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s1eepy-bear · 5 days ago

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‧୨🌿୧ ₊˚ 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲

pairing: robert 'bob' reynolds x ex shield agent! f!reader

summary: you're the new secretary of the team and you meet them for the first time today. among them, a cute brunette stands out.

content: no y/n, silly, fluffy, cute, slow burn

warnings: none

a/n: i thought i would get over being nervous after the first time posting but ig thats not the case lol. yelena is prob ooc. hope you guys like this one

The elevator rises silently, the ground dropping away as the people outside the Watchtower quickly become distant dots. “Here, it tastes gross, but you’ll need this.” Mel hands you a cheap paper cup filled to the brim with room temp coffee. You accept it with a quiet thanks, but groan internally. Who in the world would do this to a new employee? But your boss is none other than Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, so maybe you should’ve expected this.

To Val’s credit, she puts up a compelling front to the public. She spoke confidently in court to Congressman Gary as if she had nothing to lose. When you first met her during your interview, she smiled confidently and greeted you warmly with a firm handshake.

But now, she barely acknowledges Mel when she hands her a piping hot starbucks coffee, fixated on a call with someone important from somewhere important. She was unabashedly thirty minutes late, leaving you waiting around in the lobby area earlier. You wonder if making people wait made her feel powerful.

You sip the stale coffee quietly; the dull, bitter taste makes you wince. Val ends her call just when the elevator emits a soft ding, indicating you have arrived at your floor, though she is still tapping away at her screen with her manicured fingers. Her eyes flicker to you for a moment, then dart back to her phone. “Ah, right.” She mutters dismissively, as though she had forgotten about your existence.

The metallic elevator door gently slides open, the three of you make it a step out, and a blaring POP! Sound erupts. Gold bursts at your eyes, causing you all to flinch, eliciting a gasp from you, and a small yelp from Mel.

“Welcome!” A hulking, tall man in a red Captain America-like suit beams excitedly, his voice booming with a heavy Russian accent on his tongue—the beard on his chin wiry and unruly. His large hands make the party popper in his grip look comically small, and a party hat sits atop his bald head. He stands before all of you, a home-made welcome poster stuck unevenly to the white, pristine wall behind him.

Specks of gold, sparkly confetti, gradually floated over and around you, some tickling your face and reflecting random glints of light. A few pieces clung to your hair and shoulders.

You know why you’ll need that coffee now.

“Alexei, what the hell?” Val loses her temper, her voice full of annoyance, but the man named Alexei doesn’t seem bothered at all. Mel mutters a small “Oh my gosh” to herself with a hand to her chest, attempting to calm her heart.

A short woman with a bleached, slicked-back bob appears behind Alexei, doubling over, howling with laughter, trying to catch her breath. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen your face, Valentina, That was too good!” She wipes away tears from the corners of her eyes with her thumb. All the chaos makes you a little dizzy.

“Real mature, Yelena.” Val scoffs in disbelief.

“We must celebrate new girl!” Alexei gushes boisterously at first, but your stunned silence finally registers after a few seconds, and his excited beam shrinks. “Oh…Uh, sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly to you, clumsily batting at the confetti in your hair and shoulders. “I’m uh, Alexei Shostakov, The Red Guardian!” He perks up again at the end, clearly proud of his title, and you can't help but let out a chuckle at that.

“Yelena. Sorry about the scare,” Yelena, still amused, introduces herself. You remember her as Natasha Romanoff's sister. “We wanted to mess with Valentina, you got caught in the crossfire.”

"It's okay-"

“I swear to god, Alexei, if you just shot something or someone…” A tall, more athletic-looking man with short, dirty blonde hair and neatly kept stubble rounds the corner of a hallway, presumably leading to more rooms. You recognize the person to be John Walker, his shirt seems damp with sweat from working out. His gaze subtly hardens when he spots company. “What’s going on here?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Val rolls her eyes. “This is your new secretary, if you will. She will be working closely with the team, taking care of anything you need.” She gives a dismissive flick of her wrist towards Alexei, Yelena, and Walker.

"You're all theirs," she declares at you, already turning on her heel. Mel offers you a quick, apologetic smile and “good luck” before hurrying after her boss towards the elevator.

You let out a small sigh of relief. As much as you're not a big fan of Val, she is still your boss at the end of the day. It is not unusual to have to walk on eggshells around her. You turn your attention to everyone. “Mr. Shostakov, Ms. Belova, Mr. Walker, it’s a pleasure.” You smile politely and give them your name. You take in your surroundings and suddenly, you lock eyes with a set of dark blue, wide eyes peeking over one of the couches.

Has he…Been there the whole time?

“Oh, um…Hi,” The figure emerges timidly from behind the couch, revealing himself to be surprisingly tall.

Why are there so many tall people here?

He has a head of wavy brown hair, and the ends of his hair curl at the nape of his neck. “I’m uh, Bob.” He smiles bashfully, looking down slightly.

His hand messes with the sleeve of his comfy, oversized sweatshirt rather adorably. The dark blue sweatshirt matches his eyes, enveloping him like a warm hug. He closely resembles a puppy that thinks it’s in trouble and it makes you feel an unexpected warmth towards him.

“Hello Bob,” You can’t help but want to tease him. “you’re cute.”

Bob’s face explodes with redness. Yelena whistles loudly as she makes her way to the kitchen. Alexei barks out a laugh.

“What the hell?” Walker scoffs, acting grossed out. “You just wish she said that to you.” Yelena jokes, to which Walker rolls his eyes at her.

Bob’s mouth opens and closes, busy trying to find an appropriate response. He eventually settles for a small “thank you.”

“No problem...” He lowers his head in shyness when you give him the prettiest smile he's ever seen. The kind of smile that makes his heart beat a little faster.

“I usually…Don’t hide behind furniture…” Bob stammers out, one hand rubbing the back of his neck out of nervousness.

From the kitchen doorway, Yelena calls out, "Since your official tour guide has abandoned you, I can show you around." She walks into view toward you, a glimmer of mirth in her voice. "Unless you'd rather Alexei give you the 'Red Guardian' version. You'll probably learn less that way."

“Nonsense!” Alexei frowns. “What’s wrong with mine?”

Yelena smirks playfully. “She will probably be stuck listening to you talk about your trash ass car for hours.”

“My car is not ‘trash ass’.” Alexei tries to protest, but Yelena has already started pulling you away from the common area. Her grip on your arm is firm but not unkind, and she moves with a swift efficiency that leaves Alexei's complaints behind.

You catch Bob’s eyes when you look back, he gives you a little wave, a timid smile still gracing his lips as the spacious common room shrinks from view.

“Catch you later,” you say more to yourself.

button divider by @/bernardsbendystraws

#robert reynolds #bob reynolds #robert bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #lewis pullman #thunderbolts

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tangerinesilk · 2 years ago

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－ DISTRACTION : DAVE LIZEWSKI

dave was a great study buddy, but there's no doubt he was a distraction. he constantly made you turn your head twice at whatever he said or did whether it was some comic book character he rambled about or how his pale blue eyes shined under the warm lighting of his desk lamp.

pairing ✷ college!dave lizewski x college!fem!reader

rating ✷ r (18+ minors dni!)

tropes ✷ friends with benefits, spicy but no / little plot, unspoken love, domestic toward eachother but no dating, dorky and awkward people in love who just wont admit it theyre in love (sort of) | nsfw warnings below!

word count ✷ 1.7k

a/n ✷ um this was a random thought and it just sort of happened. stg it feels like i blacked out while writing this KSKFFKS what is going on with me. anyways been wanting to write about this cute dork for a while and why not make it really hot. posting now so i dont chicken out but ill edit later.... i always love feedback! xo

[ steamy warnings: mentions of public sex, dom & sub switches, p in v without protection, nipple play, hj + bj, f receiving oral from m, praising + heavy dirty talk, face sitting, finishing inside v ]

typical weekends: saturday night at dave's apartment.

dave was explaining something... it was something. something important, but all you could focus on was his pretty eyes and how soft his lips looked today. he pushed his glasses up more on his nose bridge again, looking down at his book for one of his college classes.

he was so into the subject, you didn't even have to nod. you were occasionally tapping the eraser end of your pencil against your blank notebook, only listening to every other word.

suddenly, your mind wanders to when you two were doing laundry at three in the morning and got a little spontaneous. then getting a bit handsy on the top floor of the library where no one usually was. maybe even the time when you were visiting him back home for one weekend and you both could barely keep it together with company downstairs.

ever since you both agreed on this friends with benefits agreement, your dry spells were no longer an issue. it seemed like both of you were touched starved, but not wanting to meet other people, strangers you didnt want or need to know.

so, after becoming lab partners in your fall semester of senior year, its been nonstop seeing each other. not just for sex, but hanging out to study, going to local comic book stores and libraries, even the occasional dinner and sleepover combo at his apartment or yours.

it seemed like a wild card at first, but you would never admit (outloud) to dave lizewski that you underestimated how great his tongue felt inside your pus—

"y/n, are you even listening?"

you cleared your throat, "hmm?"

he chuckled, "so you weren't... i know, its kind of boring."

now you felt bad, caught up from going down memory lane and he was excited about his new class.

you ran your hand over his curls, "im sorry, dave. my mind was wandering."

he turned, seeming interested, "about what?"

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, "about... you know..." you trailed then shrugged, "stuff."

dave smiled, "oh yeah? you weren't, i dont know, thinking about me?"

you had seen this confidence grow inside dave as more time passed, and you weren't sure if it was cockiness, but you couldn't deny how cute yet attractive it was on him.

"why dont you go back to what you were rambling about? please. im all ears now." you lean in, placing your hands underneath your chin with your elbows on his desk.

its ironic how his full size bed was behind the two of you yet here you are, acting like this was the first time you've hung out.

he pressed wet kisses against your inner thighs, your clit aching for his mouth as his nose brushed against your skin. he'd let out a nervous chuckle as he noticed the wet spot forming on the center of your panties. you'd bite your bottom lip as he licked his lips, in awe of the mess you were for him.

dave pulled down your panties, shuffling them down your ankles before tossing them to the side. his strong hands run up the top of your thighs before holding your hips, pulling your core closing to his mouth. after his first, yet hesitant, kiss on your clit, you let out a faint moan.

soon his tongue was running over your open slit and tasting your sweet wetness. you arched your back, leaning back on his desk as he flicked your clit a few times. when he pushes his tongue inside you, a rush of heat runs over your entire body. you caress your own breasts and pull at your own nipples as he picks up his pace.

"fuck... god, yes. eat my fucking pussy." you whimpered. he got so weak when you uttered your sweet nothings. as dominant as he thought he presented himself, dave was a sucker for you.

just when you thought it couldn't get better, he slide his two fingers into your slit as his tongue flicks your swollen clit. you told him how you love when he curled his fingers inside you, knuckle deep and gathering your wetness every pump as he brought you closer to your orgasm.

your hips grind against his mouth and hand, painfully near your climax. he cursed under his breath as he felt your pussy clench around his digits. he pulls his mouth away from your clit, trailing more kisses over your stomach then rolls his tongue against your right nipple.

his hand still worked your slit, thrusting so fast that your head was spinning along with the pleasure of him sucking your erect nipple. you glanced down, seeing how his hard pressed against his khakis. just the thought of taking his cock into your mouth made you dizzy, bucking your hips against his fingers.

"yes... make me cum. i wanna fucking cum on your fingers." you muttered under your breath, pulling at his curls. dave's knees were giving out as he held his position but he loved to hear your continous begging.

he was about to see if he could pick up his pace before your hand reached down, sliding into the front of his stained pants and caressing his hard cock. he grunted against your chest, instantly weak from your touch which made him pause.

"hmm, what about i cum on your cock instead?" you giggled as your lips met his, "it's so hard... bet you've been thinking about cumming inside my tight pussy, huh, dave?"

he sighed, "shit..."

"that's what i thought, baby." you say before taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting your own cum. he takes a mental picture even though you've done this in your previous hookups.

you hop off the desk, playfully pushing him on his twin size bed. you slowly get on your knees, running your hand over the crotch of his pants that were already unbuttoned and half unzipped. it's easy for your pull his cock out, practically springing from his briefs.

his eyes are glued to you as your tongue runs up and down the base before wrapping your lips against his red tip. you half-giggle when you taste his pre-cum, then carefully take him all in your mouth. you gag a bit as his tip pushes further in, and he groans when your throat tightens around him.

you push your tongue out to make sure your teeth dont graze his cock as you deep throat him, incredibly slow, so he can watch in awe. he leans up on his elbows, falling apart as you take him in your mouth so easily and your hand pumping the rest of his base.

"fucking christ... fuck." he muttered, his dick twitching inside your mouth as your salvia runs down when you gag on his hard.

his hand runs over your hair, gathering it together to keep it out of your face— also to have a better view of him receiving one of the best blowjobs you've given him.

when you pull your mouth away, you giggle as you pump his cock with your spit lubricating for better motion. his face screws together the faster you pump, and he can barely take the pleasure.

"hmm, i bet you wanna cum on my face... and tits. but, i want you to cum inside me." you say as you but your bottom lip, running your thumb over the cum leaking from his tip.

"me too, baby. fuck!" he grunts, and it makes you smile at how much of a mess he is too.

you rise from your knees, relieving the pressure on them before straddling him on his bed. you pull off your top, tossing it on the other side of the room as he quickly peels his shirt off as well. his big hands run up your body, over your breasts once more as his thumbs move against your nipples.

"god, i want to feel every inch of your cock... so, don't stop until you're finished." you tell him as you run his tip agaisnt your slit before slowly sinking down on him.

"babe, shit... fuck." he whimpered, his fingers pressing into your hips as you arch your back.

"god, im so tight." you moan, "your cock is so big... can barely fit you inside me." you huff, your eyes closed shut as you slowly move your hips.

soon, you meet a nice pace of bouncing on his cock and he loosens up as he watches you move up and down. his bright eyes keep moving between looking at your tits and your face, completely amazed by your beauty.

you run your hands over his toned chest and abdomen, leaving light scratches on his skin from the waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body.

"dave, im gonna cum. oh, oh! i'm gonna cum." you announced to him and he was holding off anyways, his jaw clenched his much that it was beginning to feel painful.

as you arch your back and let out a long whine, he stills his hips as his warm cum fills you up. it was the first time he was fully inside you, and you were aching around his cock, feeling it throbbing against your walls.

he leans up, leaving a soft kiss just above your breasts before you two share another kiss. you can't help but giggle, both of you feeling that sudden hit of exhaustion.

you lift yourself from your cock and cum runs down your slit, letting him see the mess he made. dave smirks, expecting him to say that he'll get you a towel but instead licks his lips and starts to lean down between your legs again.

it was like deja vu. his tongue presses against your swollen slit, tasting your mixed cum before sucking on your sore clit. now you're so sensitive to the touch, you could orgasm again at any moment. he was so in tune with your body that he knew what pace to go and how long you could actually lasts.

you run your hands over your breasts, his tongue moving so perfectly between your slit and clit. you feel his press a light kiss against the area above your pussy before trailing more kisses up your body. then, you two shared another kiss, tasting each other's tongues once more before he laid next to you.

"you know, i've never had a study partner like you." you jeered, pressed a kiss against the start of his jaw.

he blushed, "me neither..." he raised his eyebrows, "trust me."

#dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski smut #dave lizewski x you #kick ass

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muwapsturniolo · 3 months ago

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Anxiety ⚠ M. Sturniolo

"so why do i feel like my life is a mess...? everything seemed so good."

⟢ ANGST!!!! obviously, this has to do with anxiety. in no way shape or form am i trying to glorify anxiety or romanticize it. this more so is me projecting but also taking inspo from other sources that have expressed the way their anxiety takes form.

divider cred @bernardsbendystraws

The party started off fun.

He was having a good time, surrounded by people who were his friends, along with a few new faces. He had a drink in his hand, a smile on his face, and overall good energy.

Nothing could bring him down, he was on top of the world.

He was standing with Chris and two other girls, all of them laughing and talking with each other.

Time seemed to suddenly stand still when he made eye contact with a girl across the room. She was pretty, a diamond in the rough, Matt thought to himself. However, there was something off about her, something he couldn't put his finger on.

All he knew was that the closer she got, his palms grew sweaty, the grip on his cup tightening. The air in the room felt suffocating, his chest getting tight as he tried to breathe. He felt stuck, like there was a human-sized fly trap keeping him stuck in place.

She approaches him with an eerie aura, everything around her turning into visible static that he could feel in his limbs. The red flags in his mind were waving at a concerning pace, warning him that danger was near. She looked him up and down, her black beady eyes judging his attire and what seemed to be everything about him.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly, she leans in, her shockingly cold breath fanning over his face.

"You don't belong here."

Her simple yet harsh statement sent his mind into overdrive, every rebuttal he could have given dying in his throat before he could make a sound.

"Look at you, trying so hard to fit in with these people when they don't even want you here. You try so hard, and yet you still manage to be a loser. You've been nursing the same drink for hours, you look a hot mess, and you're pathetic attempts at flirting are comical. You keep trying to be like Chris, and you never will be, he's better than you."

His chest gets tighter at every blow she lands, his hands starting to shake. His mouth starts to feel dry, the need for water or any type of liquid is strong, yet he remains stuck in place.

What is going? Who is this girl? Why is Chris just letting her say these things to him and not stopping her?

"Look around Matthew, everyone's looking at you, judging everything about you. You should leave before they start poking fun in your face. Who knows, maybe Chris will join in, after all, you've been attached to him like a puppy, seeking his attention and validation."

His eyes dart around the party, his tremors growing worse seeing everyone looking at him.

Meanwhile, Chris was starting to grow concerned. He noticed the way Matt zoned out, staring off into the crowd of people. He noticed the way his breathing had become labored, his face turning almost green as if he was going to be sick. He noticed the way his hands started to shake, the way he swallowed harshly.

He tried to get his attention, nudging him softly, saying his name, even waving a hand in front of his face, but nothing worked.

"Matt!" He finally shouts, drawing the attention of most people.

It seems like the air is punched back into Matt's chest, a loud and harsh gasp leaving his mouth as he snaps his head towards Chris. Their eyes meet, Chris's filled with concern while Matt's hold fear.

"Bro I've been saying your name for like the past five minutes, you good?" Matt goes to answer, but the words die in his throat once more as he sees more people staring at him.

He couldn't do it.

So he quickly left the party, his drink tumbling to the ground as he fled, ignoring the way Chris shouted for him.

A few days later, the three brothers sat in the car parked across the street from a random gas station. They were filming a video and everything was going smoothly until things took a turn.

Chris and Nick, the more passionate ones, had started arguing over who knows what. Matt had tried to intervene, finding the whole thing funny and laughing out. However, Chris and Nick weren't listening, continuing to speak over him.

He catches a glimpse of something moving out the corner of his eye, his eyes darting towards the windshield.

His blood runs cold seeing the same girl from the party, her talon-like fingers sending him a daunting wave. He swallows harshly and rubs at his eyes, hoping that his mind was playing a trick on him. When he looked back at the spot, the girl was gone. He visibly relaxes, letting out a sigh of relief and closing his eyes briefly.

He only has a millisecond of peace, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Matthew."

His eyes dart open, immediately landing on the rearview mirror.

All the air leaves his lungs when he sees the familiar black beady eyes staring deep into his soul.

How was she in the car? Who was she? Why aren't Chris and Nick freaking out over this stranger being in their car? He tries to speak, the urge to voice his panic strong, but he gets shut down by Nick.

"Shut the fuck up Matt!''

"See Matt? They don't want to talk to you. They don't even care about you. You're nothing but a pest, an annoying pest who they have to call their brother. I'm sure if they had the chance to continue their career without you, they'd take it. You bring nothing to the channel, besides being a driver that is, that's why they keep you around. otherwise, you're useless."

She says her words nonchalantly, like her words were so right and it was no big deal. She said her words as if they weren't sending him into distress.

"T-thats not t-true..." He says softly, basically a whisper.

She chuckles, pushing her body off the seat and leaning closer so she can whisper in his ear.

"You see the things people say online, your so-called fans calling out your lack of effort. You've heard the way Chris and Nick call you out. you've heard the things they said."

"N-no ... N-no that's not right..." His argument was weak, he and the mysterious girl knew it.

"When are you going to stop lying to yourself?"

"Why are y-you doing this?"

He refuses to turn his head, scared to meet her face to face, knowing she would end up haunting him in his dreams.

"Because...You need to hear the truth, Matthew."

His fingers clench around the wheel, his knuckles turning white with how much tension there is. He's so caught up in the mentally draining conversation he's having, he doesn't even notice his foot starting to push down on the gas pedal, the speedometer reaching 70.

"The people you surround yourself with, the people you call friends and family, they don't like you, they don't want you. They lie to your face Matt, I'm only telling you the truth."

She so convincing without even trying.

He finally turns his head, his blue eyes meeting her dark ones. That same menacing smile makes its way onto her face when she sees the look of realization in his eyes.

She sits back in her seat, waiting for everything to finally play out.

Nick and Chris suddenly realize the sound coming from the car, seeing Matt's foot on the gas pedal as his hand is wrapped around the gear shift.

They freak out, Matt flinching as their yelling is now directed towards him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you trying to kill us?!"

"Why the fuck are you acting like a dumbass?! What is wrong with you?!"

His breathing becomes labored, knowing that his brothers are mad at him and "hate" him, being too much to handle. He begins to spiral, basically falling out of the car as he swings the door open, ignoring the way Chris and Nick shout for him to come back. He quickly makes his way into the gas station, missing the way the static figure trails behind him as he heads straight for the bathroom. He slams the door shut and locks it, flinging himself into a corner as he tries to breathe. The salty tears pooling in his eyes make him clench them shut.

"Shhh, it's ok Matt, I'm here."

Her voice, her siren-like voice, rings out in the bathroom. He flinches feeling her cold arms embrace him, her attempts at comforting him feeble but somehow working.

"It's ok, it's all going to be ok. I'm the only real friend you have, the only friend you need. it's all going to be ok."

And she was.

She was the only friend he had now, watching over him constantly, haunting him.

He shut everyone out, blocking most of the numbers beside his family and deleting them. He shut out Chris and Nick, leaving the two confused.

They knew he was struggling, Chris telling Nick about the party and how Matt just freaked out. They came to the conclusion that his anxiety was getting bad, they just couldn't understand why it was, or why it happened so quickly.

He stayed cooped up in his room, refusing to leave the house. he also refused to film, leaving the other two no choice but to upload without him. They begged and pleaded for him to come out of his room and spend time with them or film, but each time, they were met with harsh words.

The words hurt, but they didn't give up.

But it seems like Matt did.

He lays in bed staring at the wall with a blank look, the messy room reflecting the mess he called his mind. He feels the bed dip behind him, the all-too-familiar coldness embracing him.

"Isn't this better?" She voices, her nimble fingers tracing his ink-covered arm.

He says nothing, but his silence is loud.

"You don't have to worry about the hate from those fans now. You don't have to worry about the fake friends judging and using you. You're finally at peace now."

She tries to convince him this was right, that this was the best outcome for him, but he can't help but feel like this was wrong.

"So why do I feel like my life is a mess...Everything seemed so good."

He turns towards her, his bloodshot eyes tracing her blurry figure.

"It wasn't good..."

"But it was..." He bites back.

She becomes angry, her fingers suddenly holding his arm tightly. "No it wasn't Matthew. I thought we have been over this, stop lying to yourself!"

He feels this anger form in his chest, an anger he's never felt before. He jumps up from his bed, standing over her with a look of disgust.

"you're lying! Everything was fine until you came along! It wasn't perfect but it was fine! You appeared out of thin air and turned everything to shit!"

"I have never lied to you! Any and everything I said has always been your own thoughts just voiced out loud!" She screams at him, her voice booming and making the ground shake.

He stumbles back, falling to the ground and curling into a ball as she shouts every negative thought he's ever had into the air. His raw and bitten fingers tangle in his greasy and messy hair, tugging at the strands with such force that he can feel the clumps falling out.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" He begins to scream, his voice raw as tears form in his eyes.

He couldn't handle it anymore.

"Chris, Nick!" He sobs out for his brothers.

The two had heard him talking to himself, giving each other worried glances. But when they heard the shouting and the panicked call out of their names, they jumped up and ran to him. They burst into his room, tripping over each other and the things on the floor as they rushed over to his crying form.

Their stomachs drop seeing him curled up in a fetal position, his eyes bloodshot as he continues to sob and dry heave. They fall to their knees and wrap their arms around him, trying to bring him some type of comfort.

And it works.

They were warm, unlike the mysterious girl with beady eyes who was always cold. He could hear their heartbeats, their words of tender love and care, feeling like a breath of fresh air compared to the harsh words that had been spewed towards him for months.

"I-I'm sorry I-" Nick cuts him off, hugging him even tighter. "Shh, it's ok, it's fine, you're going to be fine, we are going to be fine."

"We got you, you know we always got your back. We're triplets, it's the best bond to have." Chris adds on, wiping Matt's tears away.

"I-I need h-help, I don't w-want to keep feeling like this." Matt says, shaking, still trying to catch his breath and reel himself in. Nick and Chris eye each other, nodding softly before focusing back on Matt.

"We'll get you help, whatever you need to be ok."

The reality was he was still drowning, the cold and harsh waters filling up his lungs and dragging him down, but he was close.

He was close to reaching the surface and he would continue the fight for air.

He stares into her eyes, letting her know this fight isn't over but he plans on winning.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #Matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt girl #matt sturniolo imagine #Matthew sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo angst #angst #matthew sturniolo angst #sturniolo angst

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wolvietxt · 6 months ago

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𝓒HAPTER 𝓞NE !

series masterlist taglist form pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : injury detail, heavy angst, trauma, reader has a flawed regeneration mutation, arguments, reader has lots of scars (mentioned throughout), a lot of time shifts wc : 5.3k 😈 a/n : chapter one! hope you guys enjoy, will try and get chapter two out before the end of the week, fill in my taglist form (linked above) to be tagged in the rest of the series :3

the scars never really faded, no matter how much time passed. your regeneration didn’t work like the flawless kind you’d read about in comic books - clean, seamless, leaving no trace behind. instead, your body mended itself in a patchwork of silvered lines and raised ridges, crisscrossing your skin like a roadmap of every mistake, every fight, every loss.

people stared. even when they didn’t mean to, their eyes would flicker over your arms or collarbone before quickly darting away. you could feel it in the way they shifted uncomfortably, their gazes tinged with pity or fear.

you didn’t blame them, not really. you had grown used to it, the way your appearance seemed to speak for you before you ever opened your mouth. it was easier to keep your head down, let people think whatever they wanted, than to explain everything.

your mutation first showed itself when you were thirteen. it was a normal school day, one you barely remember apart from the incident that changed everything.

gym class had always been your least favourite. the whistles, the shouting, the echoing clang of equipment - it was overwhelming, a chaotic mess that you dreaded every week. that day, the teacher had insisted you try the balance beam.

you climbed up reluctantly, your sneakers squeaking against the polished wood. your arms wobbled as you stretched them out for balance, your breath shaky with concentration. step by step, you made it across, relief flooding your chest as you stepped down.

you never saw the edge of the metal bench sticking out.

your foot caught, sending you sideways. the fall was fast, the sharp edge of the bench catching your side before you hit the ground hard.

at first, all you could feel was shock.

then the pain hit.

it was searing, white-hot and sharp enough to knock the air from your lungs. your hand flew to your side instinctively, and when you pulled it away, your palm was slick with blood.

the gym teacher’s whistle blew sharply, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of your classmates. someone screamed your name, but the sound barely registered. the world felt muffled, far away.

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a soft, panicked wheeze.

then it happened.

at first, the pain dulled - not completely gone, but less overwhelming. a strange warmth spread through your side, accompanied by a tingling sensation that made your skin crawl.

you looked down, and your stomach flipped.

your skin was shifting, the torn edges pulling themselves together in jerky, uneven motions. the bleeding slowed, the exposed muscle knitting itself back in place.

it wasn’t clean or seamless. the new skin was raw, red, and puckered, the kind of scar that looked like it belonged to a battlefield, not a middle school gym.

“oh my god,” someone whispered.

the gym teacher rushed over, her face pale as she knelt beside you. “stay still,” she said, her voice trembling. “help is on the way.”

the ambulance ride was a blur, your parents' faces even blurrier when you saw them in the hospital waiting room.

your mom hugged you tightly, her arms trembling, while your dad stood stiffly in the background.

you thought the worst was over. you were wrong.

later that night, sitting at the kitchen table, you tried to explain what happened.

“it wasn’t me,” you said quietly, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of a napkin. “it just… happened.”

your mother didn’t respond right away. she looked at you for a long time, her expression somewhere between disbelief and fear.

“you’re one of them,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

the words hit like a slap. your father didn’t say anything. his jaw was tight, his hands gripping the back of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white.

“we’ll figure this out,” your mom said eventually, though her tone was more for herself than for you.

but they didn’t.

at school, the whispers started almost immediately. someone must have told.

“mutant,” a boy sneered as you passed in the hallway, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

the word clung to you, sticking like glue no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

your classmates avoided you like the plague. even your closest friends began to drift away, their excuses flimsy and half-hearted.

“my mom says i shouldn’t - ” one girl began, then stopped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

you stopped asking after that. stopped trying.

instead, you withdrew.

your parents weren’t much help, either.

your mom tried, in her own way. she asked how school was, offered to drive you to and from classes, but there was always a tension beneath her kindness, a stiffness in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

your dad barely spoke to you at all.

he would sit at the dinner table, reading the paper, his face hidden behind the rustling pages. when you tried to make conversation, he would grunt in response, his answers clipped and distant.

you knew it wasn’t anger. it was fear.

the scars kept coming.

every time you tripped, every scrape and bruise, every accident - they all left their mark.

your body healed itself instantly, sure, but not without a price.

you stopped wearing short sleeves altogether, the constant stares too much to bear.

you spent most of your time alone after that. books became your solace, a way to escape into worlds where people like you were heroes instead of freaks.

fantasy novels, mostly. you devoured stories of knights and sorcerers, of battles and triumphs.

but no matter how many books you read, you couldn’t escape the weight of your own reality.

some nights, when the house was quiet and the walls felt like they were closing in, you would cry softly into your pillow, the ache in your chest too much to hold back.

you learned to hide your emotions, too.

the last time you’d cried in front of your dad, he’d winced, like the sight of your tears was physically painful.

“you have to be stronger than this,” he’d said gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “people like you don’t get to be weak.”

it wasn’t fair, but you listened.

by the time you were eighteen, you’d learned two important lessons.

first, people would always see the scars before they saw you.

and second, no matter how much you tried to hide them, the world would never let you forget what you were.

🌀 a few years later…

you never understood why they did it. your parents - the people who were supposed to protect you, to love you unconditionally - were the very ones who handed you over.

it happened when you were still too young to grasp the full weight of what was happening, too naive to know the horror you were about to face. they’d told you that it was for your own good, that it was necessary. they said the facility would make you better - make you stronger. they promised you’d be safe there, that they’d be right outside the door if you needed them.

but when you reached the gates of the compound, you saw their faces - familiar but distant - before the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind you. they didn’t even try to fight it. they didn’t look back.

you were a child, small, innocent, and vulnerable. you couldn’t have known what was coming.

they called it the program. they never told you exactly what it was - never explained the tests, the injections, or the experiments. but you could feel it all. every sharp prick of the needle, every invasive procedure that left you raw and trembling. it was all about control, about making you something they could manipulate, bend to their will.

they trained you like an animal. they broke you down piece by piece, until you barely recognized the person who looked back at you in the mirror. the pain of the experiments became a constant hum in your body. your mind, too, slowly dulled as they erased the parts of you that once made you human.

they kept you in a cage, a box that was your world. your only companions were the cold walls and the sterile air, the only sounds the occasional voices of the guards, their footsteps echoing down the hallways.

in those dark moments, you questioned everything. who were you, really? what were you becoming? you couldn’t remember your life before the compound, couldn’t recall a time when you weren’t a part of their twisted plan.

then, one day, something changed.

you’d been in that sterile room for weeks, if not longer. and when you heard the familiar click of the door unlocking, you thought it was just another round of tests - another round of pain. but when the door swung open, it wasn’t a scientist or a guard standing there.

it was a man - tall, broad-shouldered, with a harsh, unreadable face. he wasn’t one of them. he was different.

he was here to take you.

he told you his name, though it didn’t mean anything to you. he said they were going to break you out, that you were free now, that they had no more hold over you. but nothing was ever that simple. nothing was ever as easy as it sounded.

he led you down cold, metal hallways, past security, and through doors that felt like they might be your last. every footstep echoed in the silence, and with each one, you thought maybe it was a trap. maybe they were going to drag you back to that cage.

but it never came. instead, the man pushed you further into the complex, until you found yourself standing in front of an exit - a set of heavy doors, marked with nothing more than a simple code on the screen.

this was the moment, he told you. this was your chance to run.

you ran.

your legs burned, your lungs ached, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the feeling of freedom was overwhelming, and it was all you could do to keep your mind from drifting back to what you’d been through. you pushed it away - the fear, the anxiety, the voices in your head telling you that you were still a prisoner in your own skin.

but when you reached the gates of the facility, there was no escape. no one was there to help you.

just when you thought you were free, the men in black uniforms emerged from the shadows, surrounding you in a circle, blocking every exit. you knew then that this was never going to be over. they weren’t going to let you go.

and in the middle of it all, your mind flickered back to your parents. why? you wondered. why did they do this to me?

their faces were cold in your memory now, distant like they had been the moment they handed you over to the program. you weren’t their child anymore. you were just a project.

but you didn’t have time to think about that now. the fight wasn’t over.

you’d escape this, too. you had to.

the compound was chaos - loud, frantic, and disorienting. alarms blared in every corner of the facility, the sound nearly overwhelming your senses. everything felt too bright, too sharp, the noises too jarring. you had learned to block out most of it over the years, but in this moment, it all rushed back, drowning you.

you barely had time to process what was happening. everything had gone sideways far too fast. guards ran in every direction, chasing after people - some fleeing, others doing what they could to stop the chaos. the entire building felt like it was falling apart.

you knew you couldn’t stay here. you had to move.

you had to finish what you started.

you stumbled through the hallways, barely able to keep your feet beneath you. the pain from the wounds you’d sustained was a constant companion, but it wasn’t the physical ache that was distracting you. it was the memories - the flashes of everything you’d been through - the tests, the injections, the cages.

but now wasn’t the time for weakness. now wasn’t the time to look back.

when you reached the lab, you couldn’t believe it. everything was laid out in front of you - files, plans, even test results. everything you needed to finish your mission. but before you could move toward them, something shifted.

the door slammed open with a deafening crash. instinctively, you dropped to the floor, fingers scraping against the cold tiles as you slid behind a metal table.

shadows danced in the doorway.

the x-men.

you’d heard of them - everyone in the mutant world had - but never in person. and now they were here, a group of strangers entering your nightmare, bringing their own kind of chaos with them.

you peeked cautiously from behind the table, watching as they quickly overpowered the facility’s security. each member of the team moved with precision - beast’s large form barreling through walls, cyclops’s visor flaring with every blast, and storm summoning lightning with a mere flick of her wrist. the room seemed to come alive with their power.

“she’s the one,” one of them called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “take her down.”

you held your breath, eyes widening as they closed in on you. they weren’t just here for the facility. they were here for you.

but you weren’t some damsel in distress.

you’d spent years training, escaping from countless situations far worse than this. you couldn’t allow yourself to be weak. so, you moved.

swiftly, you darted from your hiding spot, catching the man off guard. you weren’t sure who he was - just another one of their team - but the shock in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. you’d caught him off guard.

but that split-second advantage wasn’t enough. before you could get another strike in, a powerful force slammed into your side, sending you crashing into the floor. you winced at the impact, your vision blurring as you tried to push yourself up. someone was kneeling next to you now - someone strong and familiar - but everything felt hazy.

“hold still,” a gruff voice ordered. “you’ve been through enough.”

you wanted to snap at him - wanted to tell him that he didn’t know anything about you - but the words wouldn’t come. and as you fought against the darkness creeping in, you realised that you couldn’t fight anymore. the exhaustion from days of running, fighting, hiding, it all caught up to you.

you didn’t even remember when you lost consciousness.

when you awoke, everything felt wrong. there was an unfamiliar weight in the air, a soft, sterile smell that clung to your senses. you tried to push yourself up, but a sharp pain shot through your head, forcing you to stop.

you were in a bed.

the bed was unfamiliar. it wasn’t like the hard floors you had grown used to, or the metal cots they’d kept you on. no, this was soft - comfortable, almost too much so.

you blinked, your vision clearing as your senses slowly returned. you were no longer in that hellhole. no longer in the compound where they kept you.

but where were you now?

the room was quiet, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows on the walls. the bed beneath you felt like a luxury. everything about this place was different. warmer. safer, almost.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. a figure stepped inside - someone you didn’t recognize at first, but then, as he moved closer, you could see him more clearly. tall, with dark hair and a rough, scruffy face. his eyes were intense - calculating, like he was studying you from the moment he walked in.

you didn’t trust him. you didn’t trust anyone.

“you’re awake,” he said, his voice low, rough. “good. you’re safe for now.”

you tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, as if you hadn’t used it in days. you coughed lightly, but still, the words wouldn’t come.

he reached for something beside you - a glass of water - and held it out to you. “drink. slowly.”

you didn’t want to take it. didn’t want to trust him. but you were parched, and the dry feeling in your throat was unbearable. so, you reached out and took the glass, drinking slowly, careful not to spill. the water was refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the dread building in your chest.

“where am i?” you finally croaked, your voice hoarse and weak.

“the x-mansion,” the man answered, not missing a beat. “this is where we bring people who need help. you’re safe here.”

you didn’t believe him. you didn’t know how to trust anyone anymore.

but before you could respond, the door opened again, and another figure stepped in. this one was more familiar - his posture rigid, his presence commanding. a man who seemed to radiate an aura of danger.

“logan,” the first man said, a note of caution in his voice. “she’s awake.”

logan’s gaze flicked to you, sharp and unyielding, as though he could see right through you.

“how long?” logan asked, his voice tight.

“a couple hours. she’s stable.”

logan didn’t respond. he just kept staring at you, his eyes narrowing. there was something about him - something dangerous and cold. and yet, beneath that, there was a flicker of something else.

you couldn’t place it, but it made your heart race.

“you,” logan said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “we don’t know what you’ve been through. we don’t know if you’re a threat.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“we’re not going to let anything happen to you,” the other man said quickly, his tone gentle but firm. “but you need to understand. this is just as dangerous for us as it is for you.”

you wanted to argue - to tell him that you weren’t the one to be scared of, that you weren’t the one who was dangerous.

but you couldn’t find the words. instead, you sank back into the bed, your thoughts spinning, your body heavy with exhaustion. you couldn’t escape this life. not now. not yet.

but maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to survive it.

as the hours stretched on, your body ached, but it wasn’t just from the physical injuries. the weight of your past pressed down on you with every breath you took, and you couldn’t escape it.

you closed your eyes again, letting the darkness take over.

for now, at least, you were safe.

but you had no illusions about your future. nothing was ever truly safe.

and logan? he wasn’t about to let you forget that.

you could hear the slow, steady rhythm of your own breath, the steady rise and fall of your chest as the darkness pressed in on you. the world outside felt so distant now - no longer the chaos of the compound, no longer the sound of explosions and gunfire. here, in the safety of the mansion, you almost felt like you could relax.

almost.

your limbs were heavy, your body aching in places you didn’t even know existed, but it was the exhaustion that wore at you most. it wasn’t just the physical toll, though. the ghosts of your past were still there, just out of reach but always lurking in the back of your mind.

you had done things. horrible, unspeakable things. and it didn’t matter where you were now - whether you were in the mansion with strangers who couldn’t possibly understand or back at the lab where they had made you into something else - it didn’t matter. you were still that person. the monster. the killer.

and yet, here you were. safe. for now.

but there was no such thing as true safety. not for someone like you. not for someone who had been broken and remade by those who had no mercy.

you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

a knock at the door.

you stiffened, the muscles in your back tensing instinctively. it was probably one of the x-men, maybe hank or scott, checking on you. but a part of you - the part you didn’t want to acknowledge - hoped it was logan.

you didn’t know why. maybe because he was the closest thing you had to an anchor in this strange new world. maybe because, despite the bitterness and the anger in his eyes, he was the one person who seemed to understand the weight you carried. not because he wanted to understand, but because he knew pain. he knew darkness.

but you couldn’t trust him.

you couldn’t trust anyone.

“come in,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

the door creaked open, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of surprise in logan’s eyes when he stepped into the room. it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the usual guarded expression that always made you wonder what he was thinking behind that hard exterior.

he didn’t speak right away. instead, he stood there in the doorway, his posture tense. it was almost like he didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you wondered if he had come to check on you because it was what was expected of him, not because he actually cared.

it was probably the latter.

you sat up slowly, bracing yourself against the headboard. “what do you want?” the question came out harsher than you intended, but it was too late to take it back now.

logan stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “just checking,” he muttered, his voice low, rough around the edges. it almost sounded like an afterthought, like he wasn’t sure why he was here. but the way his eyes kept flicking to your face made it clear he was still trying to figure you out. maybe you didn’t make sense to him.

“checking on what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he hesitated for a second, looking away. when his gaze returned to you, it was guarded again, the walls firmly in place. “you’re not dead yet.”

you snorted despite yourself, the bitterness bubbling up in your chest. “what, you think i’m going to fall apart just because i’m here?”

he shrugged, the movement quick and dismissive. “didn’t say that.” he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still studying you. “but you don’t exactly look like you’re in one piece.”

“and you’re not here to help with that,” you said, your voice sharp. “so what do you want?”

logan’s eyes flashed for a brief moment - something unreadable, something buried beneath the layers of his hardened exterior. you could almost see the frustration behind his eyes, though he hid it quickly, masking it with the usual indifference. “look,” he muttered, “i didn’t come here to babysit you. but if you wanna go out there again, you better be able to hold your own. i’m not gonna coddle you. i’m not here to make you feel better.”

his words stung more than you expected. was that what you wanted from him? no. you didn’t need anyone to “coddle” you. but something about his tone - cold, dismissive - made the weight of everything feel heavier.

"i can handle myself," you said quietly, looking away from him, hiding the sting in your eyes.

logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “you should’ve said that to yourself when they were doing this to you,” he muttered under his breath. but it was loud enough for you to hear. it felt like an accusation, like a slap to your face.

you flinched, but tried to cover it. "don’t pretend you care,” you shot back, your voice breaking just a little.

logan didn’t flinch. in fact, he didn’t even react at first. but you saw the tension in his body, the way his fists clenched by his sides. he opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it, brow furrowed.

“i don’t give a damn about what you think about me,” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost like a whisper. “but i can’t stand seeing people throw themselves away without a fight. you can fight. but you gotta decide whether or not you wanna keep doing it.”

he turned on his heel, heading for the door. "we’ve got a long way to go before this is over. don’t think you’re gonna get out of it that easily."

and with that, he left, leaving you alone once more in the still silence of the room. the door shut with a soft click, but you could still hear the echoes of his words rattling around in your head. the weight of them sat heavy on your chest.

he didn’t care about you. not in the way you wished he would. but he cared about one thing: survival.

you hadn't expected much from logan. you never did. but you still couldn't shake the bitter taste his words had left behind. they gnawed at you, even though you told yourself it didn’t matter. you'd been through worse. you could handle it.

but there was something about the way he'd spoken to you that made your stomach twist. it wasn’t just what he’d said - it was the way he said it. like you were nothing but a problem to be solved, a task to be managed. his words were cold, sharp, like they were meant to cut deeper than they did.

he didn’t care. he never would.

you were sitting at the kitchen table, the bright, sterile lights of the mansion making everything feel even emptier than it already did. it was one of those rare moments where the mansion felt... silent. as if it, too, were waiting for something. maybe it was waiting for you to break.

you hadn't seen logan since he’d left your room earlier that day. a part of you was glad for it, even if you hated the reason why. the truth was, you didn’t know if you could look at him again without that biting edge creeping back into your voice.

a voice - someone's voice - cut through the silence.

"you alright?"

you flinched, startled. you turned to see scott standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern. of all people, scott. you didn't want to talk to anyone, but you knew you couldn’t hide forever. he was trying to be kind, but it felt too... loud.

"yeah," you said, your tone flat. you pushed the empty mug in front of you away, suddenly too aware of the quiet surrounding you. "just... tired."

scott didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it. instead, he took a seat across from you, looking like he had something else on his mind. it wasn’t a long time before the door opened again, and the last person you wanted to see walked in.

logan.

you didn’t even look up. the instant you heard his boots on the floor, you felt the walls come up, higher than before. you didn’t trust yourself not to say something you’d regret. you knew he’d seen your face, the way your mood had shifted earlier, but he didn’t care. nothing you felt mattered.

logan didn’t even acknowledge scott as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. he looked disinterested, almost bored, like he was doing this out of obligation.

you focused on the mug in front of you, trying to ignore him. you tried to tell yourself you didn’t care, but the words he had said still hung in the air, suffocating you. maybe you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help it. he’d made you feel small.

"what’s up with you?" logan’s voice was rough, breaking the uncomfortable silence. he was looking at you now, and the gaze sent a shiver through your spine, though not in a way that felt good. it felt like an accusation.

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

instead, you picked at the edge of your sleeve, the fabric worn thin, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. why did you care?

"you’ve been acting off since we got back," logan continued, his voice a little more insistent. “you’re not some porcelain doll. quit pretending like you are.”

you couldn’t hide the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. the way he always saw you as fragile - it made your blood boil, and you hated how much it stung when he said things like that. porcelain doll? you weren’t some fragile thing that needed protection. you weren’t weak. but the more you tried to convince yourself, the more the truth settled on you like a heavy weight.

"i’m not pretending," you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. your hand clenched into a fist, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay calm. you didn’t want to get into it with him. not now.

but logan wasn’t letting it go. his eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was searching for something. it didn’t feel like concern; it felt like judgement.

“you sure about that?” he asked, voice low, almost mocking. “because from where i’m standing, you look like a damn mess.”

you sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to sink with each word. a damn mess.

it was like a slap across the face. you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, a deep, gnawing sensation that told you to shut down, to stop caring. but the words, those words, kept echoing in your mind, getting louder with every breath.

you look like a damn mess.

you couldn’t respond. couldn’t defend yourself because it felt like there was no defence to it. what could you possibly say to that? the worst part was, you were starting to believe him. maybe you were a mess.

but in that moment, the anger bubbled up - anger you didn’t even know you had - and you didn’t care about anything else except getting him to stop. to stop seeing you like that.

"maybe you should just keep your opinions to yourself," you muttered under your breath, but the words were brittle.

logan didn’t back down. “you’re not fooling anyone, kid. if you can’t even keep yourself together long enough to pull your own weight, you don’t belong here.”

the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, harsh and unforgiving. it felt like a punch in the gut, and you couldn’t stop the sting that followed.

you looked up at him then, your eyes burning with the anger and hurt that had been building up. “you don’t know anything about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it.

but logan wasn’t done. he never was.

"you're damn right, i don't," he said, his voice still biting. "and i'm not interested in learning. all i know is, you’re a liability. and i don’t need one of those around."

the room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything around you blurred. a liability. that’s what you were to him. that’s what you’d always be.

you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. it was as if your body had made the decision for you, your legs shaking with the force of the emotions swirling inside you.

"i’m done," you muttered, turning on your heel. you didn’t care if he was still watching you. you didn’t care about anything anymore.

you just needed to get away.

the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence and the distant echoes of the words that had broken you.

liability. a mess.

and somewhere deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end. it was only the beginning of something much worse.

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @bbittenapples, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

258 notes · View notes

colorlessjay · 2 months ago

Note

Okay, I'm fairly new/back into the fandom (once upon a time I saw a few series but had noone to freak out about it and I didn't seek the internet for same minded people, so I see myself as an old fan but new to the fandom? Maybe? But that's irrelevant! To what I wanted to say!)

I love your story ideas and your fan art and the time exchange comic you do.

What are your thoughts about Destiel and Angst? Of course with a happy ending but angst nonetheless.

For example, maybe something like this:

It's a hunt gone wrong or maybe a hunt accident, either way Cas dies and it's Dean's flaut. Maybe the hunt was not going according to the plan, maybe it was a whole mind fuckery thing from start to finish. The monster messed with Deans head till he saw enemies in his friends and someone to trust in his enemy. Or it was a good hunt, an easy hunt till Dean gets to the finishing blow and rather than hitting the monster it strikes Castiel.

Either way it happens Castiel dies in Dean's arms. They wait for Cas to wake up again, he is an angel of the lord (more or less) how could It really have killed him? But Castiel doesn't wake up or come back to him in any way. Time passes and Sam gently tells Dean that they should bury Castiel, he deserves the last respect. Dean is furious because he still believes Cas is coming back but in the end Castiel gets a hunter burial with all the respect the two of them can give him.

Then it starts. Dean is still grieving. But he tries to function somehow. I imagine Dean to be an self-destructive mourner if noone is around. He functions in the company of Sam and or Bobby but as soon as he is alone he drinks till he feels numb. He doesn't take care of himself really well, like talking a shower only then Sam say him to do it or forgets to eat if Sam doesn't remind him, it doesn't matter what he eats he can't taste it anyway. He also doesn't sleep well, everytime he sleeps he dreams of Castiel. Castiel holding him, Castiel promising him he is not dead and then he wakes up and breaks down even before he has his first morning coffee.

It's in one of his alone moments that it first happens. Dean drinks out of his beer bottle then Castiel speaks up. "Dean, maybe you should at least eat something before drinking this much alcohol." Dean stops, that sounded like Castiel. But he is dead,is it a hallucination? Is Dean losing his mind? "Shut up. You aren't even real what do you care. " And just as he wants to drink again from the bottle the bottle shatters in his hands. Dean is unharmed but freaking out. He looks around, heart beating violently in his chest. There in the corner of his room is something. It kinda looks like hot air glimmering but in the shape of a being, a bit human, a bit something more that his mind can't quite understand. Obviously Dean freaks out. Goes all salt throwing at the possible Castiel ghost. But it has no effect. Castiel talks him back from his panic attack/freak out session. The next morning Castiel is still there and a lot more visible for Dean. Still unnerved by it he asks Sam and others if they can see Castiel. Noone else can see Castiel and Sam worries more about his brother. But Castiel in the meantime promises dean that he is not dead. He is somewhere unable to return to them but he is not dead. Dean clings towards this promise as if his life depends on it. Not dead!Castiel starts to take care of dean. While Dean looks frantically for an explanation or something, while Sam tries to get Dean to talk with someone, anyone about the lost and how he is feeling and stuff. Dean doesn't want to, Claims he doesn't need it. They fight, Sam is worried and angry and afraid of/for(?) Dean and in the heat of the moment Sam accuses him of having a mental breakdown and the not dead!Castiel is just his imagination trying to comfort him or something like that. Dean denies it. Later he begs not dead!Castiel to prove that dean is not losing his mind. The next time Sam tries to talk to Dean he walks into a whole poltergeist/haunted show, flying objects and banging cabinet doors and stuff. Sam maybe freaks out. Dean asks Castiel to stop. not dead Castiel stops. And sam start to believe that this is maybe more than his grieving brother. He starts to help in a way Dean appreciate way more.

In the end they find out what really happens to Castiel and how to get him back. And as soon Castiel is back and alive and unharmed Dean climbs him like a koala and doesn't want to let go. There are tears and feelings and a kiss. And together they work on deans mental health. Also Castiel promises that this will never happen again just to calm Deans worries.

They get their happy end.

Sooooo..... Thoughts?

My dude, this is comedy central

I appreciate you, I do

But I am not your partner in this

#castiel #destiel #dean winchester #supernatural #deancas #spn #dean x castiel

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

Text

Grid Kids: Mama Bear

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: when you learn that Mick has been dropped by Haas, your protectiveness takes over

Series Masterlist

The news of Mick being dropped by Haas hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re at the track trying to focus on the race weekend but the anger, frustration, and protectiveness begin to bubble up and boil over.

Sebastian notices your clenched jaw and furrowed brow. “What’s wrong, love?”

You exhale shakily, glancing at Mick who’s trying to maintain his composure despite his turmoil. “I need to have a word with Guenther Steiner.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Oh, you’re sure. In fact, you’re ready to unleash your inner mama bear in a way that no one could have anticipated.

***

You storm into the Haas garage like a woman on a mission. Guenther Steiner, usually fiery and unshakable, is taken aback by the intensity in your eyes.

“Guenther!” you call out, your voice carrying across the garage. The team members exchange nervous glances, sensing a storm brewing.

Guenther turns to you, a hint of a smile on his face, “Ah, Y/N. How can I help you?”

You want to smack that smile right off.

Your voice is ice cold, “How could you drop Mick like that? He’s a talented driver and he deserved better.”

Guenther’s smile falters, sensing your determination. “It’s just business. We had to make some tough decisions.”

You cross your arms, the fury palpable in your gaze. “Well, I hope you realize that messing with Mick means messing with our entire grid family. We stick together no matter what.”

***

Unbeknownst to you, your grid kids have gathered at a nearby corner, ready to back you up. As Guenther tries to explain himself, the atmosphere grows tense.

Charles steps forward, “Yeah, and we’ve got some words too. Like unfair, ridiculous, and insane.”

Max grins, cracking his knuckles, “And don’t forget just plain stupid.”

Guenther’s eyes widen as your grid kids begin to circle around him. The garage is now filled with an almost comical chaos — you, glaring fiercely, and the young drivers, exuding an aura of protective unity.

Guenther stammers, “Now, let’s not get carried away …”

***

Just as the situation is about to escalate, Mick intervenes, stepping in between you and Guenther. His calm presence cuts through the tension.

“Mick, you deserve better,” you mutter, still furious but willing to defer to Mick’s judgment.

Mick nods, looking at Guenther. “I appreciate the opportunity I had with Haas, but I’ve got my eyes set on the future.”

Guenther clears his throat, sensing that he’s on thin ice. “Alright, alright. Let’s just … calm down.”

Your grid kids reluctantly disperse, their stance clear but their threat implicit. As you leave the garage, your anger subsides, replaced by a sense of accomplishment.

Sebastian chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. “Is it bad that I found that ridiculously hot?”

You smirk, “Well, you know me. I’ll gladly go full mama bear when needed.”

And as you walk away, you can’t help but chuckle at the thought of the chaos you’ve just orchestrated in the name of protecting one of your own. Guenther doesn’t know what he’s in for.

***

Guenther’s day starts as it usually does. The soft light of dawn peeks through his curtains as he slowly stretches and yawns. As he pulls the duvet back, a feeling of cold, damp heaviness meets his touch. He freezes. Slowly, he turns his gaze downward to find, to his utter horror, the unmistakable figure of a dismembered horse head resting beside him.

His scream echoes throughout the entire hotel and within moments, security and a few team members burst into the room.

“What the …” One of the Haas team members exclaims, eyes wide in disbelief.

Guenther, pale and shaking, stammers, “Wh-who would do this?”

Hidden among the crumpled bed sheets is a small note:

Mick might not get his seat back but remember, the grid family always has a seat at the table.

***

The paddock is abuzz with the shocking news. Whispers travel quickly, and by noon, almost everyone has heard about the unexpected gift in Guenther’s bed. Many are baffled but those who witnessed the previous day’s confrontation have their suspicions.

Lance approaches you during lunch, leaning in conspiratorially. “Was it really you?” he asks, trying to suppress a grin.

You take a sip of your drink, maintaining an innocent face, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mick, overhearing the conversation, adds with a chuckle, “It’s straight out of The Godfather. Or should I say, The Godmother?”

You wink, “Well, let’s just say it’s always good to send a clear message.”

Lando, laughing, chimes in, “Guenther will think twice before crossing any of us again!”

***

As the day progresses, the story becomes more embellished and fantastical with each retelling. Rumors of the Godmother of the Grid begin to circulate. Some even whisper that you have ties to the racing underworld, with Sebastian as your loyal consigliere.

Guenther, though shaken, tries to downplay the incident, but there’s no doubt that he’s received your message loud and clear.

Years later and he still turns and runs in the other direction whenever he lays eyes on you.

As the sun sets on another chaotic day, you and Sebastian share a quiet moment. “You know,” he begins, “I always thought you had a bit of a devious streak.”

You smirk, “Sometimes you have to be a little ... creative to make a point.”

Sebastian laughs, wrapping an arm around you, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

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coveredinsweetpea · 2 years ago

Note

not to be a whore........... but imagine making out with Eddie's buldge through his underwear 😩

🥴🥴🥴 tbh I think there are two different scenarios and I wanted to choose only one to elaborate on but I couldn't so here I go: you're both either too lazy to care and this evolves from a sleepy cuddling session OR you're being needy and clingy, begging for his attention - just a whiny mess basically, and this is all that he's willing to give you. Both detailed under the cut 🥴🥴 (the 2nd one is pure filth, humiliation, degradation etc 18+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

It's summer, Wayne's not in town and you have all the trailer to yourselves. But it's still early, no one's in the mood to party yet, it's hot and you're both too lazy to move.

Eddie's starfish on the bed, a comic book having him completely under its spell, while you lay lazily with your head on his tummy, hoping sleep would envelop you. But it doesn't; Eddie's too caught up with a plot twist he didn't see coming, and ideas start coming to you.

Your eyes fix the outline of his cock and without saying a word, you palm him in your hand, your fingers drawing random patterns on the material of his boxer briefs.

Eddie doesn't react, at least not to your knowledge, but one eyebrow does pop up. You don't see it however and decide to keep going, moving your hand a bit to the side so you can rub the length of his cock.

"Sweetheart?" Eddie lifts his comic book so he can look at you, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing"

You don't even look at him, just keep teasing him through his boxers, until he can't help but tense his thighs. "Love?"

"Yeah?" again, you answer without bothering to face him, but this time you do move. Just in the opposite direction, nonchalantly pressing your lips against his bulge.

The gesture was light, not too sudden or too strong, but the reason he froze for a second is the pure confusion that washed over him. But he doesn't get a chance to ask, because when he feels what you're doing - understands that you're right now literally kissing the length of his cock, he can't help but chuckle.

"Sweetheart, you know I can take those off for you, right?" Eddie teases, one hand on the top of your head as you keep going.

"Nah" you shrug and wrap your lips around his clothed tip. One of your hands slips lower, your fingers brushing against his balls as you start sucking.

"Ah fuck" he gasps. But you don't budge.

You keep at it - licking, sucking, grabbing, your teeth lightly grazing the tip of his cock.

"Baby, damn it" the comic book flies across the room, his attention now fully on you. "You wanna make me cum like that?"

But you don't answer. You just shove your hand up one of the legs of his boxer, cup his balls into your hand, and resume full on making out with his cock.

The sheer feeling of him getting hard under your lips, the way he can barely control his breathing, how his thighs tense and how his abdomen clenches every time you apply just a little bit more pressure, makes you want to see just how far you can go.

Brushing your thumb over the wet patches on his underwear, you look up at him, "Yeah, I wanna. Can I try?"

"Try?" he laughs and rubs your cheek with the back of his fingers, "Darling, you're halfway there"

You beam under his praise and resume your quest, eagerly sucking and tugging through the material as his cock visibly stiffens.

"But then you'll take yours off. You can play around all you want, but you know I can't stop until you've made a mess on my face, doll"

Fine by you.

You being clingy isn't anything new. The planets sometimes settle so that some days the only thing you want is his attention and nothing else. And it's usually not a problem, Eddie being more than happy to oblige and give you what you so desperately crave, but there are also days when that is not possible.

Like this one.

Busy with tasks Wayne left for him, the campaign needing some last minute fixes, Dustin asking for a ride and a Corroded Coffin concert late in the evening - this day is bound to suck for the both of you.

You manage to compose yourself for as long as you can, but by the time you reach the venue for the show, you're almost out of your mind. Begging, teasing, whining, throwing yourself at other men to get his attention - you do everything in your power to get his attention. But you fail. Miserably. As once you finally get home, things don't play out the way you had hoped - at all.

"So fucking desperate, like a fucking whore" Eddie scoffs, plopping down on the couch. He spreads his legs and nods, "Do your thing"

Normally, you'd whine and complain, but your brain isn't cooperating so you listen to his command. You kneel in front of him, undo his jeans, and then helplessly look up at him, bottom lip popping out. "Eddie…"

"Do you need help, kitten?"

You nod.

"Do you deserve it? You acted like a dumb slut all night. Why would I help you? You can't even take my dick out, why would I let you suck it?"

"Please, Eddie…" you cry.

"Look into my eyes, doll" he commands, his hand on your chin forcing you to face him. "Apologize for the way you've been tonight"

"I'm- I'm sorry" you sniffle, "Please-"

"Sorry for being such a cock thirsty whore that you can't even function unless you get to have my dick down your throat?"

"...yes"

"Say it, baby. You need to hear yourself saying it. And look into my eyes while you do it, love. Show me how bad you want it"

"Please, Eddie-" you blink, "I'm sorry for being such a whore, but I need it, please. Can I please, please, suck your cock, please?"

And your pleading might have been enough but you'll never know. Eddie doesn't even get a chance to fully strip before he sees the hungry look in your eyes. "Come here" he motions as he stands up, his jeans now pooling around his ankles. "Show me you want it"

For a second, you look up at him in confusion, but the way his cock stretches the material of his underwear has you feral all over again.

So you don't question it, don't complain, you just get to work. He's hard - throbbing almost, the wet patch of precum making your tongue tingle as you make out with his cock as best you can.

"That's my girl" he grins, patting your head, "My good girl, keep going. Make me cum. If you can do it, you get to swallow it all, baby"

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie muson fanfic

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justcruisingaroundrevived · 16 days ago

Note

The TEC boys with a goth reader. The reader is hyper fixated on anything gothic like the music, fashion, books, horror movies, that type of shit

Rock Lobster

Summary: TEC x Goth! Reader

TW/CW: F slur, stalking

A/N: Anon, you have every right to kill me for how delay this is. That goes for all the other anons as well however, I’m going to get through these requests. Slowly, but surely <3

- God, you were terrifying to Bill

- His whole sphere’s been filled with comics and superheroes, so for you to just waltz into his life, looking like “something out of a Halloween store”, it’s too much for him

- He probably watches you from the sidelines honestly. You can be the most friendliest person in the world, and he would still scream internally if you get near him

- What’s worst is that your interests don’t really align with his. In fact, you remind him of his sister, Jane (a red flag, cause we all know how much they get along/S)

- Definitely snuck around in his sister’s room to see if he can find any talking points (*cuts to Jane beating his ass for being a “creep!”)

- If he really likes you, will fake any and all knowledge of goth culture to impress you. Catch him in the lie, and he’s a blubbering mess before telling you to “Fuck off” and storming away red faced

- If you do managed to date, be prepared for confusing glances and terrifying sounds

- You introduce him to any goth music and he’s melting like the Wicked Witch of the West

- His knowledge of goth clothing is sneering at the kids who go to Hot Topic, so actually showing him where you shop will probably give him a heart attack (especially if said stores have a grimy feel to them)

- Weirdly does like see you do your makeup. Especially trad goth style, it’s also entrancing seeing you put a full face of white foundation before everything else (He will get mad if you chuckle about it)

- The other members make fun of him for it (probably seeing your both freak4freak), and unfortunately, he wouldn’t stand up to you (part because of embarrassment, part because pride)

- It’s going to take a while for him to accept, but he will, in his own way

- Josh practically shat himself when first saw you doing your makeup

- He associates goth with bullies, considering their “intimidating” appearance and how you carry yourself

- Like Bill, he watches from afar, but unlike him, would try stay away from you as far away as possible (the club would be ruthless to him the moment they realized you’re the reason he’s acting like this)

- Can’t get you out of his head, though. Will spend nights researching that band album you carried when shopping at the vinyl store, or that band poster you keep in your locker. You entrance him

- Even in his dreams you appear, almost seducing him in a way. It leaves him flustered and frustrated

- Once he finally talks to you, it’s nerve wrecking. He barely gets out a sentence before screaming and running to the opposite direction

- If you allow him, he’ll organize your collection. You probably would have to both do it, less he ends up organizing in such a way that only he knows what to do

- Touched every single object you own. This is like a whole new dimension for him honestly, and he’s worried that this is all a dream to him; that somehow, he’ll wake up and realized that his stupid brain was playing mind tricks on him

- Would die if you also got him a goth shirt. Pretends he hates it and will throw it out in front of you, only for him to dig it out of the trash and sleep with it occasionally.

- Pretty secretive about the relationship, deathly afraid the club will torture him to death once they find out

- Overall super anxious about this new subculture

- Now, Pete thrives off of horror and goth

- He knows the subculture like the back of his hand, so him seeing you has his eyes bulging and heart thumping

- Will stalk you to your local hang outs and favorite store. He wants to see if you’re a “true” goth (mf isn’t even goth himself smfh)

- Will “subtly” (blatantly) quiz you about any goth/horror stuff he personally knows. Will blow his mind once you answer his questions correctly

- Will get giddy thinking about you, before getting super pissed for being a “sissy” and “turning him into some kind of fag!”

- Will be the most open about the relationship. Always dreamed he get a goth partner, and now here he is, having one

- Would be on his hand and knees, BEGGING to do Juggalo makeup on you cause “ICP counts, right?!”

- Music taste are almost in sync, so you two can bond about the latest hits and maybe shit talk any albums you hate

- Tell him about your favorite horror movies. It’d be like his heart skipping a beat every time you mention a movie he’s memorized like the back of his hand

- Won’t dress goth with you, though. Probably thinks it’s “gay”, and will tell you off if you try to convince him otherwise

- Will need to be detained over how feral he is over you.

- Jerry’s sort of in the middle. He’s not screaming and running away from you, but will stare at you…menacingly

- Will stalk your MySpace profile (or any others you have). His eyes captured every little detail you mentioned in your bio and such.

- Wouldn’t be surprised if he kept detailed notes on you and your hobbies, friends, what makeup you buy, clothing stores you frequent, etc.

- goes to said locations to “people watch” your crowd. He stands out like a sore thumb, but doesn’t really care, cause he’s weirdly that dedicated to finding out about you and your “quirks”

- Wouldn’t mind if you test your makeup on him, but lipstick marks on him will drive him up the W A L L! Will be going to school with them on

- Squirms every time you introduced any of your goth culture to him. He has no idea why you like this stuff. Reminds him of Pete, except both less and more creepy honestly

- Makes a DnD character heavily based on you, trying to not make it seem he’s been stalking you this entire time.

- Would like it if you took him to those places he’s (secretly) been to (more special once you finally show off your “safe space”)

- Probably even gets out of his comfort zone while dating you. Actually starts to listen to different artists, sees new movies, maybe even tries a new clothing style (it always fails)

- Overall weirdly simple, but cute (and creepy)

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year ago

Note

John Constantine x tattoo artist?? Smut or no (you choose!) I think it would be cute if john gets his tats from the reader (also kind of a possessive/marking quality there lol)

John Constantine x Tattoo artist male reader

Headcanons

Sorry there’s been no posts this week, classes have started up again, so as you can imagine I’m exhausted and have a lot less free time. I’ve been using most of my free time to read JJK, ngl.

Imagine being a magical tattoo artist, something like a seal maker. You do large complex and beautiful pieces, but you hide different seals and protection markers inside the patterns. It keeps the real purpose of the tattoo a secret, but is also pretty to look at.

John already has tattoos in the hellblazer comics, but imagine you giving him different ink. Something a lot less obvious and more attractive.

It makes him pass as a hot blonde British guy covered in a lot of fancy ink, instead of some brit with lotsa weird cult looking tattoos.

John becomes one of your most common customers, mainly because a lot of the tattoos you put on him disappear after the seals been used, since its all defense and storage. He might also use it as an excuse to see you more, so he can flirt.

John being John, would get a tattoo right above his crotch, think like a reverse tramp stamp, or a succubus tattoo, just so he can have you sitting between his thighs as he gives his flirting his all.

You definitely end up railing him within an inch of his life in the tattoo chair, tsking and “punishing” him for straining the tattooed area too much, and “messing up your work” when he writhes too much.

In the beginning its just a friends with benefits situation, something like a “happy ending” you might say. John wouldn’t be someone to do relationships for the most part, since most of the ones he’s been in haven’t ended great.

He subconsciously also wouldn’t want to paint a target on your back, since hes always involved with all kinds of stuff. But he cant help but always find himself back with you, getting some new seal inked onto his skin.

And if every visit ends up with him bent over the tattoo chair, or down on his knees to “thank you”, then who will judge him.

John would end up finally acknowledging his feelings when you save him from his big bad of the week, using your complex and intricate tattoos to pull out weapons and spells, and later seal the being that’s after him.

Its hard to deny how he feels after that, and though he wouldn’t put it into words, he would act differently. Like just showing up at your parlor to spend time with you without getting anything done, or sending you little protection charms or trinkets.

At some point you guys just start kissing and acting like a couple, without actually putting a name to it. It’s a dangerous life you both live, and words mean everything, so you never tell anybody you guys are lovers, since that would make the target on you both even bigger.

It doesn’t keep you guys from pretty much living together and acting all domestic, or being completely exclusive to just each other. John turning down all advances made on him confuses people in the beginning, until they just come to accept it.

John ends up with even more tattoos, these a lot more complex than average useable seals. These are the kinds that you have spent your entire life developing, and had only used on yourself because they’re that powerful.

The league are knocked back by how powerful his spells have become, and how much damage he can withstand. Only other magic users with the knowledge know just how amazing his tattoos are. He never tells them where he got them, just because he’s an ass.

You end up helping out more with his business, and he ends up being free advertisement for your parlor. Of course, no one gets tattoos like you or John, you would never give a possible enemy that kind of power, but it helps pad your pockets quite a lot.

John’s enemies end up targeting you as well, but they’re easily dealt with for the most part.

He ends up getting teased be friends and allies that he’s getting soft and domestic, cuz he doesn’t go out to bars like before, and wants to be home in time to watch a movie with you, or just go to sleep together.

He ends up a lot less stressed too, since you rock his world whenever he needs it, and become someone he can let down his defenses and just be vulnerable with.

In the end he probably gets pavloved to get in the mood when you tattoo him, or he hears the noise of the tattoo gun. John always blames you for making him this way, because you always go down on him after giving him new ink, not that he’s complaining.

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ilikepjo24 · 2 months ago

Text

On The Ashes of the Academy...

This will be a full review/analysis of the newest atla comic, now that I finally got my hands on it. I'll duel on some things more than others but overall, I'll share my unfiltered thoughts and feelings about it.

SpoliersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilersSpoilers!

First things first, this is such a hit-and-miss.

We're all glad Ursa is looking after Kiyi and we're all glad she sees that there was somthing wrong with Azula's upbringing, but ma'am, the school is not the problem. Sure, a bad learning environment doesn't benefit children in any way, but Azula's main problem was what was happening in her home, not in her school. Maybe, since you're finally considering taking a look in your daughter's childhood, you should also start looking inside and taking note of where you failed her. This just seems like an attempt at making Ursa look blameless by saying "Oh, look, Azula isn't inherently evil, it's her school that messed her up. Certainly, Zuko's perfect mom didn't contribute to it at all!"

I mean, if you want my opinion, you lost her when you subconsciously decided to give her less attention than Zuko, which, tragically, could have been before she was even born. But this series of panels, once again, does the same thing I mentioned above; passing the responsibility around. Ursa didn't lose Azula to someone or something. She let her go. And that's assuming that she even had Azula is the first place, at any point, which could be just wishful thinking. While Ozai, and the FN as a whole played a part, Ursa can't keep viewing them as the only parties responsible instead of holding herself accountable.

Zuko pisses me off her as well because he's doing the exactly same thing, but in a different way. He removes responsibility from Ursa, but instead of placing it on the school or his father, he seems to place it on Azula's very own nature, implying that her problem was just that she was Azula, and other kids under similar circumstances would have done better, simply because they are not Azula, which is simply not true. Azula's problem isn't that she's Azula, it's that she is a product of systematic propaganda and domestic abuse and neglect.

It must take lots of nerve to hire a person that's a product of Ozai's rule, that actively and publicly supports Ozai's way of doing things, and then being bothered and flabbergasted that this person wants to do things Ozai's way. Zuko, my man, hire a new headmistress. I've seen this lady once and I know better than to trust her. Are all that survival instincts Zuko ever had sliding right off his smooth, shiny brain? Either he is actively trying to sabotage himself, or he's just that stupid.

DOGSHIT. Arguably the most annoying thing about this comic, methinks. Such a lazy way of trying to redeem Mai. I understand that she's meant to be Zuko's love intrest, so she needs to be good and support his deals, but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, this must be the worst way to do it. This is just anti-Azula propaganda by this point.

If you want to redeem a character, hot take, actually redeem them. Instead of actually moving forward with Mai's character, they're backpetaling. Instead of adding redeeming qualities, they are removing the bad ones in an underhanded way. Very lazy, very bad writing. Both Mai and Azula deserve better than this.

I have way too many thoughts about these bit specifically, but this is an overall review of the comic, so I don't want to duel on one thing apecifically. I' ll talk more about everything that I hate about this "twist" in regards to Mai's character and her relationship with Azula in a different post on a different day.

Can't wait to show this to the "Azula is abusive for thowing fire at an apple that was on top of Mai's head" people. Behold! Mai started throwing dangerous shit at Azula first. This is them becoming friends. If Azula is abusive for continuing the tradition, what does tha make Mai, the one who started it?

This is more amusing to me than frustrating, if I'm being honest. They are trying so hard to make Azula out to be this inherently evil hell creature, that they don't even realize how terribly they're failing. The only thing making this interaction intimidating is framing. Azula is genuinly just being a normal kid here. Seriously, I dare you to antagonize a kid and count the minutes until they pull the parent card. I've had kids tell me that their parent works in the environment of political figures and can get me fired unless I let them run wild. Children are terribly aware of their powerlessness even if they don't show it. Borrowing mommy and daddy's "power" to wield as a threat is very typical behavior, especially in new environments. Azula isn't any more evil than any other first grader is. Which, to be fair, is reletavily evil, dependend on who you ask XD.

"Being friends with her sucked. Yeah, she was the only person I had growing up that made me feel like I mattered, since my dad used me and my mom wanted me to be an unemotional porcelain doll, but she was evil."

Two faced. Too fake. Do better. I am officially a certified Mai hater.

At this point, Mai confuses me. On one hand, she acts as if Azula is the antichrist and being mean just for the hell of it. Then, when Kiyi asks, she seems to display some actual understanding towards Azula's situation. Seems to acknowledge that who Azula is right now is the handywork of a third party, the intentions of which Azula herself doesn't fully understand, but blindly follows anyway because what else can she really do? The third party includes the only parent that pays attention to her after all.

Listen closely, because I will say this once. I better not see any of you haters blame Azula for this. "Oh, Azula is still trying to take the throne-" Shut your bitch ass up. Azula is not talking to those guys. She's working with her Fire Warriors and has no interactions with those dudes. Their actions do not reflect on her in any way, shape, or form. Them waiting for her doesn't mean she's working with them or that she has promised them anything at all. They're popping off in the assumption that she's coming back and the assumption that she'll reward them when she does. Key word beinh assumption.

And that will be all for now folks. All in all, this comic sucked. It attempts to redeem Mai and to demonize Azula and, franky, it fails at both those tasks as far as I'm conserned.

I do have that the empathy Mai showcased towards Azula is the begining of something. That her new role as a teacher and her mission of helping clean up the rooten system that raised Azula will develop into a teaching moment for the cast and the fandom. That it'll show them that Azula isn't inherently evil and therefore not beyond redemption. I genuinely hope that, eventually, we'll get the redemption Hicks teased in The Spirit Temple and that she's just playing the long game.

But for that to happen, some things have to change. The sytematic abuse needs to be showcased even more. We need to see the neglect Azula endured at home. Ursa needs to be held accountable for her failures. Azula should be given the chance to be a kid, not a weapon. I want to see a comic taking place before she displayed her firebending abilities for the first time.

Do better, Hicks.

#atla #azula #zuko #mai #ursa #ty lee #ozai #avatar: the last airbender #a;tla #avatar #atla meta #ashes of the academy #aota #aota meta #ashes of the academy analysis #fire siblings

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