belongings wearing her jewelry…

"What do you think you're doing?!" he said through gritted teeth causing your baby to jump and whip her head around to see Hawks glowering at her rage in his eyes. "Honey...I mean Hawks! y-your home early...um um." she stammered something whizzed by her embedding itself in the wall behind her, she hastily started taking off the earrings and necklace and his wife's engagement ring, telling him it's not what it looks like!

He noticed her phone on the floor before she could stop him, his feather's snatched it he saw all the dating crap she'd lying and posting about, but really set him off was text she had sent talking about you... calling you an orphan and plans to send you away once Her Darling "opens his eyes" Keigo's rage reached it's boiling point, people can say whatever they want about him, But don't ever involve his little girl... it won't end well. Your babysitter watched in horror as Hawks destroyed her phone, then took a step back turned his death gaze on her.

"Get out, you're fired."

"But but… Hawks baby I lo-"

"Did I fucking stutter? I said get out!"

"*runs out of the penthouse crying*"

He knows that delusional woman was in the hall outside of his penthouse waiting for him come after her, she's not the first woman he hired who thought they're were the heroine to whatever fantasy they've concocted in their head, She'll find out pretty quickly that Hawks didn't give two craps about her as the apartment's security had been called to escort her out, what he cared about at the moment was; where. in. the. fuck. was. his. daughter? After the rage had subsided panic had soon set in as Hawks barged into your room the drawers were opened , your backpack and sleeping bag and [fav plush] were missing! Your dad started hyperventilating.

That woman... Had she done somethin to you?! He was going to call security and put her in holding ….Then Keigo felt it, that chill in his wings the familiar feeling of being physically pulled out of reality... he followed the feeling and he looked in your closet and found one of his feathers stuck...no, fused the wall, *You have her Quirk, Why didn't you tell me...* he thought then remembered what your mom had told him told him to do when his feather gets stuck in something... "Just clear your mind and think of me, your feather will find me …" Taking a deep breath Hawks closed his eyes thought about you, seeing you...finding you... like that the feather was free.

Meanwhile.

It had started to rain as you walked down through a park not sure how far you walked, but your feet and knees were hurting from the fall you had earlier, you saw some kids from your school got scared and ran you ended up tripping and rolling down a hill, scratching up your legs and covering your clothes in mud and grass stains...

While you were looking down at the ground moping a pair of shoes walked into your field of vision as a shadow sudden casted over you, your [y/ec] eyes looked up and saw a man wearing a dark hoodie that covered most of his face, his cerulean eyes regarded with mild concern. "You okay there kid?" he asked eyeing your legs and puffy eyes, That broke the dam all the stress and torment you endured the passed couple months all came out in loud wail..

The guy standing over you to panicked and tried shushing you, before picking you up and carrying you off, luckily bystanders mistook it for a parent dealing with their child's tantrum, and that's how you found yourself sitting on a bench under a bus shelter. while the man who introduced himself as Dabi put band-aids on your legs...which was strange, cos someone who looked like Dabi didn't look the type to carry glow-in the dark neon-rainbow band-aids! "They ain't mine...I got a kid about your age back home." the stapled faced man stated as if reading your mind, he sighed taking a seat next to you and examined your miserable expression, you looked very familiar but he couldn't quite place it... Something about those eye brows... he shook his head.

"Speaking of home, you gotta a number on ya? I bet yer parents are probably looking for yo-" You cut him off. "I don't have parents and no ones looking for me!" You huffed stubbornly Dabi cocked a brow very skeptical at that claim, and was about voice that thought when something red caught his attention... His cerulean eyes squinted at the pole the bus schedule was nailed to and was surprised to see a familiar red feather just kind of shot itself out from behind it...

He watched it kind of sway around before pointing directly at you. "You're sure no one's looking for you?" he said watching feather bristle then harden when he spoke up, his eye twitched knowing that was a mistake, if that was here then that meant... *Ew, someone actually reproduced with that Kentucky Fried Dumbass?!* Dabi snorted.

"I know he's not looking for me, he wasn't my daddy he just felt sorry for me...Just like everyone else."

"Well everyone else is an idiot... and your old man obviously cares for ya!"

"No he doesn't... he didn't even go to my school on parents day..."

"look, kid I don't know what's going on with you and Chicken-Tenders, but he obliviously loves you."

"How would you know?" You wept keeping your puffy eyes on the ground and tears fell from you eyes, Dabi's voice had nervous edge as he spoke up again. "Because he's here..." You looked up at the scarred man in disbelief, only to see him starring dead ahead with a serious expression on his face, the little wings on your head twitched under your hat as you followed his gaze just in time to see your dad land, But something was off...

His wings were darker than usual and his eyes were feral and scary looking, like he was going murder someone... "Dabi.." he growled fist clenched as he slowly walked towards the two of you, when said cremator slowly stood up causing your dad's feather's to go haywire. "Easy Hawks... You know I'm not in that business anymore." Dabi said calmly holding his hands up, this only made Hawks more agitated a low growl escaped his throat.

"Leave..." the blond hissed obviously giving Dabi one chance, the scarred just put his hands in his hoodie pockets and walked, but as he was passing your dad. "Might want to set that kid's head straight, cos you're on the verge of losing her for forever." Hawks shot him a glare as he went over to you who was curled up on the bench looking at your dad scared.

Dabi watched from a good distance as his old enemy resolved things with his daughter there was a lot of yelling at mainly him screaming "Why did you run, what were you thinking Y/n?! I already lost your mom I don't want to lose you too! …" a bus drove pass blocking out whatever else he was saying, as the bus passed Hawk now crouched at your level, he's guessing you were telling him what's going on...

Hawks looked devastated with every word you were saying. He said something to you before taking you hat off, giving Dabi a view of the little red wings on your head he looked at Hawks managing to read his lips "You may not have my power, but those are definitely my wings!" the two of you hugged before Hawks picked you up and flew away.

Dabi waited a few seconds before taking out his phone looking through his contact and picking [My Fairy] and waited a few moments. "Hey babe... how goes the homestead?" his wife told how things were going at the dive and him it was al none of the rowdy guys bothered her. "Good to hear... is the kid still up?" Dabi waited a few second hearing his wife call his daughter over. "Hey, Firefly, how you doing?" he smiled as his daughter told him how her day went. "That's good, I'll be home tomorrow, give yer mom a kiss for me alright?...I love you too, Firefly" He hummed and hung up started walking down the street.

Back to Hawks

You both took a few days off to cool down they went out of the city for a while and visited your mom's grave, Hawks hardly let you out of his sight if he wasn't in the room one of his feathers was always there. He let you sleep in his bed for the first couple nights, when it was time to go back to school.

You sighed expecting another babysitter or sidekick to take you, instead you were surprised to find you dad waiting for you, which was bewildering he's usually gone or sleeping when you leave. "Why are you here?" you asked bemused you dad smiled and patted your head. "I'm taking you school obviously." He said taking you over the balcony and picking you up.

"Hang on tight Chickadee." he said before lift off the wind felt nice blowing through your down feathers the little wings on your head started subconsciously started flapping, which caused your dad chuckle at cute display, when he finally made to your school all the kids were in awe to see the #2 pro-hero landing in there playground, but what really got the kids was the fact that he was carrying you!

Your teacher nervously came out the greet him where Hawks loudly exclaimed. "Oh, yes sorry for the late introduction and thank you for looking after my daughter." His sharp eyes carefully caught every face in playground and noticed a certain group of kids looking like a deer in the head lights. It didn't take him long to figure out who putting all that orphan crap in your head, he made note to have a word with they're parents...

Keigo was brought out of his thoughts by you tugging on him. "Daddy let me down." he looked at you bemused before remembering right school!... Damn it, he didn't want to let you go! your first day was months ago! He reluctantly set you on the ground but didn't let go of your hand. Why the hell was the separation anxiety kicking in now? *because you weren't there the first time...* he mentally berated himself for missing out on that mile stone several in fact.

The blond was confused why the school hadn't been calling him about you, he found out that one of his PR directors had been intercepting anything school related meant for Keigo and sending random representatives or sidekicks to attend them... Because apparently being a widowed father didn't look cool or edgy enough for the #2 hero's public image, Needles to say that guy wasn't part of Hawk's PR teams by the end of the day.

Keigo walked you the front door then crouched down at your level. "I'll be waiting right here when it's time go home, alright?" You nodded the and hugged your dad, (who may or not of slipped a feather on you, just in case.) "Have a good day, I love you." You nodded as walked inside leaving your dad outside, he stared at the school by before taking a deep breath and flying off...

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

{Wing horns photo source from a Manga called: Demon mother!}

#bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #boku no hero academia #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto torodoki #hawks x reader #keigo takami #bnha dabi #long post

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somnambulants · 3 years

Text

see where you’ve been

summary: Natasha is a tease and she likes to see you flustered. 18+ word count: 1.6K.

Spending time with Natasha is the best and worst thing in the entire world.

The best because she’s the single most interesting person you’ve ever met and any time you spend in her presence feels like the ultimate gift.

(You may be slightly biased, considering your overwhelmingly large and borderline schoolgirl-esque crush on her but that was another matter entirely and one you’d firmly decided you were not going to be addressing any time soon)

But, while you coveted every second spent with her like a kid would covet candy, it could also be the worst at certain times.

Times like now.

With her pressed up so close to you that there’s not not even an inch of space between you.

Usually you’d be face down on the mat as she dug a knee into your spine by now.

This is the first time you’ve been able to pin her down and it was almost entirely by accident.

So it’s probably not surprising that you freeze up but it doesn’t make it any less mortifying.

“Okay good….You would probably make a move on the target now, though,” she teases lightly after a second of you just gaping down at her. “Not just grope them.”

Letting her go, you swallow roughly, heat crawling up your neck as you realise your hands are on her chest. God. “R-right. Sorry.”

She winks at you playfully. “Not that I mind.”

You squeak, lips moving soundlessly as you try desperately to think of something to say and come up empty.

The only other occupant of the room -- thank god, you don’t know what you’d do if all the avengers had witnessed this -- Clint makes no attempt to hide his snicker as he does a set of pull-ups in the corner.

As you scramble off her, she gives you a small, slightly amused smile and accepts the hand you hold out to help her up.

You make your excuses and book it out of there the second trainings over.

And If you take a longer than normal shower that night, definitely not doing what you’d normally do in the shower well, then, no one else has to know about it but you.

Still, you know you’re going to have a hard time meeting Natasha’s eyes tomorrow.

And you definitely do. Have a hard time meeting her eyes, that is.

You don’t know how but you somehow make it through your whole workout without once looking her in the eyes.

If you had looked though, you would have seen the speculative, knowing look in her eyes as she watched you fumble your way through training.

And then throughout the rest of the week, too.

And the week after that too.

Of course, you’re no expert in body language, but if you had just looked properly, you would have clearly been able to tell that she was planning something.

And something devious, at that.

The universe hates you. So hates you. Thats all you can think.

You really must have accumulated some major karma to have deserved this.

It’s like Natasha’s taken your normal workouts and upped them by three hundred in their intensity.

You’d thought you’d been a pretty decent fighter before this but you’re quickly realising she’s been going easy on you this entire time.

And it’s also like she knows how much her touch affects you because all of a sudden she’s always touching you.

Every-time she takes you down, her hands are on you. Lingering.

Every. single. time.

You’ve had so many cold showers over the last month, you’re surprised you haven’t picked up hypothermia.

In short, as time passes it just gets worse and worse until eventually you’re just a human ball of tension.

Like an elastic band that’s been pulled too far.

And even though you don’t realise it yet, it’s about to snap.

You yelp as she throws you down again, shoving you onto the floor and leaning down, pinning you there so you’re forced to just look straight up at her.

No matter how hard you struggle, she’s firm, holding you down, and pressing her knee against your stomach as she leans in closer.

Your heart picks up even more, rabbit fast.

“I thought I taught you better than that,” she teases you, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up as you feel her lips brush slightly against the curve of your ear.

You then let out an audible squeak as she lets you go, pulling away with this look on her face you can’t quite decipher.

You must imagine it but for a second you swear that as she goes to move off you, she grinds her hips down against your own ever so slightly.

And all of a sudden, all you can think about is her doing that. All the time. Sans the workout gear she’s currently wearing and on a much nicer, softer surface.

Like a bed.

She’s going to be the death of you. You just know it.

You feel flushed, trembling a little. If you looked at yourself in the mirror right now you’re sure you wouldn't even be able to see your irises from how dilated your pupils must be.

There are times you swear she must know how she affects you. She’s literally trained to pick up on every single thing; there’s no way she couldn’t see your pathetically obvious attraction to her.

Sometimes you’ve thought that maybe she’s just being nice and politely ignoring it, others you’re not so sure.

Other times you think she knows and she likes it.

“Damn,” Natasha is chuckling, taunting you as she throws you down again less than five minutes later, her knees on either side of your waist as she holds you down, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re really off your game today, aren’t you?”

The elastic band snaps.

Looking up at her infuriatingly attractive face as she hovers on top of you, victorious smirk on her lips -- god, it’s so attractive, she’s so attractive -- you just stop ...thinking.

You crash your lips to hers before you can stop yourself.

Surprisingly you don’t get punched in the face. No. What happens is much weirder.

She’s kissing you back.

"Finally,” she breathes against your lips. She’s smirking as she says it. You can feel it.

Why is she smirking?

What she says is confusing enough that it sticks in your head, even with the confused state of mess that your own mind is right now.

“I -- what?”

Natasha jerks your head toward her, pulling you into her as she kisses you again, more roughly this time.

“It took you long enough,” she pants, pulling away to breathe and ripping your shirt off you. She pulls it over your head and throws it on the floor. “I’m a little insulted, actually.”

You stare at her, hands freezing where you’d been fumbling with the zip on her jeans. “You...knew?”

“Obviously.” Natasha smirks down at you as you dig your nails into the flesh of her hips harder in response to her mocking tone. “You’re kind of slow, you know that?”

She lets out a surprised sound as you abruptly flip your positions.

Unconsciously, you must have picked something other than frustration from all these practices because she looks genuinely taken aback with you hovering over her all of a sudden.

“You could’ve said something.”

The look on her face fades away into amusement at your words. She hums a little. “I could’ve. But watching you squirm was more fun.”

With a growl, you pull back a little, forcing yourself between her thighs that she gladly parts for you, wrapping them around your waist loosely as you settle your hands on her hips, jerking her towards you as you kiss her again, nails digging into her skin.

This is where what little control you have ends.

In the next breath, she’s manoeuvred you both so that youre now flat on your back beneath her, gazing up at her as she looks down at you, chest heaving a little.

Not even bothering to pull your panties down, she just shoves them to the side as she enters you quickly with one, then two fingers.

You inhale sharply and then whine out loud as she removes her fingers completely after a couple of thrusts, snickering at your clear disappointment.

She brings them up to her mouth and you watch as she laves them with her tongue before pulling them out with a pop, moaning quietly to herself.

“Nat,” you plead, breathing heavily. “Please.”

Natasha smirks. “Well since you asked so nicely.”

Your hips buck up against her as she enters you again. Rougher than before.

With her free hand, she presses down on your throat ever so slightly: not enough that you can’t breathe but enough that it’s harder for you to suck air in between your moans.

“Oh my god,” you pant heavily, your eyes rolling back a little as you adjust to her pace, which is sharp and unrelenting and already dangerously close making you fall apart with the first few thrusts.

Her hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly as you close your eyes.

“Look at me,” she demands. “Look at me or I’ll stop.”

Struggling to obey, you train your suddenly blurry vision on her face and watch as Natasha’s lips curl in a slow, satisfied grin in response.

“Good.”

#natasha romanoff x reader

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spxllcxstxr · 4 years

Text

Post-Hogwarts Enemies to Lovers with Sirius • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Warnings: firewhiskey mention, weed mention?, Death Eaters, curses (both language and magic), near death experiences, blood and injury mentions

Request: Hello! Can I have a Sirius headcanon please, one where it’s post Hogwarts in the time of the first wizarding war, and reader was a quiet, loner ravenclaw when she was in Hogwarts whereas Sirius was obviously very popular and loud, and they didn’t like eachother back then but now they’re in the order and dating and it’s just enemies to lovers angst to fluff 🥺 — @mabelle-cherie

A.N: Headcanons are weird because I have no idea if this is long or short. Anyway. I might’ve strayed a little away from the request? But it’s essentially the same. I think I like this one, actually...Love you all ❤️

Sirius Black was the most obnoxious entity you’ve ever encountered

James Potter was obviously a close second

Remus Lupin was tolerable, but only when his nose was stuffed in a book and when he was alone

Peter Pettigrew? He was more scared of you than you were of him. Completely harmless

They would strut around the castle, smug looks glued on their faces, like they owned the place

And you know what?

They practically did

Ever since they pulled their first prank, they’ve had the entire school wrapped around their fingers

Classmates idolized them

Teachers struggled to hide fond smiles

You despised it

You were here to sit, learn enough to get a good job, and keep your head down

The so called “Marauders” obviously had their own plans

The second Sirius witnessed you scoff and roll your eyes at another one of their stupid disruptive pranks, you were on his radar

The first time Sirius ever directly spoke to you, you were in the farthest corner of the library buried underneath a mountain of books trying to finish your three essays

You didn’t even notice him until—

“(Y/Ln), right?”

You were too busy writing about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 to even entertain the idea of giving him a proper response

So in your haze, you just gave him your default response

“Piss off, Black.”

If you said that to any other person, it would’ve worked

But Sirius Black is not any other person, unfortunately

“Well that’s not very nice, love, now is it?”

And thus, your enemyship begins

That was in your fifth year, meaning you had about two and a half more years dealing with him and his merry band of pricks

By the next day, you were ready to toss yourself out of the Astronomy Tower

He now spots you in every room you’re in together, which is a huge inconvenience, considering you would rather be left alone and unbothered

But he prances towards you, shit eating grin plastered on his face, ringed fingers raking through his hair

He’s a pest

“Leave me alone, Black.”

“Aw c’mon, (Y/Ln), I’m just saving you from being lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Well you don’t talk to anyone. That’s lonely.”

“I talk to people, Black. I just don’t talk to you.”

You try to leave with the last laugh

You really do

“Pretty sure you’re talkin’ to me right now, love.”

His stupid infuriating smirk makes you wanna hex him into oblivion

Instead, you walk away fuming

And that’s how the rest of your time at Hogwarts goes

Sirius Black bothers the shit outta you

You tell him to go fuck himself

He doesn’t

Wash, rinse, repeat

There are a few times your patience wears so thin that you throw a couple hexes his way

You’ve reversed his knees, made his head grow four sizes too big (to finally contain that ego of his, you told him), made his toenails grow straight through his shoes, and even managed to shave off some of his precious hair

And yet he still came back

Every single time

Sirius would just brush it off and laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world

At that point, what do you do?

You try to ignore him the best you can

There are times you find him alone, drunk on top of the astronomy tower

Or high behind greenhouse number two

You like him better this way

He seems more real

Not because he’s under the influence

But because he’s not giving you a cocky smirk or a wink and laughing at every little move you make

You almost tolerate him

But then the next morning he’s back to calling you love and shouting at you at the top of his lungs across the Great Hall

And you’re back to hating him again

You’re counting down the days to graduation

And when it finally comes you bid him a firm farewell

Sirius finishes off with a “More like see ya later, (Y/Ln), love”

But you don’t care because the next day you have your bags packed to study in Bulgaria

But with one foot out the door you get an urgent letter

Something called the Order of the Phoenix

And and after carefully scanning through the contents of the letter

You unpack

And go meet up with your old Headmaster

Headquarters is a dilapidated shack on the outside

Chipped paint, broken shutters, water damage, the works

But the inside is elegant

Long purple rugs running throughout the house covering dark wood flooring, glass vases, magical artifacts strewn on top of dark counter tops

Sirius Black sitting, cigarette in one hand, twirling his wand in the other—

Sirius Black?

You almost march straight out the door

But you’ve already been spotted by Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, so you can’t exactly back out now

“Long time, no see, love, eh?”

The smirk, the attitude, the wink

It’s all there

Thankfully, he’s sitting in the middle of his friend group, so when you take a seat at the table, there’s about four people between the two of you

You smile at Alice and Frank, who you only know because they helped you with potions assignments a few years prior

You notice a glimmering ring on her finger

Everyone turns deathly serious when Dumbledore and Moody start explaining the situation with Voldemort and his Death Eaters

And how the Ministry of Magic is practically incompetent, though you knew that already

Even Sirius knew when to keep his mouth shut

He sat there, smoking, taking harsh sips of firewhiskey

Yes,

You noticed

You noticed how his fists would clench in anger

And how he silently swore

When James would put a hand of his shoulder to calm him down

And when Remus would start edging away his tumbler

He would twist the rings of his fingers

And smoke through an entire pack of cigs during the meeting

You’re not going to Bulgaria anymore, you’ve decided

Everyone got assigned stations they would patrol

Just your luck

You got Diagon Alley

With Sirius Black

You want to slam your head on the table

“Did you really bribe Dumbledore and Moody to put us together, Black?”

“It won’t be so bad, (Y/Ln), promise.”

“You’re a prat.”

“Well now that’s just rude.”

So everyday, you and Sirius donned dark cloaks that covered your faces and ambled through Diagon Alley, keeping an eye and an ear out for anything out of place

You would stop into shops, pretend to browse through items, keeping an eye on people

Sirius would convince you to get ice cream or stop in the Leaky Cauldron

You hate to admit it

But these little breaks the two of you took together were...

Nice?

The two of you would just be sat in the farthest corner of the tavern

Cigarette smoke swirling around

Eyes watching through the haze

There’s small talk between the two of you, but mostly silence

“The Potters died a month ago.”

He tells you out of the blue, eyes still trained on the other customers

You might not know Sirius Black well, but everyone knows how he ran away from his abusive home to James Potter in sixth year

“I’m so sorry, what was it, if it’s ok to ask.”

“Dragon pox.” He takes a second to exhale completely. “They were old, they knew it was coming. Just doesn’t feel right.”

So that’s how your partnership works

Sirius would be utterly insufferable during meetings and other get togethers

Silent during patrol

At least one of you would spill some secret or heartbreaking thought while on break

And then it would be back to silent concentration

Maybe you didn’t hate him anymore

But you certainly didn’t like him

About six months into your recruitment into the Order, you get a tip off about a huge Death Eater raid in a nearby Muggle village

Moody leads the rest of the Order to the village, and sure enough, there’s a crowd of Death Eaters dressed in black cloaks and silver masks already starting to make their way down the hill and into the main square

Spells are shot at an alarming rate

You’re forced to run, dodge, hide

You have have to not only fight a whole group of people happy to use Dark magic, but you have to continuously check on the numerous Muggle families asleep in their homes

It’s tiring

There’s bruises and cuts all over you

Lily had to save your arse a few times

You shoved James out of the way from the Cruciatus curse, getting hit with it instead

You were staggering, barely taking in enough air, but still you fired off spell after spell

You lean heavily against a wall, the bricks digging into your skin

The world around you spins and turns blurry

You fight to hang on, but your body is in so much pain it wants to shut down

You get cornered by a tall man in a dark cloak and a skeletal mask

“Well, well, how unfortunate.”

Your ears are ringing but you can hear him loud and clear

A gloved hand slips into his cloak and produces a silver dagger, shining in the pale moonlight

“Maybe I’ll gut you the Muggle way.”

He chuckles darkly, and you shudder in fright

The tip of the blade just touches your abdomen, the cool point sending goosebumps up your skin

You try to muster all the strength you have left in you, but it’s not enough to break free and fight back

You get ready to accept your fate

“Get off of her, you bastard!”

A figure bodyslams the Death Eater away from you

And the two of them roll around on the street, the silver of the blade flashing between the two forms

You have no idea who’s winning

You do hear a guttural cry coming from Sirius, but when you look back down, the Death Eater is apprehended and there’s a fresh and bloody cut across Sirius’ collarbone

Somehow, anger surges up in you

“You could’ve died, Sirius! You shouldn’t have been so stupid and reckless!”

You shout, pushing yourself off the wall and limping towards him

One of the Prewett twins comes to take the Death Eater away

Sirius scoffs

“Since when did you care about me?”

“You’re my partner, Sirius! Of course I care about you!”

At this point, the two of you are face to face, close enough to smell stale cigarettes and cinnamon on his breath. Copper mingles with the scent

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Sirius, (Y/n).”

He points out softly

You two are so close, eyes gazing into eyes

No, you don’t kiss

You got hit by the torture curse like fifteen minutes ago and then almost got impaled

You faint directly into his arms

How romantic

You wake up on the black velvet couch in headquarters

However, when you turn your head to the side, eyes open, you notice the head of a shaggy black dog resting near your face

Their ears are back, sad and glistening eyes staring at you, nose wet and cold.

The dog perks up when he spots that you’re awake

You hear their tail thunk against the base of the couch

You move your hand to scratch behind those soft ears

The dog whines and sighs in happiness

And then suddenly the dog in gone

And Sirius Black is kneeling at your side instead

“Always knew you were a dog.” You mumble out

“I saved you, and you call me a dog? How kind.” Sirius smiles, relieved

You soften. “Thank you, Sirius. Thought I was a goner.”

He brings a hand up to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone gently “Just glad you’re safe and awake.”

You lean into his warm touch

“Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?” He asks softly, stormy eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips

You notice that he calls you by your first name

“You save me once and now you think you can kiss me, Black?”

You raise an eyebrow, but you aren’t serious.

His face falls and he opens his mouth the apologize, the thumb in your cheek stuttering

“Oh, alright, Sirius...I don’t mind.”

His face lifts back up at your smile

And he kisses you lightly on the lips

“Been waiting to do that for years.” He tells you when you finally separate for air

“Don’t be a prat, Sirius.”

And you know what?

You never hated Sirius Black

You especially didn’t hate Sirius Black now, that’s for sure

You would even say that you love him

Even when he is a prick

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @fific7 @quindolyn @msmb

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

#Sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black headcanon #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst

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luvteez · 4 years

Text

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

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ladyeliot · 4 years

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It’s been a long, long time

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: You never knew what fate had in store for you, as if it was testing what it had offered you one day it took away from you the next. It was almost four years after Steve gave himself up to save the world, but you had never given up hope of being with him again.

Warnings: Angst. Disappearance. Fluff ending.

Word count: 2883

A/N: Captain America First Avenger / Avengers Endgame. Some of the dialogue is taken from the film. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Song: It’s been a long, long time - Harry James

1949.

The rumours of his possible return were fading with time, but hopes were not falling.

Nearly four years had passed since the end of the Second World War, and the consequences were soon felt worldwide, especially by those who had survived that tragic period. You had been present from start to finish, being a potent participant in the covert operations linking the US and the UK. Although you had not been on the front line fighting as a soldier, you had been on the front line commanding the actions they would take. In 1939 you became a member of the British Royal Military, then a recommendation from a superior officer led to you joining the Special Operations Executive, a British spy agency, changing your destiny, causing MI5 to contact you, and then you were seconded to the Strategic Scientific Reserve, a top-secret Allied war agency during World War II, created by President Roosevelt. Too many things happened in a single year, too many things that would change the course of your history, but the most important was yet to happen.

In 1943 you were assigned to Colonel Chester Phillips' training base, known as Camp Lehigh, where you were assigned to supervise the candidate division of Project Renaissance, the project that changed everything. Project Renaissance was a highly secret project run by the United States Government. Its aim was to create super soldiers to be deployed during World War II against the Axis powers, thus having a great advantage in strategic warfare, however things didn't go as planned and they only had one success, a young man from Brooklyn named Steve Rogers.

You could never deny that you didn't notice him the first moment you saw him, he instantly caught your attention in two ways. The first of them was his physical shape, he stood out for his small stature compared to the other cadets, and his physical appearance looked sickly, although his medical record didn't say anything about it. On the other hand, the other aspect that impressed and inspired you was his courage and endurance to face each of the tests they had to pass, as well as his cunning, all of which won you over, as well as the generals of the project, as he was selected for the Renaissance project. The time you spent together at Camp Leigh made you realise the determination and humility he possessed, traits that the other members of the group, or any other man you had met before, possessed only to a slight degree.

The day the experiment was carried out, that is, the injection of the Super Soldier serum into Steve was another turning point in your life, the young man who went into that machine was not the same as the one who would come out of it, at least for everyone present, a human being went in and a super soldier came out, although for you he was still the same Steve Rogers with 30 centimetres more height and greater muscle mass. From then on he became the secret weapon that would overthrow Hitler, as the leader of the project, Dr. Erskine, was killed which meant that Steve was the only one of his kind.

You would have liked to have been able to say that your relationship was moving towards a more effective environment, but you were really living in a period of war, plus your character did not easily fit in with the word love, it never really did, or rather, you had never shown any interest in any man. You were rude, you had suffered enough harassment in your job, a job by and for men, to become insensitive in several cases. You were selective with your friends and also with the people you could trust, that's why every time you felt any affection for someone you stopped it, and that's what happened with Steve at the beginning.

Frankly, there were not too many moments to show your affection for each other, nor to enrich it, but every occasion that brought you together, there were certain feelings in the air that were never expressed in words. You encouraged him to be more than a lab rat or a fair hand for the soldiers at the front, you also helped him from your position with the missions, which after his triumph in rescuing the soldiers of the 107th infantry, were assigned to him. You complemented each other, you understood each other in many aspects that no one had ever understood, you had faith in him and he in you, that is why deep inside you were waiting for the day when the war would end to discover what it would be like to be able to dance with him without any worries around you, but it was not that simple.

As if the universe itself was mocking you, everything it had offered you was taken away in a breath. Even if you had never extrapolated it, your heart shrank every time he marched on a mission in enemy territory, you used to find yourself behind the controls of the base of operations that commanded his missions waiting for his voice or news from him to indicate what the situation was, but the last time what you saw was different. It was all a consequence of your attack on HYDRA HQ, you had worked out a strategy to take out their leader, the Red Skull, Steve was inside and you later came in with the assault guard and became part of the operation. Things had gone a little shaky during the operation, as the Red Skull managed to gain access to a ship and almost escaped from the place, but at that moment you appeared as if you were a breath of air together with Colonel Chester Phillips to offer him the last chance for Steve to finish him off and gain access to the inside of the ship that was about to escape, but not before sharing your first and last kiss. Every day you remember the last words you said to him in person "Go get him." before watching him jump into the plane and disappear into the snowy mountains.

After that, the ship became a direct path to death unbeknownst to you. A few hours later, from the command post, you managed to maintain a direct connection with the ship, specifically with Steve who was still inside it.

"Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?" you all heard from the intercom.

"Steve, is that you? Are you alright?" your heart raced as it did every time he was away from you on a mission.

"Y/N! Schmidt's dead.

That brought a breath of relief that neither of you had experienced for a long time, you could see a little light at the end of the tunnel that was getting closer and closer to you, but what you heard next put the light out again.

"What about the plane?" you asked still worried about his situation.

"That's a little bit tougher to explain," Steve's words were choppy.

It really was complicated, the plane was loaded with explosive devices and was clearly headed for New York City, that meant there was only one possibility and you all knew what it was. You tried to talk him out of it, to find a new solution, but time was running out.

"Y/N, this is my choice," a lump formed in your throat at those words. "Y/N?"

"I'm here," you managed to say with watery eyes and a hand to your lips.

"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance," you heard through the intercom, as a sharp gust of air rushed in between his words.

"Alright," you hid a soft sob. "A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club."

"You got it," he said firmly, making it seem real that he was going to show up there on Saturday.

"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"

"You know, I still don't know how to dance," a wistful smile appeared on your face at his words.

"I'll show you how. Just be there," you said almost begging him.

"We'll have the band play somethin' slow," Steve picked up the pace of his words, "I'd hate to step on your...

That was the last time you heard his voice, the line connecting the intercom to Steve went static with a soft continuous noise, that's when the tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

"Steve? Steve? Steve?"

Of course, life puts us all to the test, we believe we need redemption for the acts committed in the past, that often makes us lose hope that better times will come. Almost four years have passed since those last events, since you shared your first and last kiss with your Captain America, since you heard his last words and since you felt that thing called love. Now your life had been turned upside down, you had dreamed for too long of meeting him, of seeing his face again and not only through those war films, but your life went on and you couldn't keep yourself stuck thinking about him, that's why you had decided to leave the Strategic Scientific Reserve and go into a new project with Howard Stark, called S.H.I.E.L.D.

It was unusual for the month of January to have that warm morning out, although it was actually quite comforting as it had brightened up your day, and even when you got home you opted to start cooking to the rhythm of whatever song was playing on the radio, which was unusual for you. The open windows allowed the sun's rays to stream into the living room, offering that homely touch that the little house in the middle of a residential neighbourhood lacked. Due to your countless projects and missions in the SSR you had not been able to enjoy home life as much as you would have liked, although it was really your decision, that house was too quiet and too big for you alone, although the radio offered you the company you sometimes needed.

As if it were a special event you had brought out the table linen and arranged the table in the parlour to eat there for the first time, normally you used the table in the kitchen, for you did not waste too much time on your meals, but this day was a new beginning, a new year, a good time to work out new habits. You opted to open a bottle of wine, which had been a gift from your dear friend Howard Stark, and poured yourself a glass while you waited for the chicken to make its acquaintance in the oven. The rhythmic melody of Nat King Cole along with your glass of wine lifted spirits that hadn't been this high for some time.

"Love is all that I can give to you," you intoned as you walked around the kitchen.

The midday seemed to be going smoothly, until a crashing noise from the front door brought you to a screeching halt. "Ogh, Mrs. Foster," you said to yourself before taking a sip from your glass of wine to fill your spirits. Mrs Foster was the neighbour from across the street who was always knocking on your door whenever she could, hoping to whisper about the other neighbours and glean as much information about you as possible, the funny thing was that she always barged in at the most inopportune times.

"I'm coming!" you exclaimed, taking off your apron and placing it on the counter. "I'm there!"

When you reached the front door you took five seconds to exhale the air inside you, position your dress correctly, take another breath, roll your eyes and expose a wide grin before you very quickly lowered the door handle. We've been talking before about all the turning points that changed your life and shaped your destiny, okay, that was one of them, maybe the most important one of all, the one that set the rest of your life on track.

"Hello Mrs. Fos-!"

Your voice disappeared, your vocal cords seemed to break at that moment, your wide, false smile also vanished as if it had never been on your face, your eyes seemed to have no eyelids and your lungs ran out of air, leaving you breathless. What you saw when you opened that door was your whole life, every moment appeared in front of you as if it were a frame. They say that happens when you are about to die, but it happened to you when the person you had loved had returned from the dead and was prostrate before you. You couldn't tell whether your reaction was the most humane or what someone else would have done in your place because you had never met anyone who had. Soldiers sometimes took long months to return home after the war ended, but it had taken Steve almost four years to do so.

Perhaps there had been hundreds or thousands of times you had imagined that moment, and now you didn't know what to do, your limbs were stiff, you were grateful for it or you would have collapsed in those moments. You kept holding the doorknob tightly, while he stood there on your porch staring at you, not knowing what to do. They were the longest minutes of your whole life, or maybe they were only a few seconds, you didn't know how time worked in those moments, but that didn't matter, your emotions recovered when you looked into his eyes, those blue eyes that you had dreamed of so many nights and they were watery, that was the sign that told you that this was not a dream, it was real life.

The air opened again and passed through your lungs in the form of a gasp, you shared the wateriness of his eyes in yours and in a moment you were wrapped in his arms. You could feel him again, or rather you could feel him around you for the first time. His arms were around your back bringing your body closer to his.

"You're... here." you murmured against his chest almost afraid that your words would make him disappear again.

"I'm home," he whispered against your forehead before kissing it and pulling away to look at your face.

It really was him, you noticed the odd changed feature, as if the years had passed him by more quickly, but there was no doubt that it was Steve. He placed his hands on your cheeks cradling your face, that sensation made you close your eyes as you placed your hands on his. Gingerly, you felt his breath collide against you and the longing for his lips that had haunted you for so many years came to an end.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.

"No, you're home," you murmured, taking his hand and bringing his palm to your lips.

The open windows of the living room let out the melody of the radio, as if it were one of those Hollywood feature films with its own soundtrack. For a few long minutes you stood there on the porch of your house, oblivious to everything around you, oblivious to curious stares or if the chicken was burning in the oven, there was nothing more relevant than the two of you.

After a few minutes without taking your eyes off each other you took his hand and went inside your home, there were no unnecessary questions, no comments that could break the moment, your gazes were pleased to observe each other and as if your thoughts were connected and the person in charge of playing the songs on the radio knew it, one of Steve's favourite songs began to play. Harry James' voice came into the room, giving you the moment you had wanted for four years in your case, but for Steve it had been many more.

“Never thought that you would be

Standing here so close to me

There's so much I feel that I should say

But words can wait until some other day”

His arm found position around your waist and your face found position on his chest. You listened to his heartbeat work to the rhythm of the melody, you could never have imagined ever feeling like this again, you would have made a pact with the devil on too many occasions to feel it. It was so unreal that you had to lift your face from his chest to look at his face again, to find out if it really was Steve in front of you, it was.

“Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It’s been a long, long time

Haven't felt like this, my dear

Since I can't remember when

It’s been a long, long time”

Life had offered you a new opportunity to enjoy it together, and you were never going to miss it.

“You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you

Or just how empty they all seemed without you

So kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time”

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 40

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your captor reveals what he wants with Bucky, and with you.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Witnessing past noncon (mildly graphic), psychological torture, isolation, captivity

AO3

Fear was a constant in the semi-darkness. Despite the man’s words that he would eventually let you go, you didn’t trust him an ounce. You remained hypervigilant, poised on the edge of flight, though you were more than ready to fight for your escape. It turned out, bond active or not, the thought of Bucky being used and enslaved was enough to move you to violence.

But between the dizzying seesaw of fear and anger, you were crushed with a deep sadness. You were worried about your mom noticing your absence. You worried about Monster being left alone, even though he was no ordinary cat and could fend for himself.

Most of all, you missed Bucky. You were grateful he was safe, even though hours before you’d been resentful of his situation. It had been a blessing in disguise, because no matter what he was out of reach of this madman.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him terribly, and that you didn’t wish someone would hurry up and find you, wherever you were.

As you lay on the stone bench, you continually touched the marks on the wall, a reminder that Bucky had been there. It made you feel less alone, but it did nothing to ease the ache in your chest. You’d caught a glimpse of his life under HYDRA’s control, and you didn’t want to think about the things that might have occurred in this very cell.

You had time. Too much of it. Enough to play back the memories of the last three months and how they led you to this moment.

Bucky had been so reticent at the beginning. Distant, aloof and impenetrable wall you couldn’t climb. But you’d caught moments, glimpses past the armor into the man inside. Despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d been as lonely as you were. It had taken so long for him to let you past his walls, and it had been so worth it. Even the moments that would leave their scars, the memories that kept you up at night, it had been bearable with Bucky there.

Now, all you had was yourself. Alone in a prison that smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. At least… that’s what you thought.

You very carefully turned your head, trying to catch the thing you’d spotted earlier in the corner of the room. A flash of green, like the slitted pupils of a cat reflecting the harsh light from the single bulb overhead.

Heart leaping, you sat up and faced the darkness, about to call out Monster’s name… but then you shut your mouth. They were the wrong shade of green, and they were too high off the ground.

Not to mention Monster would never hide from you. No… this was something different. A second set of sickly green eyes you recognized.

“Did he tell you to watch me?” you asked, voice cracking painfully. You cleared it, and nudged the water pitcher with your sock-covered toe. “Make sure I don’t drown myself in this?”

The Alp didn’t respond except to blink its reflective eyes, not unlike the way Monster would when he was listening to you ramble on about your long day at work.

You frowned and chewed on the inside of your cheek. What did you know about this demon? You had assumed it was the same one that had attacked you on Halloween night, but Bucky had killed it, hadn’t he? Then again, you knew from experience that death wasn’t quite so permanent for demons.

Same demon or not, this one had abducted you at the man’s command. That much was true. And what you had also managed to recall just before you’d slipped into unconsciousness was the pained howls of the Alp being punished.

So, in conclusion, it was possible you had more in common with the Alp than you’d first realized. And from the way the man had been talking about wanting to enslave Bucky, it wasn’t a stretch to think this demon wasn’t a willing participant.

Okay. You could work with that.

“I don’t blame you for abducting me,” you said. “Maybe you didn’t even want to, but he made you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The demon said nothing, but it was no longer blinking.

You lowered your voice to a soft, understanding level, hoping the Alp would realize you weren’t the enemy.

“I know he hurt you. Punished you. Probably not for the first time, right?”

No response, but that was all right. The demon only had to listen.

“I can help you,” you whispered, leaning toward the bars. “There are sorcerers in New York, powerful ones who know all about demonic magic. They could free you from this man, or at least protect you. You could be free. We both could be free.”

You took a deep breath, putting all your sincerity into your words.

“All you have to do is get me out of there. Take me back. We could go to the Sanctum together, and—“

The demon finally reacted, or rather, it made a low, saddened noise that sounded suspiciously like a no. And then it vanished with a popping sound, black tendrils of smoke curling in the air where it had been, and then disappearing and leaving the faint but pungent scent of sulfur.

Sighing, you sat back against the wall and tried not to let the discouragement or the cold get to you. Your captor had slipped you a blanket between the bars, but it provided little warmth, metaphorical or otherwise.

You only had to hope you could survive long enough, either to be rescued or to escape. One thing was for certain: it would only be a matter of time until your abductor realized Bucky wasn’t coming.

***

It became a waiting game, one neither of you were going to win.

Time flowed in unpredictable lurches, but you could give a rough estimate from how often the man came back to the room with a pitcher of water and a tray of food. It was clearly prepackaged, maybe even from some kind of military ration, but you still ate it because you needed the energy and he wasn’t going to poison you. Not if he wanted Bucky to be caught in a trap with living bait.

If the man was feeding you three meals a day, then you’d been down here for a day and a half already. You would be missed by now. Strange would be searching for you, and while you didn’t know who this man was, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the head sorcerer.

Or so you thought. On his eighth visit, he returned to the room and put down the folded chair. There was something in his hands. A book. Red, with a black pentagram on the cover.

Horror shot through your mind. You remembered that book: it had belonged to the Russian officer who had once enslaved Bucky. The Colonel. He’d been a high-ranking member of HYDRA, so how had this man gotten ahold of it?

“From your expression, you recognize this tome. But do you know what it is?”

The man, whose name you still didn’t know because he refused to give it to you, watched you with a patient smile. Almost as if you were a child he was teaching at his knee.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it was a testament to your isolation that you were talking to him at all. But after being trapped in the semi-darkness, cold and alone, you were willing to talk to anyone. Even him.

“I do not know the book’s name,” he said, turning it over reverently in his hands. You noticed a thin, gold wedding band on one finger. He was married? “But I know its purpose. It’s an instruction manual, of sorts. A guide in all things demonic. It predates HYDRA, a stolen relic as many things were, and one must have proficient knowledge in Latin to read it.”

His voice was faint, far away as he mused, “A sacred text, written in a dead language, coveted by a doomed cult. There is a lesson to be learned there, I think.”

You let the man speak, the more he did the better it was for you. The last thing you wanted was for the effects of isolation to make you reveal something you shouldn’t.

“With this book, you will be freed.” He leaned forward, his soft voice taking on an eager quality. “Sergeant Barnes will no longer hold sway over you, but that’s not all I offer. With a new master, I can protect him from HYDRA, whatever little of them is left. Or I can protect him from the next group which attempts to use demons. There will always be men who lust for power wherever it resides, and your demon has quite a lot of it.”

You said nothing, resentful that he wasn’t wrong about Bucky in this regard.

“It was quite a journey to find the latest owner of this book,” he continued, apparently not discouraged by your lack of interaction. “It was in the hands of Colonel Vasily Karpov: Sergeant Barnes’ last master. He was in the Russian Armed Forces and one of HYDRA’s top men. Do you know where I found him?”

The man sneered distastefully.

“Cleveland.”

He looked down at the book and slowly shook his head.

“The man who enslaved and humiliated the demon you wish to protect was living not too far from your own home. I’m the one who found Karpov. I’m the one who killed him. Don’t you see? We are allies in this.”

A noise finally escaped you. A dismissive snort.

“You want to make Bucky your slave, and you have the nerve to think… what, that you’re his friend?”

“A friend? No. One does not make friends with a weapon.”

You looked away, grimacing in disgust.

“How are you any better than HYDRA?” you growled out.

“Because I will put Sergeant Barnes to a nobler purpose. He will not be used for cruel or evil intentions.”

“So you admit, you would use him.”

It was a terrible idea to engage with his dangerous man, to nurse his delusions, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting him antagonize you, either.

He gave you a pitying look.

“Sergeant Barnes has been used his entire life, and the US Government was his first master. Drafted into the army, trained to be a sniper, he killed Nazis without compunction. Your sergeant has always been a killer; HYDRA simply unleashed him on their enemies. And I will unleash him onto mine.”

You opened your mouth, the urge to spit venom on the tip of your tongue… and then you shut it. Intentionally or not, he was revealing quite a lot of information, such as what he really wanted with Bucky.

“What kind of enemies?” you asked, tone carefully even. But the man merely stared at you, gave a small smile, and stood from his chair.

“I estimate that Sergeant Barnes should be here soon,” he said. “A demon master without its slave is vulnerable, and if the human inside him still exists and has compassion for you… then he will come even swifter.

“In the meantime…”

He approached the projector in the corner, and your stomach clenched, even as you weren’t sure why. His next words confirmed your instincts were right.

“I have something that will hopefully enlighten you.”

The man flicked a switch and the clicking of the old projector accompanied a square of light cast onto the wall. Distorted images from empty bits of film bubbled up onto the screen until it formed into a coherent picture. An image of the very room you were in, though the camera was facing toward the cell you currently occupied.

The image showed a horrific scene. A ring of men were surrounding someone, their boots and batons striking his curled body. You were sure the man must be dead after a beating like that, but once they stopped and backed away, the bruises and abrasions faded away… and your stomach sank as the man propped himself up.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His muscles were much leaner and less bulky, his face rounder and younger, his hair cut short. He was almost entirely human except for the demonic left arm and a smaller version of his current tail. The wings, the horns, his clawed feet and tapered ears—none of those existed yet.

“I can do this all day,” Bucky said, giving a smile stained red. He was entirely naked, stripped of his clothing, but he showed no signs of intimidation. Even through the tinny quality of the audio you recognized that stubborn tone of voice, and your heart ached at hearing him again, especially in such a dire situation.

“Good, Mister Barnes,” a voice responded from out of frame. His accent was heavily Russian, but he he spoke in English. “Because I am curious as to how much punishment your body can take before it runs out of its stored energy.”

Bucky cursed, and the man behind him laid him flat on the ground with a kick to his spine. Bucky wheezed and curled into a ball again as the men continued to beat him.

You were sure he was going to die. You knew he wouldn’t, but every instinct in you screamed to stop something had had happened over seventy years ago.

The man on the film was speaking as if documenting an experiment, noting Bucky’s healing ability as it slowed, leaving his wounds open and painful-looking.

“If you want to learn about demons,” Bucky cut him off with a snarl, “you can go to Hell.”

Pride surged in your chest. Bucky was a fighter, he would never give up—

The same man who had kicked him in the back now struck the side of Bucky’s head with a baton, and he collapsed hard. Bucky groaned on the ground, his claws digging into the concrete. It took you a moment to realize he wasn’t groaning from pain.

“Sufficient injury past the point of healing appears to drive the subject into heat,” the man behind the camera observed. “Note the expanded pupils giving the appearance of solid black eyes. Does pain turn you on now, Sergeant?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He only eyed the circle of men as they drew closer, and there was something other than wariness in his gaze.

“Turn it off,” you said, voice small and laden with horror. You didn’t want to watch. Didn’t want to see. You’d witnessed enough of Bucky’s humiliation without his consent. It wasn’t right.

“Not yet,” the man said. You couldn’t see his face, covered in shadow as he watched you watch the film. “Not until you truly understand.”

“And when the subject is in the throes of heat,” the cameraman continued, crackling from the old audio, “he produces pheromones that have a drastic effect on men near him.”

Bucky remained silent, glaring up at the men pulling closer. They rubbed themselves obscenely through their pants, clearly affected by the pheromones, but you doubted those pieces of shit needed much encouragement in that regard.

“Perhaps these fine men will assist you with what you need, if you ask them nicely, Sergeant.”

You could see it in Bucky’s eyes. How hard he fought, to resist the urges pulsing through him, and you knew the moment when he gave into them.

Bucky lurched to his knees, grabbed onto the nearest HYDRA soldier, and ripped open his pants.

You shut your eyes tight and turned your head away. If this bastard wanted you to watch, he’d have to force you to do that himself.

But he didn’t come into your cell and force you to watch, and unfortunately, you could still hear the sounds all too clearly. The heated grunts, the obscene wet noises that were uncannily familiar, in a way. You considered covering your ears, but leaving more of your senses blind with your captor wouldn’t be wise, either.

So you opened your eyes and stared at the floor, praying it would be over soon.

It wasn’t. The same man who was filming this torture, who seemed to be the man in charge, taunted Bucky. Mocked him that he wanted to be fucked by HYDRA soldiers until he was senseless.

He was their prisoner, helpless in so many ways, and still this man, whoever he was, chose to be even more cruel than he had to be.

“Who are you thinking of, Sergeant?” he eventually asked. “Your dear Captain, perhaps?”

You curled your hands next to your face, nearly covering your ears. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you shouldn’t!

There was an awful chuckle of laughter at however Bucky had reacted.

“You do hunger for your Captain?” the man continued. “Did he know what you were? Did he debase himself with you?”

You didn’t expect Bucky to answer; you’d seen him caught in the middle of a heat firsthand, and experienced something similar yourself and knew how difficult it was to think, let alone talk.

But he still managed to growl out, “F-fuck you… Lukin. Ste-Captain Rogers… never…”

“Perhaps we will send him a copy of this film: of you reduced to HYDRA’s whore,” the man called Lukin said, a sneer in his voice. “Do you think he would come for you knowing the things you think about him?”

Bucky’s voice was flat, defeated when he finally answered.

“No.”

The rapid clicking of the projector slowed to a crawl until it went silent.

“Do you see now?” your captor asked, his soft voice floating to you from the darkness. “Do you understand what I would be shielding him from? With Sergeant Barnes under my power, he will never suffer from such humiliation again.”

You said nothing and stared resolutely at the stone floor just before the bars. It gave you a decent peripheral view of the room without having to actually look at the man. You despised him. Hated him. More for him using Bucky’s pain to manipulate you than because of your own abduction.

“I won’t help you,” you finally answered, flat but final.

He sighed, taking the reel of film from the projector.

“You will,” he eventually said. “How uncomfortable you are in the process is up to you.”

The swing of the wooden door on its hinges left you in unbroken silence, but in that silence, you could still hear the terrible echoes of sharp gasps and pained whimpers.

Next Chapter

#branded #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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olivinesea · 3 years

Text

Play it Right

a/n: I’m back! We’re in the single digit countdown to the end of this godforsaken school year aghhhh. So excited I can’t even tell you. Here’s some Hotch being sad but trying to be a good dad. ~3.3k

Hotch & Sean take Jack out for his birthday.

Memories of childhood were hard to come by, often only wisps of faded colors that he couldn’t completely resolve into images. There were light drenched afternoons with disembodied fingers pulling up blades of grass. Other partial scenes where dirt stained knees crawled into dark spaces where the world was cool and damp, following a trail of ants as they slowly dismantled some lifeless form. There was the sickened twist of fascination that accompanied the discovery, watching the way it was transformed from something into nothing with only the help of a few thousand tiny insects. Individually inconsequential in size, collectively a force of nature unstoppable as they reduced the abandoned shell into a small drift of feathers. The pale structure stirred and blown away easily by the air displaced when he reached down to take a single one. He dreamed about the ants coming to him, taking him away piece by piece until there was nothing left but traces of bone dust, dispersed by a midnight breeze. For any other child this would have been a nightmare but to him it was a promise. A promise of order and structure, an indication that time did in fact move forward and wasn’t trapped within stagnated pools hiding in the dim recesses of closets. That it wasn’t a continuous loop of threats and tears, of lies worn so smooth they slipped out of mouths unaware. It won’t happen again. He loves you. I love you.

It was far better to let his memories of childhood be lost. Easy enough to do with no one else who had been present at the time around to reinforce them with retelling. No one else to share with over a drink, bouncing stories back and forth, refreshing the dilapidated structures with a new coat of detail. As he let them dissolve they became defanged, passive enough to believe they were not even about him but possibly a story he’d once read and allowed to mingle with his reality. He had always been told he had a vivid imagination, maybe he could allow that to be true retroactively. It didn’t matter anymore anyway. He was still here and none of them were.

Except Sean.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose impatiently. They’d been waiting for Sean for at least half an hour. His brother, never punctual, was cutting it close once again. They were supposed to be taking Jack to the Mets game. Originally conceived by Sean, the idea was floated as a birthday gift for Jack’s tenth birthday—double digits, a big deal for any kid. Somehow this “gift” had become something Hotch had organized entirely, buying the tickets, getting Jack and himself to New York, filling in the rest of the weekend with kid-friendly activities. He’d made it so easy for Sean, all he had to do was show up and he wasn’t even getting that part right. He glanced at his watch again, resisting the urge to double check the time printed on the tickets. It was a baseball game, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they missed the beginning.

He looked at Jack, sitting on the bench, fiddling with the laces of his glove. The glove was a hand-me-down of sorts. He had found it while helping clean out their parents’ house after their mother passed away. Sean swore it wasn’t his but it couldn’t be Hotch’s either, it was for someone right-handed. Plus, he couldn’t pull up any memories connected to it. He’d never been a team sport kind of kid. Too silent, too reserved to fit in with the loud boys who jostled each other playfully and banded together with unnecessary vitriol for the opposing teams. Hotch never understood team rivalries. Of all the many sources of hatred he’d learned, going to a different school didn’t make the list. It didn’t make any sense to create tension, to whip up emotions that had no basis. He knew enough of hate not to go looking for it where it didn’t need to exist.

Rather than argue with Sean about it, he’d taken the glove home and held on to it until Jack was big enough to use it. He wasn’t exactly sure why but he made up a story for it, weaving a collection of happy moments to accompany the time-softened leather. He told Jack the stories he felt he should have had, the kinds of stories fathers should tell their sons. He hadn’t bothered to do this when Jack was younger, hadn’t worried about his son’s perception of the past. But as Jack got older, as life took more and more away from him before he’d even had a chance to be aware of what he had, Hotch felt the need to give him pieces of a family history. He felt they should be stories that would make him feel normal, if that were at all possible with a life like this. Like he was any other kid with parents who were once kids themselves, chasing the same simple joys. He thought it might be comforting, I’ve known happiness and so can you.

Hotch would do anything to make Jack happy and even though it often made him crazy, this meant including Sean in their lives. His relationship with Sean had always been tense. There were several years after Haley’s death, after his absence in the aftermath, when things were beyond strained. Hotch, once he had surfaced enough to feel things, had burned with a white hot anger, tempting him to sever their tie permanently. It was an anger he didn’t trust himself with, strong enough to break through his control without a second’s notice. So he didn’t call, didn’t make the effort he knew was required to pull his brother back into his orbit. He never spoke of it of course but Jessica noticed. She heard Jack asking about his uncle, saw the muscle in Hotch’s jaw jump as he ground his teeth together to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. When she felt enough time had passed, she started to push him in little ways to reach out, to reconnect.

So he’d ended up here, once again, waiting for Sean, unsure if he’d even manage to remember his nephew’s birthday. Hotch was internally cursing his younger brother and considering leaving on the next train with or without him when the younger man appeared. He looked a little disheveled, hair sticking up in odd places, the shirt under his leather jacket not altogether clean. But he was smiling and calling their names, sweeping first Jack and then Hotch into a hug, almost certainly intending to irritate his brother with the uninvited contact. Hotch could smell the beer on his breath and gave him a sharp look. Sean shrugged it off and turned his attention to Jack.

“Alright kid, are you ready for this?” he ruffled the boy’s sandy blond hair as he asked. Jack grinned up at him, nodding his head a little too vigorously. Sean never failed to charm.

Hotch frowned at them. “Come on, let’s get going. We’re cutting it a little close.”

Sean scoffed and made a face at Jack, mimicking Hotch’s serious features, only to stick his tongue out and make Jack giggle. “Relax, it’ll be fine.” He punched Hotch’s shoulder, earning another glare, but they all started walking toward the platform. Hotch followed just half a step behind, keeping a close eye on Jack in the thickening crowd. He watched Sean weave confidently through people, happily becoming the lead adventurer. Hotch, who had regretted this from the moment he’d agreed, felt his stomach twisting on itself, anticipating what kind of unnecessary chaos Sean would lead them into today.

They made it to the ballpark without too much difficulty. With some shuffling, they arranged themselves in the hard stadium seats, Jack between the two men. This checked two boxes for Hotch—in the middle Jack was both protected and protecting him from being too close to his brother. If Sean had been a little tipsy when he’d shown up he could now be considered fully inebriated. He hadn’t stopped drinking beer since they got there. Hotch, already on edge, was exasperated by this behavior. However, his pointed glares got him nothing but a grin and a lifted glass waved in his direction.

Jack didn’t notice, just happy to see his Uncle Sean who was always so fun and wild. He was the only family of his dad’s that he had ever met so there was something extra special about this man, so different from his dad but somehow his nearest relative. Jack was chattering to him about kid things, filling Sean in on all the art projects and field trips and other critical moments of his life. He proudly showed off the glove, talking about how his dad told him of Sean’s skill as a baseball player and how he said he used to go watch his games and cheer him on.

Sean almost spit out beer he laughed so hard at this information. “You’re kidding. Is that the kind of BS your dad is feeding you?” He looked over at Hotch, who might have been trying to literally kill him with the look he was directing his way. “That damn glove was never mine and you know it Aaron.”

Unrelenting in his disapproval, Hotch shrugged slightly, “Maybe I have some of the details mixed up.”

“Details?” He looked back at Jack, “That glove was your dad’s and for some stupid reason he tried to throw it away one day and your grandpa kicked the shit out of him for it.”

“Sean!”

“What?” Sean was an expert at faking innocence. Jack was wide eyed, looking between the two adults, not understanding what was happening.

“Can I speak with you?” Hotch’s words were clipped, gritting them out between clenched teeth.

“Oooh Agent Hotchner, yessir,” Sean sat up straight, faking a snap to attention but the effect was lost as he swayed slightly. Hotch pressed lips together and grabbed Sean by the jacket shoulder, pulling him to his feet and pushing him out into the aisle.

“What are you thinking? Why would you say something like that?” Hotch tried not to raise his voice but he was barely succeeding.

“You think it’s better for him to believe in some bullshit you made up?” Sean spat back at him.

“Why not? I’m protecting him. He’s lived through enough, he deserves to have some happy stories.”

“So you lie to him,” Sean said, voice flat.

“It’s not lying.”

Sean wasn’t playing anymore, he was angry, every bit as angry as Hotch. His face was flushed from alcohol and emotion. He looked directly at Hotch, making sure his words sank in. “It is lying, just like you lied to me.”

“I never lied to you,” Hotch protested but the words barely made it out of his mouth.

Sean laughed meanly. “You lied to me every fucking day in that house Aaron. I saw everything, heard everything only for you to turn around and tell me it was all fine, that our dad was a good man.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his clenched fists. “I thought I was fucking crazy.”

“I just wanted to protect you.”

“Bullshit. You were being selfish, just like you are now. You think you can just change the facts and no one will know, that it won’t affect anyone else. I have bad news for you: we don’t all just exist in this world you made up in your head. Jack is a real person, I am a real person. Refusing to admit what was happening didn’t make it any less real, it just meant that I was alone with it. Just a little kid alone trying to understand why someone who was supposed to take care of me would hurt my brother and why, why my brother would lie about it. Did you think I was stupid?”

Hotch didn’t know how to respond, stunned by the bitterness of Sean’s words.

“I’m not going to sit around while you lie to someone else about our shitty father. What’s even the point of protecting him anymore?”

Hotch frowned, “I wanted you to have a normal life, a normal relationship with him. He liked you. I thought if I could keep that side of him away, you could have the kind of father I saw other kids have. I thought I could give you that.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard. Always have been.”

“Please, Sean,” he tried to find more words, some way to make Sean understand. He’d only ever wanted to keep him safe.

“I won’t lie about this Aaron and you shouldn’t either, Jack’s going to learn everything someday, whether you like it or not. Do you want him to be able to come to you? Or do you want him to be afraid, afraid he can’t trust you to tell him the truth?”

Hotch hung his head. “I’m sorry Sean. I didn’t realize—”

Sean cut him off, “I’m done with this.” Clumsily he pulled something out of his pocket. “Here, give this to Jack, tell him I said happy birthday.”

Hotch wanted to ask him to stay but he’d already turned, walking up the stairs, grabbing the railing every once in a while to correct his balance. Hotch looked at the coin in his hand, a Kennedy half-dollar, remembered giving it to Sean on his tenth birthday. It was the same coin his father had given him when he turned 10, just before Sean was born. He remembered the time of his mother’s pregnancy as being particularly bad. His father had been careful with her, solicitous even, trying to ensure that this baby, this wanted baby, would make it safely into the world. But his temper hadn’t gone anywhere, he simply focused it all on Aaron. He'd had to miss a lot of school that fall.

But then, for no reason discernible to him, his father’s mood had shifted a couple months before the baby was due. He started coming home early, bringing gifts for both of them. Some were even wrapped (by the shop clerk no doubt, but wrapped). The glove had been one of these gifts. It hadn’t fit him right but he had said thank you and hoped he could keep this version of his dad around as long as possible. It lasted until Sean was about six months old. The first night his dad came home drunk and angry, yelling at his mom who just stood there holding Sean, too petrified to move away. Seeing that, the frailty and futility in his mother’s stance, he knew that he had to get in between them. He knew then he would do anything he could to protect his baby brother. Sean was the most perfect thing he had ever seen and he intended to keep it that way. He’d done what he could but all he really knew how to do was lie. It was all he’d ever been taught.

The glove became a nightmare that repeatedly came back to haunt him. His dad would go through fits of wanting to be a “normal family.” He would drag them out to the lake for picnics, would insist Aaron play catch with him in the yard. But he was never coordinated enough and it would always end with his dad frustrated and cursing him. When he was thirteen he started to experience overwhelming fits of anger. They came on suddenly, could be set off by anything. His vision would blur and he would feel a desperate need to lash out against the brutally indifferent world around him. During one of these fits, he threw the glove in the garbage, sick of being humiliated by it. Then, the emotion gone as quickly as it appeared, he promptly forgot about it.

Unfortunately, being an angry adolescent did not lead to the smartest decisions. His father found it in the trash and immediately went looking for his ungrateful son. He’d found him with Sean building tiny forts out of sticks in the back yard. Aaron hadn’t even had a chance to remember that he’d thrown the thing away before it was being used to leave marks on his exposed skin. Hotch wondered that Sean could even remember it, he had been so young. He wondered, too, how he could have forgotten, the sting of his failure to protect his brother from that knowledge making itself clearly felt now.

The coin, however, had been a treasured gift, inspiring him to begin a collection that he hid carefully in the back of a drawer. Something he could pull out and remind himself that there had been good moments. That he hadn’t just imagined them. Looking at his coins offered rare moments of peace in the continuous turbulence of the Hotchner household. When he was twenty and Sean only ten, Aaron had felt guilty for not being around as much. The kid had recently lost his father and was living with a quickly deteriorating mother. So he gave Sean the original half-dollar, hoping that his little brother would be able to find the same comfort in it, maybe even develop his own interest in the hobby. Unsurprisingly, coin collecting never caught on with Sean. He was too loud, too rough to spend hours inside, inspecting tiny characters and noticing slight variations in markings. Hotch had assumed Sean had lost the coin years ago, had even felt a little sad thinking about it being lost. Sean was many things but he never failed to surprise Hotch. He shook his head, clearing the lingering thoughts, needing to focus on what he was going to say to Jack. He turned to walk back to their seats.

Jack watched his approach over his shoulder, “Where’s Uncle Sean?”

“He wasn’t feeling well, he said to wish you happy birthday.”

“You made him leave,” Jack’s small face was contorted into an accusing scowl.

Hotch shook his head, ready to commit to this stretching of the truth but he stopped himself. “He was upset,” he started then paused. He really didn’t want to explain this story.

“Why?”

Hotch rubbed the coin with his thumb, “Well, he didn’t like the story I told you about the glove.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t the truth and he thought that it was wrong of me to lie.”

Jack was quiet, thinking about this. Hotch waited patiently for him to process. “What’s the true story?”

He hesitated, “It’s not a very nice story Jack.”

“But it’s the truth?”

Hotch nodded, the muscles around his lungs constricting too tightly to speak. Jack looked too serious for a ten year old. “Then that’s the story I want to hear.”

A mix of emotion spread through him, partly anger at Sean for forcing his hand, but also pride in his son’s strength. He sighed, “And I’ll tell you, but not today ok buddy? Today is about you and about good memories.”

“Ok Dad but you have to promise.”

Hotch smiled, “I promise. Here, Uncle Sean wanted me to give you this, it’s your birthday gift.”

Jack took the offered object and looked closely, trying to figure out what it was. The metal was aged making the words hard to read through the patina. “It’s…old?”

Hotch laughed. “It is very old, you’re right.”

“What is it?”

“Well, do you want to hear the story of where it came from?”

“Only if it’s true,” Jack replied, a little smile revealing that he was teasing his dad. When had he gotten so mature?

“Of course, nothing but from now on,” Hotch held up his hand in mock solemnity. Without warning, Jack leaned over and wrapped his small arms as far as they would go around Hotch, pressing his face into his chest. Hotch hugged him back, thankful that despite everything, every stupid mistake and unforgivable failure, he had managed to get this one thing right.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #sean hotchner #jack hotchner

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

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One quick question, why do you hate Before the Storm? I actually really liked it. It could be because I'm a hopeless romantic, but I just want to see your opinions on it

Oh boy, where to even begin...? I cannot stand bts... it actually hurts my insides to think about how much I hate this game haha.

[note: yeah hi uhhh... this is long because of course it is, it's coming from me but listen, my feelings for this game are not nice and I have a lot to say so.... my bad]

One of the bigger reasons, though not the biggest, is Chloe... I'm not exactly a big fan of Chloe. At all. Not in the first game, nope. I understand that so many people love her and they have their reasons for that, that's fine, she's just a character who doesn't appeal to me. If anything, she pisses me off because I can see the foundation for such a compelling character, but it all gets thrown away for the sake of bullshit.

So then they plop bts in front of us with Chloe as the playable protagonist in a prequel story about her and Rachel Amber. This is an opportunity to expand on her character, to tie into the first season and make me feel more positive feelings about her character, to do what the first game failed to do..... and to be fair, they DO have a few of them sprinkled in... but then they're overshadowed by the garbage.

It's just... the ideas are there, and they're ideas that I like but they're executed so poorly. I want to like Chloe Price, I can see that there's something good here.

Like okay.... lemme do a thing:

Chloe Price. She's going through some serious shit after her dad dies. He died unexpectedly in a car accident, something Chloe had zero control over, it's not fair, and even though it's not like the universe singled her out and said "fuck you," it feels that way to her.

On top of that, her best friend who she adores? She moves away. Not something that's in either of their control, they're kids at this point. However, Max stops contacting her and that hurts Chloe. Chloe tries to stay in contact, but eventually Max stops responding.

Then you have her mother, who's also grieving after losing her husband and dealing with her daughter pushing her away and on the wrong path. She meets a man and falls for him after realizing she still has a long life ahead of her and that's too long to be miserable over her husband's death, William wouldn't want that, and David is a source of comfort for her... something she's not getting from her daughter. The problem is that David and Chloe don't get along in the slightest... which leads to Chloe feeling like her mom is trying to replace her father by moving on, not understanding why Joyce's timeline of grief isn't the same as hers, y'know?

Oh, and can't forget that Chloe has fallen onto a not so great path of drugs, booze, bad grades, lying, staying out late without letting her mom know where she is, pickin' fights, making friends with drug dealers, stealing money and other items, all that. She's bitter, angry, unable to understand most of her own complex emotions and that only makes her even more upset. She's unable to express them in a healthy way, she doesn't ask for help, and denies it whenever offered.

So... Chloe's starts out as an extremely entitled, rude, obnoxious character. She insults the bouncer in the cringiest way possible because these adult men writing her don't know how teen girls talk, she steals money and a t-shirt from a dude who works for the band because $20? how dare? even though bands don't make a lot of money and a lot of profit comes from their merch but who cares about supporting artists you like, right? Chloe sure doesn't. She probably buys some weed from Frank because yeah, she's got a dependence on the stuff now. She gets into a fight with a couple of dudes after spilling beer on them.... but what's this?

Oh look, it's Rachel Amber. Y'know, the pretty, popular, talented, smart, perfect, charismatic girl from Chloe's school?? yeah, she's at the concert and saves Chloe from the dicks who attacked her, and the two girls spend the rest of the concert together.

Now, for some reason, Chloe isn't sure but Rachel has taken a special interest in her. Rachel is flirty, she wants to know who Chloe is, she asks her to skip school with her, and the two take a ride on a train to a park and... honestly? pretty romantic, and it plays into that escapism fantasy thing of having the pretty girl who everyone likes single you out, making you feel special.

Over time, the girls grow close. Rachel has some family problems and seeks comfort in Chloe. They spend nights walking together down empty streets at night, holding hands. They hang out and talk about the stars, they discuss Shakespeare and what it's like to actually be your true self, if there's actually such a thing. They get tattoos together, and Rachel helps Chloe color her hair. They have a special hideout they decorated together in the junkyard. Rachel spends the night at Chloe's enough that she ends up leaving a lot of clothes there. They daydream about running away together, long road trips and living big in LA.

Chloe starts to see Rachel as her angel because for the first time since Max, she feels like she has someone she can be open and honest with. Rachel almost seems too perfect to be true, y'know?

And hey, over time Chloe actually starts to kinda get her life on the right track, if not in an unconventional way. Sure, she's still dealing with losing her father. that's not something she'll just get over... but she does start making an effort with her mom, and yes, even David after he told her about his time in the army and gave her that photo. They both know they'll never be friends, and they'll still have arguments, but they'll at least keep the peace for Joyce's sake.

It's not all perfect, though. Chloe's still smoking and Rachel isn't always the best influence. They get into trouble here and there, but nothing super serious.

She dropped out of Blackwell so that her mom didn't have to keep paying her tuition and because she's fixated on this fantasy of running away with Rachel. Chloe's feeling good about herself, about her future, for the first time since her dad died.

Until Rachel disappears.

And everything goes to shit pretty quick after that. Rachel's gone, she's not answering calls or texts, and everyone keeps saying that she probably ran away, but Chloe knows better. She knows Rachel wouldn't leave without her, so something must've happened. She makes posters and puts them everywhere, but things only get worse.

Money is tight. Joyce isn't making as much as she needs at the diner, David isn't making enough as a security guard, and hey... they might lose the house... the house that was once Williams, that's a piece of him he left behind. Not only that, but where will they go?

Chloe doesn't want them to lose the house, or for her mom to be this stressed out over food and bills. Chloe borrowed money from Frank in hopes of using it to run away with Rachel, but with her missing... Chloe decides to give it to her mom in order to save the house. Joyce is alarmed that she has this much, but Chloe manages to lie her way out of it to give her mom some peace of mind.

Except now she has another problem- she can't pay Frank back and he's getting more aggressive about it as the weeks go on. Rachel's still missing, Frank's breathing down her neck with threats toward her mom, money is still an issue at home, and she's not in a good place. Chloe's desperate enough to steal... so when she makes it into a bar that doesn't card her and she sees rich boy Nathan Prescott drunk off his ass and flashing bills, she thinks it'll be an easy score. It's wrong to do this, it's dangerous, but Chloe justifies it to herself. She needs that money.

She didn't expect Nathan to drug her drink, and she wakes up to him taking pictures of her. She manages to get the hell outta there, but she still has no idea what the hell happened to her. Like.... that reeeally fucks with her, it doesn't even feel real. She can't tell anyone, she can't tell her mom, and the police won't do anything since they're under the Prescott thumb.... and well, she decides to blackmail him.

And we all know how that goes.

So... we have the highs and lows of Chloe Price. She's flawed, even starting out as unbearable, but over time she becomes more nuanced and you're invested in what happens to her. You want to see her better herself, you want her to work through her grief and get help, you understand why she hates David but when you see him and Joyce happy together and him make an effort to be better, you want to see them make amends. You know David doesn't want to replace William, hell HE knows no one ever could.

You want Chloe to keep going, to find purpose in her life and realize her own potential. You saw her at the beginning when she was broken, when she was lost and didn't see a future for herself, and it's satisfying to see her come this far to where she knows she has a future... something that becomes all the more tragic when you remember her fate in the first game.

You're invested in Chloe and Rachel's romance, you get giddy watching them flirt and do dumb, romantic, cliche things, and you're just as compelled by Rachel as everyone else. No, she's not perfect, she's not a stereotype, she's much more layered than that and it only breaks your heart when you realize that she's killed later on, that of course she's going to go missing... you already know that! So you're watching Chloe, who has gotten pieces of her life back together and is genuinely happy.... fall back down the pit, fall back into the habits she had at the beginning, and you know it will lead to her downfall.

.....TOO BAD BEFORE THE STORM DID FUCK ALL WITH THAT RIGHT?

Nope, you don't get any of that. Well, except Chloe being cringy. You get a lot of that.

No, no, we got edgelord, flanderized Chloe who thinks her wit is much greater than it actually is, whose terrible moments outweigh the good, and who doesn't grow or change no matter what influence you try to have over her.

Rachel could be replaced with a literal barbie doll and little would change. She has no charm, she's nothing like what she was described in the first game, and she's just so fucking unlikable. When she finds out that her mom isn't actually her birth mom, she claims that her whole life is a lie and her parents aren't real and she wants to meet her druggie mom who chose drugs over her for 15 years because she's the one who actually squeezed her out.

Which, by the way, WHY is this the goddamn plot?? Why did they feel like they had to shove in this "oh hey Rachel's dad is the bad guy, oh wait now this drug guy is the bad guy because he stabby Rachel, no wait now her dad is the super bad guy because he put a hit out on Rachel's REAL mom, oh no wait it's fine because Frank murdered drug man off screen" WHY YOU DO THIS??

You have three episodes. THREE. And in those three episodes, you have the opportunity to explore Chloe as a character, and her relationships with Rachel, Joyce, and David. But instead of dedicating the story to that, something you could've created a compelling narrative out of, you threw in this dumb mom plot and fire-

HOW THE HELL DID I FORGET THE FIRE????

What- why did- does she have- Rachel just- RACHEL SETS THE FOREST ON FIRE??? WHY THOUGH???

I get it, "Rachel is the fire" yeah yeah and it's dumb.

Oh and because we didn't have enough going on, here's a side mission where you gotta deal with getting money from this other kid who's running drugs for big bad drug man because he wants to help his dad who lost his job.

But WAIT, there's more- In a series where several girls were drugged by Nathan and Jefferson, forced to pose for pictures, and some even killed or driven to try and take their own life? something taken so seriously...? Victoria gets drugged and it's treated like a joke. Even worse, there is a path that has Rachel drugging her, and no one cares.

ALSO.... Rachel cheated on Chloe with two adult men, remember? One of which fucking murders her?? and we're just... we're just not gonna do anything with that??? Nothing??? Maybe a little stinger at the end but that's it????

I just..... I hate this game so much.

It had so much potential. Not only that, but it had the first game to look at and learn from. Learn from the mistakes that game made and improve upon.... but instead, they fucked up even worse. It's just a game of fanservice that has way too much going on, is trying to do too much, and loses focus on the most important things.

Three episodes could've been enough to explore different points of Chloe's character before the events of the first game. They could've crafted a story that gave more insight into her life that make sense of the choices she made, that turn her into the Chloe we see in the first game. You don't need a forest fire, you don't need evil lawyers. I know the first game had the storm and time travel and big dumb Jefferson, but you wanted to tell a story that's grounded without shit like that... y'know, before the storm.

I could probably go on and on if someone doesn't stop me, so I'll stop myself here... I hate bts because it's potential was there, I could see it in a few key moments, and it was wasted.

The romantic ideas fall flat because being pretty and gay isn't enough for me, I need more than that. I don't care if they kiss because I don't care about their relationship, and frankly, they've done very little to make me care about them as individuals.

UGH

.......does that answer your quick question? haha sorry for the not so quick answer, but like I said, this game makes my brain mad and once I get going, it's hard to stop.

#asks #this game makes my brain mad #ugh

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x-reader-theater · 3 years

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So, I know I mainly do reader inserts but I've shared my slash stuff in the past on this blog, and I wanted to share an idea I came up with when watching Buffy and Criminal Minds with a friend. There are some Major Spoilers for Criminal Minds here and some minor spoilers for Buffy. I'm only on season 2 right now, so this is all very early Buffy characters, nothing for later, but I will add to this when I get there. I hope you like it! And I'm not stopping with the reader inserts! I just had this idea and I had to discuss it with my friend who knows more about Buffy than me and write it down XD

Buffy: Trans Spencer Reid because like, a double subversion just like buffy herself. He lived in Las Vegas with his Mother, Diana Reid, since his father left them when he was a kid. He grew up with his Watcher, Jason Gideon, train him to be the slayer. Spencer goes to school at a normal pace because Gideon doesn't want him to be too far away from the vampire nest that's sprung up and won't go away in Las Vegas. Gideon treats him like a son until he starts getting bullied at school and comes out as a trans man, pulling away and ignoring him, using him like a weapon. After Gideon died in front of Spencer, he resolves to never become the slayer.

Willow: Penelope Garcia. Everyone loves her and she's definitely gay, and she's a whiz with computers. Her home life is nothing special. With two absent parents she practically raised herself with her best friend, Derek Morgan, there to watch over her. She finds out Vampires are real, that Spencer is the slayer, and that he's killed people, no- vampires before all in the same minute.

Xander: Derek Morgan. I love him, but he's also a TOTAL ladies man and doesn't always know the right thing to say. Grew up in a loving home with his mother and two sisters, but was sexually abused by the local football coach and no one believed him, causing a rift between him and his family. He grew up with Penelope, and while they flirt a lot, they never have any romantic feelings towards one another. He also finds out about Spencer with Penelope, hiding behind a bookcase in the library.

Merrick: Jason Gideon. Spencer's first water, he comes from the watchers council, a very conservative group of men taught to train the slayers as they arise. He pretended to love Spencer as a father to get the young boy to trust him, but as time goes on, he drops that facade and backs away, leaving Spencer practically alone. He died in front of Spencer without so much as a goodbye, blaming him for his death, almost permanently breaking Spencer.

Angel: Aaron Hotchner. That one's obvious. He's broody and doesn't get along with anyone but he has a good heart and soul, wanting to right the wrongs he may have committed in the past. He also doesn't want to enter into a relationship with Spencer, despite the pull they have to each other, because of how much older he is, and how much power he has over the boy, but when Spencer reveals he's the slayer, they're on the same playing field.

Giles: David Rossi. But like, a super rich Giles who publishes a lot of books for the watchers and for non-supernatural people. Also he's a such a good dad. He wants to understand Spencer, and will listen when he has problems, even if Spencer is hesitant to open up because of what happened with his previous watcher. He accepts that Spencer is trans and actually does a lot of research on it to help the boy open up more. When Spencer met him, he was conflicted because he wanted to fanboy about ahow he's read every single one of Rossi's books, supernatural or not, but he's also conflicted because his last watcher left him, just like his father, and he doesn't want that to happen again.

Kendra: Elle. People either love her or hate her and she leaves way too early. She's from Italy, having been taken by her watcher when she first showed the signs of being a slayer. She has a hard time interacting with people and more often than not rude and quick to anger because of it.

Joyce Summers: Diana Reid. She supports her son fully and even with her illness she never gets her son's name or pronouns wrong. She's back on medication and doing better than she previously was, but Spencer sometimes still has to take care of her if she has an unexpected episode, causing him to have to forgo his slayerage if his mom needs help. She doesn't know he's the slayer and thinks that him sneaking out (because let's be real, even with slayer powers, that boy has two left feet and would not be stealthy at all) to see friends that he now seems to have, a big step up from Vegas. She moved to Sunnydale for her son, because she would do anything to make him happy and comfortable with himself.

Principal Snyder: Erin Strauss. She's a huge hardass on all of them but Hotch and Spencer specifically. She doesn't know about Spencer until later when he starts destroying things at school, and she hates him. Having access to his records, he knows that Spencer is not his legal name, and knows that he's trans. While she never uses his Deadname, she does pay extra special attention to him, for all the wrong reasons. Also, she knows way more about the supernatural world than she lets on.

Cordelia: JJ, but it's another subversion. She's the gorgeous blonde haired popular girl and everyone thinks she's a bitch but she's actually really really nice if she trusts you. It's hard for her to trust however, so she's curt and rude at first when the Scoobies save her, and she's traumatized from being almost killed multiple times, but when she finds out what Spencer is and that the supernatural is real, she opens up and lets them in, dropping her tough girl facade, showing that she's one of the nicest people ever. It's all a defense mechanism, and she never wanted to be popular in the first place, she was just inducted into the group because she's always been gorgeous.

Oz: Kevin Lynch. He loves Penelope and gets along with her so well. He's also super nice and considerate and nerdy, and can't you see Kevin playing guitar in a band? Also, werewolf Kevin is an amazing concept that I think is a perfect contradiction to his normal behavior, just like with Oz's.

Edits:

MY FRIEND HAD THE AMAZING IDEA THAT HALEY IS DARLA AND I LOVE THAT! Like, Hotch comes to town because some big event is happening and he has to let the slayer know except, uh oh, he doesn't know who that is because the slayer is a girl and the only one who feels like they could be the slayer is a young teenaged boy named Spencer who's definitely not a girl. But he knows that Rossi is the Slayers watcher and Spencer hangs out a lot around him so he tells Spencer what's coming, and because of this big event, his ex, the one who sired him, Haley Brooks comes to town to terrorize him and bring upon this big event. I wanted Haley to still be the sire because how I imagined it was, Haley pretended to be in love with Hotch to get him to do what she wanted, but when she changed him, he realized what she was doing, the demon in him realized, and so he pretended not to, and just started hating her for it, and saw how she didn't love him, and used him.

#Criminal Minds #Aaron Hotchner #Spencer Reid #Derek Morgan #Penelope Garcia #David Rossi #Jason Gideon #Jennifer Jareau #Buffy the Vamipre Slayer #Criminal Minds AU #Hotchreid #Heid #Because Early seasons Buffy/Angel is amazing

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“...The image popular culture tends to present the blacksmith as a solitary craftsman, a depiction I suspect is heavily influenced by the fact that this is how most modern recreation and hobbyist traditional blacksmiths work. Apart from very well-funded and extensive places (for instance, like Colonial Williamsburg, which is one of the few places I’ve seen to recreate a multi-person forging operation) if you go to see a traditional blacksmith, you are likely to see exactly that: a solitary craftsman. And certainly, such small scale operations existed; we see them depicted in artwork but on the balance most forging seems to have been done in teams.

The basic tools of a smithy changed relatively little from the Roman period to the beginning of the early modern; we find the same basic set of tools in both. The core of a smithy was the forge, a charcoal-fueled fire with some form of forced-air induction (a bellows) which allows the smith, by manipulating the airflow, to control the temperature of the fire. Iron bars to be heated are thrust into the charcoal, both to better absorb the heat from the hottest part of the fire but also because that area, just likely the bloomery furnace, will be oxygen starved, discouraging oxidation (and possibly encouraging carbon uptake, in a process we will discuss next week!).

The hammering was done on an anvil. In the Roman period, most of the anvils we see are fairly simple rectangular or circular blocks of iron, although some have nail-holes to support heading a nail (see below). Over time, the anvil’s shape became a bit more complex, with one or two ‘horns’ added on the sides to make it easier to form round shapes with the anvil, along with a hardy hole used to seat hardy tools (also called anvil tools) on the anvil for making specialized shapes. It’s fairly clear ancient smiths had many of these same anvil tools, just not fitted directly to the anvil. I am not sure exactly when the more complex anvil shapes begin to appear; early versions of shaped anvils can be seen in medieval artwork of blacksmiths as early as the 1200s, but I could hardly offer this as a firm date (presumably an expert in medieval iron-working could pin this down with more specificity).

Beyond this, blacksmiths used a wide range of tools. Any good smithy would have a range of particular hammers with different weights and head-shapes for different purposes. There would also be tongs, although smiths preferred to hold the object directly whenever possible. There is a truly stunning variety of tools for making particular shapes and adjustments to the iron: punches (for punching holes), sets (a chisel for cutting the metal), fullers (for thinning the metal), flatters (a wide flat-headed hammer paired with a flat striking base for flattening out the metal), and so on. Blacksmiths were one of the few professions who could make their own tools and consequently any experienced smith would likely have a wide range of tools produced to fit his needs and preferences.

One thing you will not find much of in these smithies, or in the period artwork of them, is much in the way of protective equipment. At most, one often sees aprons (although these are absent as often as shown) in artwork showing blacksmiths; gloves are almost entirely absent. Every traditional blacksmith I have spoken to has simply said that getting burned by the sparks thrown off by dislodging hammer-scale or material thrown as part of the weld is a part of the learning experience and, after doing it enough, one no longer much notices.

But what about the people? Blacksmiths in the pre-modern world were almost always trained through apprenticeship; there was no good way to learn the precise craft – so much of which relies on judging by feel or sight – other than by watching it done and doing it one’s self. In both the ancient and medieval world, it seems that it was common to pay a master smith to take on a child as an apprentice, but craftsmen also generally expected their sons to follow them in their crafts. Apprenticeships were long, with the apprentices working as unskilled or semi-skilled labor in the smithy while also learning their craft.

But a blacksmith who had gone through this training process was a valuable skilled worker and so it should come as no surprise that an effort was made to essentially multiply his labor to get the most out of that skill investment. A master smith might work alone but was more often the center of a team of semi-skilled and unskilled laborers, the most common of these being strikers, who served to effectively multiply the blacksmith’s labor. A blacksmith working with strikers would generally hold the iron with the left hand and, using a lighter, one-handed hammer in his right hand, tap the metal where he wanted the next blow to fall (the strength of this blow – or sometimes a series of blows delivered against the anvil first – signaled the force that the blacksmith wanted); that blow was then delivered to the desired place and power by one of the strikers, who used a heavy two-handed hammer. The heavy blow with that hammer would both move more metal, but also, by using multiple strikers, the team could work more quickly without exhausting themselves.

The maximum number of strikers that might work with a single blacksmith is generally three, but that isn’t the limit of a single blacksmith’s team. He might also have another person tending the forge-fire, working the bellows and watching the heat (a good job for a junior apprentice) and possibly even a second smith (perhaps a senior apprentice) doing semi-skilled smithing work, like barsmithing or nail-making, on a second anvil. For an armor-smith, producing the large quantity of wire required for mail could also be done effectively by unskilled labor (we’ll talk about how that was done next week).

In terms of social status, our sources are clear that blacksmiths, while skilled artisans, still belonged to the ‘lower’ classes, although perhaps quite close to the top of them. Blacksmithing was one of the artes mechanicae (mechanical arts fit for low-status workers) rather than the artes liberales for high status men (though literally “the arts of free-born people”). While the Greeks and Romans had their blacksmith gods (Hephaestus and Vulcan respectively) it is striking that they are often very explicitly treated as lower-status ‘blue-collar’ gods compared to the rest: Hephaestus is ugly, lame and his marriage to Aphrodite is presented as something of a humiliation for her in some versions of the myth (cf. Hermes, the other decidedly ‘blue collar’ Greek god). In Florence, which ranked its guilds by status and importance, the Arte dei Fabbri, the guild of blacksmiths, was typically ninth or tenth, behind guilds of bankers, cloth and silk merchants, lawyers, physicians and such.

That said, within the laboring classes, a skilled blacksmith rated quite highly. Master smiths seem to have had a significant earning premium, even when working on basic goods; Lee Bray (op. cit.) notes that going by prices contained in the Vindolanda tablets for both raw iron and finished nails, a blacksmith making even such relatively simple objects as a set of nails might see 20-30% increase in value over the cost of the iron, even after material loss in production is accounted for. The potential increase for high-status items like armor or weapons could be even higher. Specialist armor- and weapon-smiths, who provided their goods directly to the nobility seem in particular to have been held in relatively high esteem. Moreover, from the Roman period on, we see blacksmiths in larger towns tending to band together to form guilds, both to monopolize the trade but also to wield considerable political influence. We see guilds of these smiths doing things like endowing stained-glass windows on Cathedrals, which speaks to their wealth and influence...

Other laborers in the smithy might not have been quite so fortunate. Apprentices, of course, were proper blacksmiths in training and might one day look to be as well respected as the master from whom they learned their trade. But for the up-and-coming apprentice, the blacksmith’s guild was an obstacle, not a helper; it was in the interest of the guild members to restrict new entry as much as possible in order to avoid competing down their prices, which may have left those who finished their apprenticeships (‘journeymen’ in the parlance), stuck in subordinate positions until age and death opened up space in the local guild for a new master.

Things were worse for the many strikers and other laborers who were essentially unskilled hired hands or even enslaved laborers (given their depiction in artwork, it seems likely many ancient strikers were slaves) of much lower status and who could not expect to be trained into blacksmiths themselves some day. While some strikers were probably apprentices in training, it is quite clear that not all of them were! These workers would also have been far less richly paid; indeed, the entire point of strikers was to have laborers who could be paid very little but still amplify the production ability of the blacksmith himself. We should also keep in mind that the women of the household would often likely have been involved in tasks around the smithy in support of its main operation, although the nature of our sources has rendered much of this work invisible to us.”

- Bret Devereaux, “Iron, How Did They Make It, Part III: Hammer-time.”

#blacksmiths #bret devereaux #history #writing

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alexadru · 4 years

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White Knight - In the dead of the night

It has been two days since what was now known as the Battle for Haven. An event which, unlike the Fall of Beacon, was kept under wraps from the general public, but it was by no means less important.

Two days and the events that transpired were still fresh in the mind of one Weiss Schnee. Her fight against Vernal, against Hazel as well as her near death experience. The memory of her being impaled and the pain that followed was something she had not fully gotten over and yet it felt like a distant memory. Almost like it wasn't even real, but the thought had her lying awake in bed at this moment. It has been hours since everyone went to sleep and yet she still laid awake, the usually familiar sounds of Yang’s snores and Ruby’s occasional mid sleep chirps were now keeping her up after months of quiet at her home in Atlas.

That was a lie, of course. One she told herself to justify her current insomnia. The noises made by Ruby and Yang had nothing to do with the unease she was feeling, with how her mind and body refused to relax properly and fall asleep.

With a sigh, she quietly got out of bed, clad in her light blue nightgown, and tip toed outside the shared room without disturbing her roommates. The girl figured that maybe a glass of water from the kitchen and a few minutes of fresh air from the veranda would entice her eyelids to close eventually.

As she descended the stairs and entered the main living area, she was greeted with a surprising sight. On one of the red sofas laid the familiar figure of Jaune Arc, fast asleep. Briefly wondering why he wasn’t in his room, she quietly approached.

Once next to him, she noticed his discarded weapon and armor on the floor, at least he had half the mind to sleep without them. She couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable it would have been.

It took little time for her to realize what was going on. He had been training late and was so exhausted he didn’t even make it to his bed. Instead, the blonde passed out on the sofa.

As to why on Remnant he was pushing himself so hard after they had just survived the hardest fight of their lives, she had no clue. Staring at the bunny image of his hoodie, Weiss couldn’t help but be confused by the boy in front of her.

They had a tumultuous past at Beacon where he had been a constant annoyance for months with a perseverance unmatched by any suitors sent her way by her father. But then, the dance happened and all that changed. His advances stopped and it seemed that he had realized for the first time that he had been a pest to her. Not only that, he did a complete 180 and even asked Neptune to spend time with her. All for her sake.

Months later, after enduring the insincerity of the upper crust of Atlas, after finally standing up to her father and after surviving being a hostage to one of the most dangerous band of misfits on the continent, she had met him again.

He was different. A lot more subdued and quiet, the tragedy of Beacon forced him to grow and mature, just like her. However, that air of seriousness was something she didn’t dislike.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he started to shuffle, his body adjusted to a more comfortable position with his hoodie riding up on the sofa and exposing his torso. Despite being night time, some light entered the room through the windows and Weiss was drawn to the sight of his abdomen.

She blinked in surprise when she saw abs which were previously hidden by his cartoon themed hoodie. This... this wasn’t what she expected. She did not expect her eyes to stare straight at his abdominal muscles, nor did she expect them to be so defined.

Without realizing, her hand hovered above his skin and, hesitantly, gave a feathery touch. Weiss had no idea what compelled her to act like this, but it was probably related to the unease she had been feeling all night. Yes, most definitely. She was totally not curious about Jaune's abs.

Slowly, she dragged her finger across his exposed body, feeling the slight bumps. He let out a soft groan which nearly froze her on the spot. Fingers left his skin as if it burned and she looked up to see if he had woken up. Mercifully, he was still asleep and Weiss released a breath.

At that point, the rational side of her mind told her that she should go get that glass of water and make her way back to her room. But her thoughts were still jumbled from her tiredness, unease and now an increasing curiosity for the boy in front of her. Against her better judgement, she went and poked his exposed abdomen again.

What started with a poke became more than two and fingers had become hands. The way she could feel the heat of his body under her palm was unlike anything else she had felt. Weiss had never had much physical contact during her life. She had shared hugs with Winter or her teammates, but this went beyond that.

Before she realized, a few minutes later, she was straddling his lap with her hands carefully and eagerly roaming his abdominal region, enjoying the feel of his defined and strong musculature. Her cheeks burned as she continued to feel a warmth spread through her body.

Weiss: "This is so wrong... what's wrong with me? What am I even doing?" She quietly asked no one in particular.

Nevertheless, she got an answer.

Jaune: "Yeah, I'd kind of like to know too." Weiss' blood froze as she slowly lifted her head and finally saw that the boy she was on top of had woken up.

Jaune: "Weiss? ...what are you doing?"

He was looking at her, his blue eyes staring into her own, waiting for an explanation for the treatment she had been administering moments ago.

The girl was at a loss and she felt panic build up inside of her. How was she going to explain this?

Weiss: "This is a dream!" She blurted out.

Jaune: "A dream?" He began to rub his eyes with his palm to shake the tiredness. There was little success.

Weiss: "Y-yes! I am the manifestation of your deepest desire. I am here to fulfill all your p-pleasures with no exception." Involuntarily, her treacherous hands still roamed his abdomen.

As Jaune blinked at her with bleary eyes, Weiss was screaming on the inside. Fulfill his pleasures!? What was wrong with her!? This was not damage control, it was the complete opposite!

Jaune: "I guess that makes sense." Came his tired response, his hand now covering a loud yawn.

Watching him carefully, it was clear that he was still half asleep. How else would he buy her terrible reasoning? Wait… did he just say that it made sense for her to appear in his dreams?

Thoughts began filling her head with possible scenarios in which she would appear in his dreams at night, some which had her cheeks turn red and make her look down where her hands laid on him. That was another mistake because she saw his chiseled torso again.

However, before she could say anything, the boy grabbed her shoulders with both hands, catching her off guard. Weiss was pulled against him, her body laying on top of his as she was held securely by his surprisingly large arms.

Weiss: "J-Jaune?" She muttered, unsure of what to make of his action. A bit of panic creeped up her spine. The girl didn't know if she should wait for him to say something or if she should break free and run to her room. Her mind picked the former.

The silence continued for a few minutes, before Jaune shuffled in his sleep again. This time he twisted on his side, bringing her small body with him, trapping her between him and the backrest of the sofa. It was a wonder how they both fit.

Weiss swallowed some saliva, feeling her heart thump in her neck. The closeness of their bodies was impossible to ignore at this point. The girl squirmed a bit in his hold, but to no avail. She was entirely pressed against his larger and sturdier figure with her chest squeezed against his. It was an uncomfortable sensation, unfamiliar and tense.

Jaune: "You're… safe." Soft, delirious whispers came from his mouth, uttered from the depths of his subconscious. "...I'm glad."

When she heard those words, Weiss' mind put a stop to any other thought instantly. Urged by her feelings, she looked up to see his face. His words, full of emotion, called for her full attention.

Jaune: "So glad…" His tone got unstable as his voice began to crack, almost as if he was about to start crying. "...I didn't lose you too." Still under the impression that this was nothing but a dream, Jaune pulled 'dream' Weiss closer against him, like he was afraid that she would vanish if he didn't.

The rawness of his mid sleep confession hit her like a hammer.

In that moment it sank into her head just how close she had been to losing her life. To have her existence along with her feelings and dreams disappear in a single moment. An agonisingly long and cold moment.

The tenseness and unease she had been feeling was her subconscious trying to process that notion. That she had been fatally wounded and had been moments away from death.

All her training, studying and counselling couldn't have prepared her for the torrent of primal emotions that burst inside of her.

Fear and terror of the likes which nearly crippled her On the spot.

In an instant, her hands snaked around Jaune's back and held onto him like a vice. Sharp nails dug into the material of his hoodie as the girl tried her best to hide herself from the world by burying herself against his chest.

Weiss: "I'm here… I'm still here." She screamed the words in her mind from the top of her lungs, but on the outside they were barely even heard.

Almost feeling her distress in his sleep, Jaune continued to hold her close and be that giant pillar she desperately needed in that moment. With slow motions, he rubbed her back with his hand, his fingers running through her snow white hair comfortingly, giving as much emotional support as he could.

It worked.

Weiss relaxed slowly as she found comfort in his secure hold and the warmth of his body. Whereas before she felt unease from her position, now she practically melted in his arms. Her death grip lessened and now she simply returned his hug. It was an intimate embrace and it was everything that Weiss wanted in that moment.

The exhaustion of the last few days hit Weiss hard and her eyelids grew heavy before she realized. She was finally lulled to sleep by the sound of Jaune's steady heartbeat.

#rwby #rwby white knight #white knight #jaune x weiss #jaune arc x weiss schnee #rwby jaune x weiss #rwby jaune arc x weiss schnee #jaune arc #weiss schnee #rwby yellow snow #rwby yellowsnow #rwby whiteknight #weiss x jaune #weiss schnee x jaune arc

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argumentl · 3 years

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The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 35, May 2016 - Live-streamed suicide, Tokyo governer Masuzoe Yōichi scandal, Celebrity Becky's apology for affair with musician, Female idol stabbed over 20 times

*Trigger warning* Discussion of suicide.

Kaoru starts by saying the layout of the studio has changed so it feels quite different. He used to sit facing Joe, but now they are sitting side-by-side. Joe asks Kaoru how preparations for the Mode of Vulgar tour are going, and Kaoru says at the time of recording this show, they are just about to start rehersals for the tour. Joe asks him if he likes doing rehersals, and he replies that he does not. He does, however, think that rehersals are important and says its better to rehearse, but he also suggests that there is another member of the band who hates rehersals even more, and never wants to do them (Shinya).

Kaoru then reads out the contact info, and reminds listeners that any interesting messages will be rewarded with a sticker. Joe says that Kaoru has been quite stingy with stickers so far, but Kaoru reminds Joe that he did give one to Dobashi last week.

After messing up his lines and blaming it on the new studio layout, he begins his first topic, labeling it a 'taboo story'. This is the news that a woman in Paris had live-streamed herself committing suicide by jumping in front of a train, and since then similar incidents have started to happen in Japan. Joe brings up the book 'The Complete Maunal of Suicide' by Tsurumi Wataru, published in 1993. It became very popular with people under 30. They book describes various ways to commit suicide in considerable detail, but the author Tsurumi actually intended the book as a way to make life easier to live for people (by giving people the knowledge that if worst ever did come to worst, there would be an easy way to end the pain, thus making the present more bareable). In various prefectures across Japan the book was banned for under 18s, but conversely the American/international media interpreted the book as a kind of shelter for Japan's youth. But Joe feels like producing this kind of book is still slightly different from broadcasting your own death. Live-streaming a suicide has no connection to making life easier for people. He says the person filming thier suicide may be consumed by depression, but they are only thinking of themselves. Kaoru agrees with this. He says that as he gets older, he experiences people around him dying more and more. He has also know people who have taken thier own life. He says suicide can cause the people who knew the deceased to fall into self hate or blame themselves, when it is really not thier fault. Despite pouring so much love into a person, a suicide may make it feel like it still somehow wasn't enough, or people may feel a sense of rejection from the suicide, and Kaoru says he cannot forgive this. Joe comments that this topic is really difficult. Kaoru says he cannot understand why someone would broadcast thier own suicide. Is it to stand out at the end, or to influence someone, or for no reason at all? Joe wishes the person would use that energy to continue living, putting it into a more positive direction, instead of using it to film thier suicide.

Before coming to the studio to record the show, Joe says he was having a drink with Tsuyoshi from P.T.P and Teru from Crossfaith. Thier conversation turned to K, the former vocalist of P.T.P who suffered from mental illness, and died in 2013. Tsuyoshi's band member in The Bonez, Jesse, had said he wanted to tell K about all the fun they've had since his death, meaning that even if you really want to escape from your pain, there is still so much enjoyment waiting for you in the future if you just carry on living. Kaoru strongly agrees with this. He appeals to the listeners to strive to get through those tough times, and to do thier very best to continue living.

They welcome Hiranabe for the Tokyo Sports corner next. Hiranabe's first story relates to the scandal surrounding Tokyo Governer at the time, Masuzoe Yōichi. The scandal is based on the fact that Masuzoe was found to have been using large amounts of public money to pay for personal luxuries and family trips etc. At the time of recording, Masuzoe still had not resigned, and Hiranabe thinks he is refusing to resign because if he stays in the job a little longer, he will still get his summer bonus of ¥3800000. Alternatively it could be that if he stayed in the job until the summer Olympics started, the media's eyes would be diverted, and he would get away with it. Hiranabe says that Masuzoe could learn from him. He then tells a story of how he recently took two senior hostesses out for drinks at ¥2980 per hour, which was quite cheap. He was drinking tequila, but then another girl who was sat next to him (who looked just like the celebrity Becky) also said she wanted to drink tequila. Hiranabe couldn't resist and ended up with drinks bill of ¥98450. Thinking he could claim it as expenses, he got out his card, but as it happened he had reached his credit limit on his card, and it got rejected. He couldn't withdraw money from a convenience store ATM, as they were not operating during Saturday nights. Eventually he asked one of the hostesses he was with to pay. He had to pay her back the following day. Joe suggests Hiranabe used the story about Masuzoe so he could link it back to himself and tell his own story.

Hiranabe's next story is about the celebrity Becky, linking on from the girl who looked just like her in the last story. Becky had been in the news previously after her affair with married musician Kawatani Enon was publicly exposed. She disappeared from screens for a while, but as part of her comback she wrote a letter apologizing to Kawatani's wife. Hiranabe laments that this apology was made after Becky had already started tv recordings again. He thinks the apology should have been made first, and that Becky has probably not done herself any favours with this. He says it looks bad, and makes her look too impatient. Kaoru thinks the oder of things probably doesn't make much difference to how people will think of her. Hiranabe says her colleauge/senpai 'Cunning Takayama' will make fun of her. Joe suggests Hiranabe could get involved somehow, and Hiranabe replies along the lines of 'Oh, I'll gladly have some fun with her'. The others laugh at this, as such a phrase can only be read in one way when coming from Hiranabe.

Hiranabe's next news is that 20yr old Idol Tomita Mayu had been stabbed multiple times by an obessive fan just before she was due to perform at an event. The stabbing had occurred after Tomita had repeatedly returned unwanted presents to the fan. Hiranabe says this would usually make a stalker happy, because its proof that the idol has acknowledged thier existence. That fact that this fan got angry about the returned gifts could mean he is slightly different from a stalker, and actually more extreme than a stalker, which is quite scary. He obviously held a grudge, and seemed quite sadistic. Tomita had actually contacted the police the day before the stabbing due to the barrage of threatening tweets he was sending her, but the police did not deem the case urgent. Hiranabe thinks this is one of the worst points about this incident. He says it could have been prevented if police were present at the event, and if they don't change thier response to such situations, incidents like this will keep happenening. Kaoru comments on how this whole incident is really scary. He thinks a future comeback for Tomita might be tough now, although at the time of recording they have yet to see what developments will happen. It has been suggested by some that the fan viewed Tomita as his property, and Joe says the fan's ability to communicate is in question.

Kaoru finishes by plugging his new jingle campaign, and his blog. He then says that the artwork for the new single has been revealed, and it was made by Ameican illustrator Matt Mahurin. He then annouces that there will be three days of movie screenings for the new Budokan DVD, and he plugs his upcoming tours, the first of which is due to start the following week. He ends by saying that tickets are also available for the DSS tour via either the fanclub or general sale, he cant remember which.

Songs - Dir en grey/Child Prey

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #radio

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