#but I just keep getting automated responses

[raccooncityriots]

Listen, in the grand scheme of things $16 is not a lot of money, but I just hate that now I’ve got to side-eye a company I’ve done business with for years because of one incident, you know?

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost shares his New Year’s resolution with you.

A/N: This is an automated message. I’m still on a break. Also, a warning for you: this story does not follow canon. It’s fluff, though.

———————————————————————

You look around as you move through the groups of people, making your way toward the buffet. These New Year’s Eve parties at the military base are something else. It’s not the celebration that fascinates you; it’s the way people, just for the night, ditch their ranks and show another part of them that duty tends to conceal.

Seniors and subordinates talk like equals, and the rigid structure fades into the background, much like the slow jazz music playing from the speakers. Annoying ads occasionally interrupt the rhythm, and you make a mental note to locate the source and plug in your Spotify.

And yes, you’ve seen different aspects of their personality while on missions or in more casual settings. However, when you add alcohol into the mix, pair it with the excitement of the upcoming new year, and factor in the human need for closeness when away from family, everything feels different.

For example, you’d never have thought that Gaz gets an itch that lasts for days whenever he has to wear a Gillie suit or that Price can distinguish between different brands of cigars just by smelling them. ‘They need to have the right humidity level,’ you hear him say as you walk past the group and stand in front of the buffet. You scan the pastry platter, trying to find one that’s intact so you can pop it directly in your mouth since no plates are left. That or you haven’t spotted them yet. You look around, searching for a pile of clean ones, but pause as your eyes land on the training ground perimeter outside.

Approximately six feet-something, broad, a glass in his right hand, balaclava slightly raised, leaning against the fence, gazing up at the sky.

Your appetite for pastries is gone.

Leaving the buffet, you walk towards the door leading outside, but as you slide it open, a teammate grabs your shoulder. She urges you to share with the rest of her group about your time in Norway when you mistook a group of migrating salmon travelling upstream for a raid. You smile in response and promise her you’ll join them shortly, motioning towards the training grounds. She follows your gaze, and once she understands what you’re on about, she releases your shoulder and nods understandingly.

You slide open the door; Ghost looks over his shoulder but not directly at you. He’s not alarmed.

“The salmon story is not that funny,” he remarks in a low voice, wiggling his glass. “You should tell them about that time in Mexico.”

“You mean when I complained to the bartender that there was a worm in the tequila bottle?”

He nods, taking a sip. “Like finding a fly in your soup,” he murmurs, lowering his glass.

“I’m surprised you heard the conversation,” you state. “It’s chaos inside.”

Ghost shrugs and lowers his head. He’s not much of a talker lately—not like he’s a social butterfly on other days—but he’s not very keen on the chaos inside. Not only that, but the recent events have shaken him quite a lot, even though he conceals it well.

You rest your arms on the fence beside him, dangling your wine glass on the edge and look at the stars. He follows your lead and does the same. You lean in closer, and your shoulder touches his. He doesn’t move away—instead, he steadies himself further to support you. When you feel ready and secure, you shift your weight onto him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I won’t ask you if you’re ok.” You whisper.

“That counts like asking.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “but I didn’t.”

“Good.” He says and takes a sip from his glass.

“Should I change the subject?”

“Should you keep on talking?” He asks back.

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes, I absolutely should.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Go on then.”

“So,” you begin, “any New Year resolution for you, Lt.?”

You feel him nod, and you stand upright in shock.

“Why look at you, Lt!” You shout wide-eyed, “I didn’t peg you as the resolution type.”

“What can I say,” he mumbles. “I’m a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside a fucking enigma.”

“Churchill said something like that.” You state proudly.

“Indeed.” He replies. “Minus the ‘fucking’ part.”

“So?” You ask, “What is it?”

He looks at his glass, searching for the right words. “No more casualties.” He finally states.

“Don’t you think that’s a little far-fetched?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. “Considering the nature of our job and such?”

“So was your ‘no more chocolate’ resolution last year.” He replies.

“Hey!” You shout, “At least I tried!”

“That’s what I’m saying,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ll try to keep everyone safe.”

“That’s more like it,” You nod, lifting your glass. “Here’s to trying our best to keep everyone safe.”

He turns to face you. There’s a solemn expression behind those eyes of his. As if he’s determined to make this his life’s goal. He brings his glass closer to yours, and they clink together.

And as you’re about to drink from your shared toast, the door slides open, and a face pops in between.

“Here’s Johnny!” Soap shouts. Although he sports that annoying smug look, the top of his head is wrapped in a fresh white bandage, courtesy of the bullet that grazed him last month.

“I see you’re feeling better, Soap.” You say with a smile. “Would you like to join us?”

“Nah,” he replies. “Captain told me to tell you to come inside; cake’s about to be served.”

You thank him, and he shuts the door behind him. You turn to look at the lieutenant, who is slowly shaking his head.

“Scratch my New Year’s resolution,” Ghost murmurs, looking at the remains of his drink. “For this year, I plan on moving bases so I’d be away from him once and for all.” He states and downs the rest of it.

“You don’t mean that.” You chuckle and slap his arm.

“I don’t,” he admits, “but he made us all lose ten fucking years of our lives.”

“Everything turned alright, Lieutenant.” You say and wrap an arm around his waist. “Now, pull down your balaclava and come inside before you catch a cold.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and plants three little kisses at the top of your head before covering the rest of his face with his mask, leading you inside to celebrate the new year.

———————————————————————

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 5

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

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Tuesday! Ugh.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s nearly midnight in Norway by the time you’re free of the airport. The train station isn’t far; it’s part of the airport. You wait on a bench between the rails as your boarding is two hours away. You sit with your luggage and mope. This new land only adds to the gloom clinging to you. 

You shiver as a draft flows down the tunnel. Not only is grey and grim, but it’s cold. It’s almost June but the weather is more akin to the cusp of winter and spring back home.  

Your weeks of research couldn’t prepare you for the real things. All that anticipation could never compare to that moment of desolation; alone in this far land, away from everything you knew. Everything around you is new and foreign and unwelcoming. 

When the train pulls up, you wait in queue with the other passengers. Some are native, speaking in lilted English or indecipherable Norwegian. Duolingo hasn’t done much for you as you catch only scraps of pronouns and verbs. Others are new arrivals like yourself but they seem much more certain of themselves. You feel utterly lost. 

You show your ticket and board. You tuck your bag away with the larger pieces kept at the front of the carriage and hug your carry-on in your lap. You stare out the window as the train begins to roll on the tracks, screeching as it pulls out into the black night of this strange land. 

The subtle rumble of the locomotive lulls you into a half-sleep. Your head is wrought with the ache of your building hangover and twisted visions of the life left behind. You hear Steve’s final goodbye, you feel the hug that was snugger on your end than his, and you feel the razor of Peggy’s spiteful eye. Even in a stupour, you can’t forget it. You hope Sam is right and that it will fade with time, yet you fear it might all be gone for good. 

You wake as the automated voice announces your stop as the next one. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You’re trying to be optimistic. Just focus on work. That’s what this is all about. Everyone keeps saying it and you haven’t heard any of them. This is a great opportunity. What you’ve been hoping for all these years. How did you forget that?  

You disembark and drag your bag behind your heavy feet. You’re exhausted but you still have a trek to go. Everything looks so different than back home. Small differences but enough to reinforce your displacement. 

You find the rental car kiosk at the other end of the station and show your reservation. Work is paying for that too. Apparently, you’ll need it to get to the site. Another harbinger of desolation. 

You hook up your phone to the built-in bluetooth and tap the address already saved in your maps. The app takes a moment to recenter and finally, you’re off. You wonder if you should even be driving. You’re definitely not drunk anymore but you’re barely awake. 

It’s only an hours ride across the city, just along the ridges that look off onto the coast. It’s beautiful. You can see that even through your melancholy.  

The morning rises as you get your key to the blue paneled townhouse. You should try to stay up to reset your clock but you’re jet lagged to the bone. The moment the door is locked, you let your bags fall to the floor and stumble through to the first piece of furniture you see. You collapse face first onto the couch, unable to feel the impact as you plummet into a deep sleep. 

Time, space, and all your pain disappears. There is only the endless void of fatigue. Your mind is too tired to summon nightmares or nonsensical visions. Your body is so drained that even your brain is empty. 

You wake on your arm, fingers tingling painfully as your shoulder muscles burn. You hiss and sit up. The bend of your fingers and a shaky attempt to move your elbow make you whine. Ugh. You rub feeling back into the limb as you lean against the back of the couch. 

You look around, finally able to take it all in. The house is neat and sleek. White plaster and pale wood finishes. The couch you sit on is a sectional and there’s a match ottoman across from you. The TV mounted on the wall reflects the shadow of the archway behind you and the tall lamp in the corner and the stone and marble ornaments. 

You rise, wobbling on your legs, and put your arms out to get your bearings. You meander through the townhouse. You can hardly admire the furnished interior as it underlines your loneliness. All this space for just you. 

There’s a kitchen at the rear of the house, a large wooden island standing center to a fridge with a glass door and polished counters carved in granite. The tiles are pristinely placed diamonds in hexagons and a large window looks out into the rain-soaked yard. It’s night again, or maybe that’s what the daylight looks like here. 

Upstairs, there’s a bedroom and a bathroom. A full tub and separate shower, two sinks set into a sparkling counter, and a wall of mirrors above them. It truly is a dream but why doesn’t it feel like it? 

You amble down stairs and fish out your phone. The battery is at eight percent. You have several texts. All from Sam. You only remember then why you don’t see any from Steve. No, you won’t check. 

You quickly type that you’ve landed safely and set the cell down. You’ll let it die before you plug back in. You need time. You need to get yourself straight. You need to accept that this is all real. You made this choice.  

You’re starting over. It’s a new life and there’s no room for your heart here. 

💟

You have the night to unpack, more than just your luggage. Still, there are things you can’t let out. Not yet. As much as the blade twists in your chest, taking it out will mean a deluge you can’t quell. For now, you just won’t think about it. 

You sleep a few more hours and wake just before six. You have your bag ready to go for the day. You tie on your boots and pull on a lined jacket before braving the Norwegian summer. You lock the door behind you and yawn into the brisk air. 

Before you head for the site, you stop at a cafe you see along the way. You get an egg biscuit and a coffee with extra espresso. You’re sure to add on a snack to eat between your work. 

You drive towards the greater mountains and turn onto the road that angles up the side. You follow the curved ledge as the GPS guides you through the car speakers. The drive is two hours up, maybe a bit quicker on the way down. Suddenly, a ping sounds from the system and you glance at the screen; ‘signal lost’. Shoot. It’s okay. You think you’re almost there. 

You pull over, not that there’s much space to do so. You have the physical maps you’ll use for the work itself. You find yourself amid the lines and symbols and memorise the path forward. You continue on cautiously, reassured as you’re met with a sign that delineates the site. The plot has already been closed off with a fence. 

‘Grant land. No trespassing.’ 

You park just outside the fencing and grab your bag and your breakfast. You sit on the hood and eat as you look over the muddy site. You read the grant report. It’s here they think there was a settlement. Not a very big one but an important one.  

The rock wall hugs the site in an almost perfect basin as the slick land is barren of almost any growth. You’ll start with gridding it all out, both with string and on paper. You clap your hands off and get up to begin. The process will keep your distracted. 

You put your earbud in and set to task. You pause to sip coffee and mark the paper between planting the stakes and the string the twine to divvy it all up in squares. You watch where you put each step, the mud sucking at your treads. A wet site is never an easy one. 

It takes the first day just to prep for digging and you don’t even think you’re done. You’re tired and achy and ready to go home. It’ll take you nearly three hours back by your guess. The night will be a short one as you figure you’ll need to head out earlier, especially if you hope to take advantage of the fleeting sunlight. 

As you get back to the townhouse, it’s night again. You walk down to a fish restaurant just a block away. The faces are friendly and the food is good, but it all seems so bland. You eat and go back to your accommodation. Not home, just a place to lay your head. 

You check your phone. Back amid the world of the living, you have a dozen messages; Sam, Bucky, your mom, Arturo. You respond to each of them in turn, assuring them that all is well. You don’t have the energy for much more. 

Yet it isn’t up to you. Your phone chimes at you as you near the bed, sitting on the edge as you answer. You know with Sam that ignoring him will only make him worse. 

“Hey,” you answer with an unrestrained yawn. 

“Yo, how ya feeling?” he asks. 

“Erm, tired,” you lean forward, crossing and arm over your knees. “How are things there?” 

“Eh, usual. So, uh, did that paradise punch knock you on your ass too or am I getting old?” He chuckles. 

“Heh, yeah, no I’m feeling it still,” you mutter. 

“Mm, it’s late there...” he says, “sorry, if I’m keeping you up.” 

“No, it’s fine. Just... a lot of driving.” 

“Oh? You worked today?” 

“Wanted to get a head start,” you shrug as you play with the fold of your pajamas across your knee. 

“How is it? Is it bleak? Cold? Are the men gruff?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Grey. Bit chilly but it’s not bad around noon,” you say dully, “haven’t seen much of the locals. With how long it takes me to get up the mountain...” 

“Oh, a mountain,” he echoes enthusiastically, “that’s exciting.” 

“I guess. Eats away the day.” 

“I’m sure,” he agrees glumly, “hey, don’t forget to treat yourself. Take a weekend off and hit that spa.” 

“I will. I just got here.” 

“Well, we all miss you,” he says. “Bucky especially. We got in a huge blow out the other day over the string in his hoodie.” 

“Of course you did,” you can’t help but laugh. 

“Really, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to fix it and it just... slipped inside, I don’t know. I don’t think it was about the string,” he snickers. “Probably having to deal with Steve and his--” Sam stops himself, “sorry.” 

“What? No, it’s fine. Really. I came out here to get away but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.” 

“I know but you’re tryna forget him. Like you should,” Sam insists. “And he’ll realise soon enough what he missed out on all these years. And you need to do the same. Go out, explore, enjoy it. You’ll need to have some good stories to bring back to us here, we’re dying of boredom without you.” 

“Yeah, uh, I’ll try,” you grumble, “anyway, I gotta head out early for the dig so I should let you go.” 

“Right, of course,” he agrees, “don’t be a stranger.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

“Night,” he says. 

You return a ‘good night’ and hang up. You toss your phone onto the pillow and heave as you clutch your head. You hate this. Why did you come all this way just to suffer? You should have just stuck it out. Sat on the sidelines like you always did and just swallow it all down. This is worse. Being so alone.  

There’s no going back. Not now. So you just need to get through this and after... after you’ll just have to face Mr. and Mrs. Rogers with a fake smile and broken heart. 

💟

The next week goes by much like your first days there. You wake up, drive up the mountain, plot, dig, clean up, and drive back. You sleep almost as soon as you sit down. You don’t have time to mull over what you left behind, not as you catalogue every bone and bead you come across. 

You check in with Arturo when you can, just to confirm that everything is going according to plan. Often, you’re asleep when anyone else calls. You wake up to notifications from your mom and Sam and even Bucky. You should call them back but you just can’t. You can’t put on a fake voice for them. Not yet. 

You take a day off. Only after Arturo insists. You know you should. You may as well have a proper grocery shop. You can’t keep living off the cafe and fish shop.  

The shop feels more like a market. You pick through produce and meats, and get what’s easy. You’ll cook it all and package it up so you can just heat it up later. Some muffins to eat on your way up the mountain and maybe a few protein bars. 

As you trawl the grocery store aisles, you pull out your phone. You have a pile of unread notifications from Insta. You don’t often check it anyway but your curious and a little homesick. 

You see your mom’s post about her trip to the vineyard with her book club pals and Sam’s story with a very agitated looking Bucky. That makes you laugh. You scroll by some crafting videos and the pages you follow of castle curators living your aspirational goals. 

Then you stop. You pull the cart still and go rigid as you stare at the screen. The image of Steve and Peggy burns into your retinas like a blinding light. It’s there engagement announcement. He has her in his arms, kissing her, as she holds out her hand to the camera to show off the diamond. 

You can’t breathe. Your chest is on fire and your ears are ringing. It’s like salt in the wound and you don’t doubt it's intentional, at least on Peggy’s part.  

Your hands shake as you grip the phone tightly and tap on Steve’s username. You ignore the rest of his profile and the pictures you know will only add to the turmoil brewing in your stomach. You hit the button in the corner and tap again and again. ‘You are about to block ‘starsnstripes18, are you sure’. Yes and yes! 

You lock the screen and drop the phone into your purse, nestled into the basket of the cart. You grasp the bar and push the cart forward, steadying your steps with it. You look between the shelves and exhale. 

You need to go cold turkey. No more Steve, no more Peggy, no more New York. You stood still so long, it feels good to run away from it all. 

[amberlynnmurdock]

Neighbor Pt. 6

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On a random midnight, she comes to Matt's apartment to feel less lonely. Matt lets her in.

Words: just under 3k!

Genres: FLUFF with a dash of angst because of course... they are just two lost souls confiding in the other <3

A/N: I sort of had trouble with this chapter but she's finally here lol. This picks up from Pt. 5... hope you like it!!!

Part 5

Matt felt rejuvenated the next morning. 

Maybe it wasn’t stress he had been feeling the past few weeks… maybe it was something else, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Something that made him need sweet relief that throwing punches and taking hits couldn’t provide. He needed something more sensual—intimate. Something else to get his anxiety and frustration out. Even if it was a brush of contact. Something as simple as a touch. 

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d felt that. And it felt so good to listen to her like that… despite how wrong it was. That was until she said his name out loud. Matt pondered the question all morning as he lay in bed waiting for his alarm to go off. What did it mean? Did she like him like that? What should he do next?

  Nothing, he decided. It was wrong he knew she felt that way about him… it was wrong he continued to listen to her. It was wrong of him to think he could ever make her happy when he leads the life he leads. But God, did it feel so good to think that for a moment—just a moment—it might be possible. 

He rolls out of bed as soon as he hears his automated alarm go off. Wake up, wake up! Matt slams the alarm with his fist, harder than he intended to. He sits for a moment on the edge of his bed, feeling achy all over. Other people in the apartment are waking up right now, too. Downstairs, someone turns their stove on and begins to cook bacon. Another apartment opens its windows to the cool winter air. And her—she’s awake now, too. She turned her TV on to the news.

“Daredevil took down an armed robbery and saved an old woman at the corner bodega…“ 

Matt tunes it out immediately. 

It was strange to hear news about himself playing in her apartment. It made him uncomfortable. There he was, imagining a future with her and playing with the idea of being intimate with her, all the while having one of the biggest secrets ever. 

After a hot shower and brewing coffee, Matt was just about to be on his way out. He heard her shuffling behind her door, slipping her boots on, and zipping up her coat. They always walked out at the same time, an unspoken ritual. Maybe it was safer to keep it like this, Matt thought. Maybe this was as far as they’d ever go. 

Matt took a deep breath as he stepped out, unsurprisingly at the same time as she did. Matt heard her heart rate quicken as she saw him. 

“G’morning, Matt,” she said softly, as casually as she could.

“Morning,” he smiled. Act natural. “Sleep well?” 

She paused, ever so slightly, and locked her door. “I did, better than I normally do. You?”

“Same,” Matt answered, picking up on her hesitation. Maybe he should leave the conversation at this, not push anything further. From the way she was speaking quietly to her slight quiver, Matt knew she was nervous. He didn’t want to make her feel that way. 

“I hope you have a good day, Matt,” she smiled, walking ahead of him down the stairs. Before Matt could give a response, she was already out the door. Matt slowly followed behind, somehow feeling guilty about it all over again. 

She weighed heavy on his mind all day—did he do something wrong unknowingly? All of this was confusing—he heard her say his name at her most intimate, and this morning she seemed to want to avoid him altogether. What happened?

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong. 

***

Matt walked up the steps to his apartment slowly, one hand using his cane to guide himself, the other holding onto the rail. He passed the floors of the other apartments. They were all so loud to him. Fran had the TV on a bit higher than usual. Someone’s dog was barking begging to be fed. Another was on the phone having a heated conversation with an in-law. All day, Matt was consumed by conversations he wished not to be part of. Sounds he wished he could drown out and turn off.

Finally, he reached the floor of his apartment—and hers. He liked that he shared this floor with only her. He paused at the top of the steps and pressed his fingertips against the wall. She was inside, home already from work. From the sound of her soft breathing and very still movement, Matt knew she was sleeping. A part of him melted inside. Tired from a long day of work himself, he walked as quietly as he could to his apartment and opened the door slowly to avoid making any sound.

He wasted no time changing into his Daredevil gear and waiting on his roof.

***

Matt felt accomplished when he arrived back on his rooftop after a night out as Daredevil. He stopped another robbery and saved an old couple’s bodega. He saved an old man from being mugged. He saved a young girl and her mother from an abusive ex-boyfriend. 

Entering his apartment, he stripped himself of his Daredevil gear and locked it away in his old trunk. He paused, hand still on the locked trunk that held his most detrimental secret. This trunk used to belong to his father. He pushed it inside the closet and closed the door. He made a sign of the cross and stalked off to the bathroom. 

It was shortly past midnight. After washing off in the shower, Matt changed into sweatpants. He lay in bed and shut his eyes. His thoughts always drifted to the same thing: was there more to this life, than just keeping a secret? 

After reciting a prayer and just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a gentle knocking on his door. His eyes shot open and his senses were fully engaged in the source of the sound. More knocks came. It was her. She shivered under her cardigan and shifted in her slippers from foot to foot, anxiously. Was something wrong? Why was she at his door so late?

Matt threw on a shirt quickly and walked over to open his door. Just as she was about to turn around and retreat to her apartment, thinking this is stupid, Matt opened his door. She stood there with her arms tucked around her frame and shivered from the cold in the hallway.

“Hi,” she said in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Matt. I know it’s late. But I heard your shower go off and assumed you were awake and—God, I realize how creepy that sounds that I heard your water running so I knew you were awake—never mind. I’ve spoken too much,” she rambled nervously, shivering from the cold in the hallway. Matt was surprised by her presence; he wasn’t upset at all. He welcomed her sudden appearance but couldn’t help but wonder why she was there. 

Not to mention her apologizing for hearing his water running, and assuming he was awake. After all the things he’s heard her do through her apartment… Matt was in no place to judge (not that he would, anyway).

“It's okay,” Matt whispered her name. “I was awake. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, and Matt didn’t have to listen to her heartbeat to know she was lying. It was in her voice, her mannerisms. The way she answered quickly without really considering his question. “I just—“ and she was shivering so much.

“You can come in,” Matt opened the door wider. “It’s cold in the hall.” 

“Okay,” she stepped inside his apartment and away from him as he shut his large, old door. Matt locked it and turned around to smile at her. It was then Matt realized he forgot to put his glasses on. 

“I’m sorry, let me get my glasses on,” Matt said sheepishly, reaching for them on the side table. 

“It’s okay,” she said, “you don’t have to put them on.” She paused, looking at his handsome face in the low glow of his apartment. He wasn’t hard to look at at all—from his warm hazel eyes to his plump lips. 

“Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” she answered. “I’m barging in on your place—you don’t have to sacrifice your comfort for mine.” 

He smiled at that and then offered her to take a seat on his couch. He allowed her a moment to get a sense of her surroundings—she’d never been in his apartment before. Her heartbeat was steady. She looked around his living room and squinted at the windows when the large screen across the street flashed bright purple and pink lights. 

“Wow,” she said, looking back at his dark apartment. “Those are bright.”

“So I’ve heard,” Matt said lightly with a warm smile. “Do you want any water?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

She curled up on the corner of his brown leather couch, tucking her feet in underneath her legs. She was still shivering. Matt offered her the blanket that lay on it and she took it gracefully. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said sheepishly wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, “truthfully, I couldn’t sleep and I could use a friend to talk to.”

A friend? Matt’s heart jumped at this. She considered him a friend. 

“I’m glad you came,” Matt replied. 

“On Christmas, you told me that any time I felt lonely, I could come by. So… this is one of those times.”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded. “Felt lonely tonight?”

“Not anymore,” she sighed, pleasantly, like his presence alone was enough to cure whatever it was she was feeling. “I took a long nap after work to avoid it and woke up feeling worse than I did before. Like a harrowing, deep hole in my chest.” 

Matt knew that feeling all too well—a hole he’d been trying to fill since he was 11. It occurred to him in that moment Matt hardly knew anything about her. Where she came from, what her story was. She knew bits and pieces of him but he didn’t know anything more than that she lived alone and worked at a bookstore. 

“I understand,” Matt said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe another time,” she said, pushing the matter away. “I just wanted to get my mind off it.”

Matt was happy she was comfortable enough to come to him this late at night for nothing more than just another person to talk to. He could be that person for her—he wanted to be that person for her. 

“I didn’t know you had hazel eyes,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t hide them as much as you do behind those red glasses.” 

Matt blushed—unfamiliar with this feeling in his chest, like a bubbling warmth spread over that harrowing hole she was talking about just moments ago. “Oh,” he said. “People can get uncomfortable when they see my eyes.”

“Then screw them,” she said defiantly. “Like I said…you shouldn’t sacrifice your comfort for theirs.” 

“Thank you,” Matt replied. “For understanding that part.” 

“Were you—“

“Born blind?” Matt had finished this question so many times, that it became a habit to interject whenever anyone began to ask it. “No. It was an accident when I was a kid.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” Matt shrugged. He wanted to open up to her, as much as he could—without revealing his biggest secret of all. “I saw an old man crossing the street. A large truck with chemical containers was coming down the block at the same time. I pushed the old man out of the way. The truck lost control, and swerved to avoid hitting us. Well, it did bump me a little, and all the chemicals fell over, leaking everywhere. Some of it got in my eyes and—“

“That was it,” she finished his sentence. “Wow.” 

“That was it,” Matt repeated. His gaze fell on the carpet. He sat at the opposite end of the couch. 

“So, little Matt was a hero?” He could hear the smile in her voice when she said this. Matt chuckled. 

“I did what anyone else would have.”

“How many adults were there, do you remember?”

“It was on a random corner in Hell’s Kitchen. Plenty of people were walking around.”

“So, you did what anyone else would have avoided.”

Matt blushed, looked away from the general direction he was looking in. It felt different to be called a hero when it was coming from her lips. 

“Sure,” he finally said. “We can go with that.”

“Do you…” her voice trailed off, unsure how to phrase her next question without sounding offensive. 

“You can ask me anything,” Matt assured her. “You know a lot about me that some of my closest friends don’t know. Nothing’s off the table.”

“Do you miss having sight? That’s probably a silly question. Do you remember the last thing you saw?”

“The sky,” Matt answered, a flash of blue appearing in his mind. “That was the last thing I saw. And I do miss having sight,” Matt took a deep breath. “But there are other ways to see.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “How do you see in other ways?”

What a loaded question, he thought. 

“Touch, for one. I can get a sense of something when I touch it. Smell—easy to distinguish what’s on my plate. I still know what a majority of things look like.”

“But not people,” she stated. 

“Not people,” Matt affirmed. “But there’s a way for me to paint a picture in my mind.”

“How? A person describes what they look like?”

“Descriptions help,” Matt answered, “but touching their face helps a hell of a lot more.” 

She was silent for a moment, understanding his answers and pondering them. She wondered what he would think of her if he could see. Matt felt as if she was wondering that very thought.

“Do you want to touch my face?” She asked in a hesitant voice. “Or I can describe to you what I look like.”

Matt felt his heart grow in his chest. How could he answer that question, without revealing his true feelings for her right then and there? It had been months of being her neighbor that he hoped and prayed he could cross that threshold with her. Hell, it was a miracle she was in his apartment at that moment. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Matt finally said, shifting in his seat. 

“I am,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Come here.”

Matt moved closer to her on his couch until his left knee was touching her right. When he sat close enough to her, she grabbed his hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist to guide him. 

Starting with her hair, she gently brushed his fingers through it. It was soft. Every thread of her hair felt like water slipping gently through his fingers. Matt held his breath as his fingers grazed her neck. He had to close his eyes for this part. Matt gently placed his hand on the side of her neck, feeling how soft her skin felt on his fingertips. Like Braille, he ran his fingers ever so lightly on her skin, goosebumps following his touch. 

He moved his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. He gently ran his thumb over her brow bone, smoothing it out. Then he traced his thumb under her eye in a sweeping motion. His gaze fell on her chin. He traced the pad of his thumb down the bridge of her nose, stopping at her cupid’s bow. She gently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Matt gently let out a breath too. He took his other hand and cupped the other side of her face in his palm, feeling her cheeks heat against him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, a steady boom boom, boom boom, he had come to memorize to help him fall asleep. He caressed her chin with his thumb and traced her jawline before slowly running his hand down the length of her neck, retreating to his thigh. 

“Beautiful,” Matt whispered. It was all he could say. 

“Matt…” she uttered his name, trailing off, losing her words. Her heart felt like a cement block in her chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to touch her again. She reached for his hand and placed it on her face, desperate to feel how gently he held her again, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

She turns her head into his hand and kisses his palm. Matt moves his fingers to the back of her head and guides her lips to his, a kiss that should’ve happened a long time ago. Her lips molded to his, the taste of her bringing him back to life, filling that empty hole in his chest again. He hoped it had the same effect on her. Her hand moved to hold his face, a plan to not break the kiss. A plan that didn’t matter if it worked or not, because Matt wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He wasn’t going to let go of her. 

When she eventually did pull back, he only wanted more. 

“Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly, “for letting me in.” 

Letting her into his apartment, or letting her into his heart—both answers were suitable. 

Eventually, she did go back to her apartment, for reasons they didn’t need to say out loud. But it would be a while until they brought up this night again. 

______________________________________________________________

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @babygrlmurdock @writtenbyred @uncle-eggy @marvelcinematiquniverse @sweetbee0108

[immortalmrwavell]

Mr Wavell Is Back!!

Getting Terminated, My Brand New Account and How Things Will Be Moving Forwards. If you were a fan of my content please stick around and read what I’ve got to say ❤️

So as some of you may have already noticed, my original account MrWavellSwaps was terminated. This was very recent so a lot of you who followed me on there may not have even noticed yet but you can go see for yourselves. Obviously this was not my choice and was completely out of my control and when I found out I was frustrated to say the least. This account that I’d worked on for over 3 years had just been snatched away from me in a way that I personally feel was unfair. Initially I had been censored back in July this year for posting content that Tumblr believed to be against their guidelines. Or at least their automated bots thought so as what I posted that got me the censor was in a grey area at most. But despite that I tried to do right by correcting and even deleting any and all posts Tumblr had flagged even if I didn’t believe they were against guidelines just to play nice. Following which I appealed my account’s censorship only to be met with silence for months on end. That is until September 3rd where I chased up the appeal for the third time after receiving no response or updates. I was hoping to receive a turnover on the censorship but was expecting them to just say no and keep it censored. But they did the one thing I didn’t except

The email I got the next morning could be summed up like this. “You want a response? Okay. You’re terminated. Goodbye.” And I was. I tried going on Tumblr and my account was gone. Great.

I’ll be honest in the past I would’ve said that if something like this ever happened that I’d just give up with writing these stories and move on. But I don’t feel that way anymore. I think I’ve just grown so fond of this community and writing as a whole that I just don’t really want to leave yet. I’ve met so many friends through being a writer on here and even more than that I met my Boyfriend! I never could’ve expected that writing these silly gay TF stories would change my life in the ways that it has. And that said I think I’d be doing a disservice to just give up and throw it all away.

So here I am. Back again with a fresh new account.

Where am I gonna go from here you may ask. Well of course I have a large catalogue of stories already from the past couple of years and the majority of those stories are actually still floating around Tumblr thanks to all the reblogs. So it’s not like they’re gone forever which I’m glad about. However with my old account gone it feels like they’re all scattered apart. No longer together in one place. And most importantly they no longer feel like mine. Of course I still wrote them all but with this new account I no longer have any control or ownership over those posts and honestly that annoys me. Not to mention with them all coming from my terminated account, there will always be the chance that they’ll just end up getting completely wiped from the platform eventually, reblogs included.

With that said, I’ve made the decision to re-upload each and every single one of my stories to this brand new account. This way I’ll have complete ownership of these new posts. I’ll be able to edit and change them as wish and overall I believe it would just look a whole lot cleaner than if I were to just hunt down reblogs of my old stories to reblog again over here. However I genuinely see that as a positive as not only will it be better for me that way but it can also give all of you a chance to rediscover some of my older works that were perhaps buried under so many other before. And to spice things up I might even update a few of my old stories to add extra scenes and new images to go with them!

On that note I’m gonna be trying to adhere to Tumblr’s guidelines as best I can so I don’t give them any reason to pounce on me again. This means no risqué imagery from now on even if I personally believe it’s within guidelines. My writing style will remain the same however if a story is particularly steamy I may add a community label just to be safe. If you wanna learn more about community labels and how to make sure you’re still able to view labelled posts check out this post. All that said I do have a plan in mind to bring you all versions of my stories that have more explicit imagery but more on that in a moment.

For the next couple of weeks at least I plan on gradually re-uploading all of my content to this blog like I said. I may do one story a day or more than that depending on how I decide to do it. I’ll continue doing this until everything is back up under this new blog. Once all that is done I’m going to try and create a new master list where you can find links to all my posts just like before. And once that’s done I might give myself a breather for a few days and then I’ll see about posting some brand new content. Content of which I’ll be writing up while doing the re-uploads so that it’ll be ready to go once everything is caught back up. After that everything should hopefully be back to normal with my usual schedule of posting new stories and reblogging stories I enjoy!

Now. On top of this I also have plans to create a new blog or website completely outside of Tumblr. One that I can be allowed to do anything that please with and not have to tiptoe around any guidelines. This is where I’ll be uploading alternative versions of all my stories. Some of them may be exactly the same as they were on Tumblr while others may have secret images and gifs that otherwise wouldn’t have been allowed on Tumblr. I haven’t decided on all the specifics yet but once I figure it out I’ll let you all know.

And one last thing before I sign off. Recently I’ve been considering the possibility of turning this hobby of mine into a job. Now don’t worry I’d have absolutely no plans to paywall any of my content. I want everything to remain accessible for free. However I was considering opening up a place for people to leave donations and maybe even kick my Patreon off again. But most importantly I’d be considering opening up commissions. If I were to go down this route I’d likely be able to post much more consistent content for you all and make this my full time focus. It’s just an idea for now and I probably won’t set it into motion until early 2025 if I decide to go through with it but I wanted to at least share it with you all. I was actually just about to post about it on my original account until… you know hahahah.

Well I think I’ve said everything I wanted to say. Please can I ask that if you liked my stories that you please share this and my upcoming re-uploads around and let everyone know that this is my new blog. It would help a ton in getting me back on my feet on I’d really really appreciate it.

Can’t wait to get back on track and continue delivering stories to all you wonderful people out there. I love all of you and I’m so grateful to you all for following my journey so far and I hope you’ll all find me again so we can continue this together! ❤️

- Mr Wavell

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

Experiment 1-1-7-0 (Huggy Wuggy x Reader)

When you had received the plans on “Experiment 1-1-7-0”, you had spat out your tea and had called your boss, Dr. Laith Pierre. He had told you that it was by no means a joke and it was one of the most important experiments that they had envisioned. After more explanations from Laith, you had finally conceded and took full commitment into making “Experiment 1-1-7-0”. 

At least two dozen scientists, including yourself, were involved with the experiment. Many people had wanted the credit for this. You felt it was kind of silly as you weren't  hundred percent sure if it would work or not. 

A couple of months later, “Experiment 1-1-7-0” or Huggy Wuggy as you had named him, much to the other fellow scientist’s chagrin, had been a major success but there were a few adjustments that needed to be made. Huggy was extremely feral, obviously from some of the animal DNA that had been put into his body and had ended up being put into a steel reinforced glass cage to keep you and the others safe. 

But you weren’t scared of him. 

When you had started your first shift with the experiment, you had gone straight over to the cage where Huggy Wuggy sat, hunched over in a corner. With a little coaxing, you got Huggy out of his shell a little and have him trust you. 

One of the head bosses had noticed this and had given you a promotion and put you in charge of looking after Hugy Wuggy. You couldn’t have been happier. 

*************

Entering the basement of the factory, you made your way to the clocking machine and then straight to Huggy Wuggy’s cage. 

The large, blue furred creature was no longer slouched in a corner but lying on his left side at one side of the cage. You made your way round to that side of the cage and sat down with your legs tucked in to one side. 

You tapped your fingers gently against the glass that was encased with steel. Huggy Wuggy jerked a little in his sleep and blinked open his large dark eyes. He moved his crescent shaped head up towards you. 

“Morning, sweetie.” you cooed, wagging your fingers in a kind of wave. 

Huggy’s big red lips curled into a big smile and began to sit up a little. 

“Hey, boy. Did you sleep well?” 

Huggy made a loud chirping sound in response and began to shuffle a little closer to the glass wall that divided you. 

“Yeah, that’s great.” you said. “Have you had anything to eat yet?” 

Huggy shook his head in an innocent fashion that made him look adorable, considering the large beast that he was created to be. 

Looks could be very deceiving. 

“Okay, I’ll go and find someone to get your food. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Huggy suddenly made a stage noise that sounded almost like a whimper. It made you halt as you began to get to your feet. The large furry creature was now pawing at the walls with his yellow glove-like paws. 

You stared at him, confused. Then it dawned on you. The only times he acted like this was when you left him after your shift ended. The poor creature often pawed at the glass wall and whimpered as you w9uld say your goodbyes to him. More to the point, Huggy would roar and claw wildly at his cage as you left and the noise would echo throughout the whole factory. One time, he had attacked one of your colleagues sending her to the hospital, all because he missed you. 

Now, the poor thing was thinking you were going to leave him again. 

“It’s okay, boy.” you reassured him.. “I won’t be gone long, I swear. Just to find someone and get your food. I’ll be back soon.” 

Huggy still continued to whimper but relented as you got to your feet and gently made your way over to a coworker. 

“Hey, Ross. Can you get me some food for Huggy?” 

“Sure. I’ll be about five minutes.” 

“Thank you.” 

You then made your way back to Huggy’s cage and typed in the key code: 56437. 

“Holding cell open.” came the automated voice and you stepped inside. 

The moment you stepped in, Huggy’s long limbed arms came around you and pulled you closer to him. Immediately, your ears were swamped with low purring. 

It still baffled you how such an odd creature like Huggy could be so sweet and caring?

You reached up and scratched the spot between his eyes, making the purring grow louder. 

(The End)

[xxoxobree]

Miles G x Black Fem Reader

Summary: Revenge is oh so sweet

WARNINGS: A Few bad words , one tiny suggestive scene, aged up.

Saturday.

You sat in your bed, laptop placed on your lap as you continued to finish your work. But your mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of him. Miles. Ever since he left last Saturday, he had been the only thing on your mind.

Feeling restless, you shut your laptop and tossed it to the side. A small smile graced your lips as you picked up your phone to check the time. It was already 6 pm. Your heart quickened its pace. Should you start getting ready? You always wanted to look your best for him.

You freshened up, fixed your hair and makeup, and sat on your bed, waiting for him. Tonight felt different. It felt like the night you would finally win him over, the night he would finally see you. The night he would choose you to be his number one.

But as hours and hours ticked by, there was no sign of him. Not even a text. You checked your phone again, now reading 1 am. The disappointment weighed heavily on your heart. What happened? Why didn't he show up?

He's usually always here at 10, or he'd at least send you a text saying he'd be late. The minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of him. Frustration started to bubble within you, wondering if he was flaking on you for his "girlfriend" again.

"Miles, are you still coming? Don't tell me you're flaking on me for that girl," you typed in a text message. But to your surprise, a red exclamation mark appeared next to it. Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and tried again, only to receive the same result.

You decided to call him instead. Holding the phone to your ear, you muttered, "This nigga got me fucked up." But instead of hearing his voice, you were met with an automated response. Your eyebrows furrowed even deeper, frustration slowly turning into anger, as you dialed his number again, only to hear the same automated message mocking you.

"He fucking blocked me?" you said out loud, a mixture of shock and heartbreak washing over you. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, tears welling up in your eyes. How could he do this? He said he loved you, so why would he just block you without any explanation?

Feeling the weight of betrayal, you tossed your phone to the side and covered your mouth in disbelief.

A million thoughts of why and what did you do swirled in your mind. You crawled into bed crying yourself to sleep, and that was your reality for a week. Dragging yourself out of bed to class and back, sleeping to get yourself to stop the constant crying you did.

Saturday night again, exactly one week after Miles ghosted you. Your phone pinged, and you felt your heart quicken, a sliver of hope that it was him who came to apologize, say something happened to his phone. But it wasn't. It was your friend Nia who texted you to FaceTime her. Reluctantly, you picked up the call.

"Hello?" you said, hearing loud blaring music and seeing her face halfway in the screen.

"Y/n, where were you, girl?" she screamed into the phone.

You chuckled a bit, the first in a week. "I'm in bed."

"You in bed? Girl, get yo ass up, it's so many niggas outside."

You laughed at her antics. "Girl, you're crazy."

Nia's voice softened, concern evident in her eyes. "I know you've been hurting, Y/n. But you can't let this keep you down. You deserve better, and you need to realize that."

You sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. "I know, Nia. It's just hard, you know?"

"They're having a kickback, I'll text you the address and you better show up." You rolled your eyes, knowing that you had no choice but to come now. With a sigh, you rolled out of bed and freshened up, then dressed yourself and made your way out the door to the party.

The music from the party could be heard a block away, and as you got closer, you could tell that the party was packed by the way people lingered outside. Pushing your way through the crowd, you made your way inside, scanning the room for Nia and your other friends in the distance.

"Ayeee!" you exclaimed, approaching them with a little bop to the music that blasted through the speakers. "Omg, you look sooo good, girl," Nia said, giving you a hug, followed by your other friends.

The night progressed, and you were having fun. The few drinks you had loosened you up, and you had totally forgotten the despair you were in just a few hours earlier. That was before you heard a voice in your ear. The last voice you wanted to hear, but one you were oh so weak for.

You spun around, and there stood Miles, his pretty smile on display. "Hey mamita, you're looking as pretty as always," he said, his voice dripping with charm.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, time stood still. You knew you shouldn't be swept away by his words, but his presence was intoxicating. The memories of past encounters flooded your mind, the passion, and the pain.

Trying to compose yourself, you replied, "Hey, Miles,"

You rolled your eyes at him, ready to walk away, but he caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your veins, and you couldn't help but feel a flicker of longing deep within you.

"Don't be like that, ma. I miss you," he pleaded, pulling you close, eliminating the space between you two. His voice tugged at your heartstrings, making it harder to resist him.

You looked up at him, your self-control wavering. He could see the battle raging within you, the fight diminishing, and that turned him on even more than he could have imagined. He knew he was pushing your boundaries.

"Whatever, Miles," you said, trying not to give in to him. You remembered how he had cut you off, how he had made you cry, and a switch flipped in your brain. If he wanted to play, then let's play, you thought to yourself, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Come," you said, grabbing Miles' hand, leading him to an empty room. The anticipation hung in the air, thick with both uncertainty and excitement. This was a dangerous game, but you were ready to take the risk.

You straddled him, your bodies intertwined, as you buried his lips into your neck, distracting him from the true purpose of your actions. Little did he know, you had a secret plan in motion. You had begun recording capturing every word and sound between you two.

"I love you so much, Y/n," he whispered, his words causing your smile to grow even wider.

Your revenge was going to be sweet.

You ended the recording and abruptly got off his lap. "I gotta go, Miles," you said, leaving him dumbfounded in the room. With a sense of satisfaction, you found your friends and told them that you were heading home.

Once back in the comfort of your own room, you flopped onto your bed and opened your phone. It was time to unveil the truth on Instagram, the perfect platform to embarrass him like he did you. You posted the video on your story, accompanied by a caption that tagged Miles' girlfriend and asked, "This your man?"

Within minutes, your phone became filled with notifications and messages from people who had viewed your shocking story. The reaction you craved the most came from Miles himself. He blew up your phone with a series of angry text messages, which you chose to ignore, relishing in his frustration. And then, as if to add salt to his wounds, he called.

Unable to contain your amusement, you picked up the phone, laughing hysterically. "You think that shit's funny, huh?" he yelled from the other side of the line. "Hilarious," you replied, savoring the taste of revenge before hanging up and blocking his number.

🏷️ @noneofyabuisnezs @zaddyskye69 @neteyamsz @evermorewest @writerze @curly @bigbadjelly @xoomiez @ccrazyinluv @aqxllo @sleepyghoster @onlyloaksgf @ohsoprada @han-sirentell @ellerihs @acezeyez z @ashanomly @namjoonsloveforpop @lovemyself-persona @planetspiderzz @xylianasblog @laylasbunbunny

If you weren’t tagged sorry 🥲

[lesb0]

Hi miss Terra. Any advice for someone 22 and really lost and depressed from being dependent on my parents. I live in a rural town and I feel like I'm crumbling into dust.

This is what I wish I heard when I was 22 in a rural town: as an adult you need to find full time work and do WHATEVER it takes to keep that work, the commute time/distance/walking miles/salary/hardness is not a negotiable until you find better work. This is your responsibility only, not your parents/loved ones/the government. amazon and mcdonald's always have openings with no interview/resume, doordash and uber if you have a car. This is the only time you will ever be able to do 22 hour days and spring right back into it. You need reliable set income every 2 weeks of your life. You need to save all the income you get. Your expenses and bills and groceries should be scheduled and automated. Every week/month. You should be spending $25/week or less on non-emergencies or necessities. Your happiness will never come from consumer goods. Your groceries should be real things that came out of the ground and real meat if you eat it, not processed fake food that will just make you sick. Eating out is only a socializing treat. You need to get up early before 8am to shower thoroughly and clean your teeth and groom yourself until you look successful and feel confident. You need to wear professional work clothes or a uniform every single weekday, and only dress comfortably/lounge wear when you are done working. You need to clean your room and your home every day after work. Yes you will be tired! but not doing all this is infinitely exhausting and terrible in a much, much worse way that kills you inside out. You're going to need to do these things forever. But they will all become way easier, better, and more rewarding every year.

Lastly, working hard to get yourself the success you deserve feels really GOOD!! This will all actually make you feel truly happy in a way that makes you depression/anxiety proofed for a long time. Good luck!

[rotyoursoul]

Can you write about Illumi's wife comforting their daughter after a brutal training session, and the daughter is questioning why her father and grandparents do what they do....with Illumi listening in

(I hope you like it!)

You hadn’t entirely adopted your husbands stoicism and your intuition nagged that your daughter would be the same.

In infancy she was her most finicky, Illumi placing her back in your arms then leaving the room.

Toddler years to early childhood proved the same, except now her father’s stare - devoid of emotion yet somehow disapproving - would set her straight.

As the years crept by she began to adjust accordingly, as did you.

She knew not to cry infront of him.

That was saved for later in the sacred space that you had created. It would only last for as long as it took you to tend to her wounds after training, but it was appreciated nonetheless.

As she sobbed in your arms after a particularly rough day, you could feel the remaining fragments of your heart shatter.

You wanted desperately to express to her that you felt her pain, but you couldn’t piece the sentences together even if you tried.

This lifestyle has taken its toll on you as well, gradually losing the ability to articulate emotion with each passing season.

She finally pulls away, her long black hair falling on either side of her face.

“Your father says that you’re excelling in your training.” You say at an attempt in reassurance

“I don’t care.” Her voice is calm as though she hadn’t just been in hysterics. You wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks. “Why do I have to train?”

“It’s very important to our entire family. We have to keep our line of work alive. ” She rolls her eyes upon hearing that automated response.

“Robotic just like father. I’m clearly not meant for the family business. I keep getting hurt.”

“That is apart of the process.” Illumi’s impassive voice interjects , causing you both to jump at the sudden annunciation of his presence. “You possess the potential to become one of our strongest assassins.”

“But I don’t want to be.” She expresses.

“I understand your hesitation.” He responds calmly before changing the subject. “I see your injury from earlier is dressed. Why don’t you visit grandfather and tell him how well you’ve done today? I would like to speak with your mother alone.”

Less of a request, more of an order your daughter leaves you both. You wait until you’re sure she’s far gone.

“How long were you there, Illumi?”

“Only a moment.” You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it again. “I’ve been aware of these private emotional outbursts for quite some time.”

“…. And what of them?” You say coming off more defensive than you would like.

He eyes you carefully before speaking again.

“I fear your coddling will interfere with her progress. It will have to end soon.”

Your body tenses at the thought of the wedge this would tear between you and your only girl, at the severe personality change this would bring out in her.

She’d already begun to pick up some of her fathers traits, voice becoming monotone and gaze becoming more distant.

The last thing you wanted to do was add to this deconstruction.

Illumi notices, his eyes trailing down to your hands where your nails now dug into the skin, then back up to your pained expression.

“Please, do not make this difficult.” He closes the distance between you two, bending down to place a half-hearted kiss atop your head before leaving you alone.

[daisynik7]

Give You Blue

Chapter 1: How It Ends

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

cw: explicit sexual content/smut (brief flashback), language, angst, a breakup

Word Count: ~3.2k

Next Chapter

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: Reiner, your best friend since childhood and your high school sweetheart, breaks up with you the night before the new semester begins. With his car packed with both your belongings, the hour long drive back to campus the next day offers some clarity. Author's Notes: Excited to be writing a new series! I hope you all enjoy it. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciate. Thank you so much!

“I think we should break-up.”

It’s the last day of summer vacation, the night before you and Reiner head back to Stohess University for the start of a new schoolyear. You’ve been at his place all day, helping him pack his car, which is already halfway full of your own belongings. With the door to his bedroom wide open, you can hear his mom humming a familiar tune downstairs as she puts away the leftovers from tonight’s dinner. Her signature meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a favorite of yours and Reiner’s. It’s been this way since you were ten years old, when the two of you finally started eating real food instead of only candy, pizza rolls, and chicken nuggets. 

The words come out of his mouth low and monotone, an automated machine void of any emotions. That’s why you’re convinced it’s in your imagination, until he speaks again. “Coco, did you hear me?”

Coco. It’s the silly nickname he’s had for you since you were five, the first time you ever met on the school playground. You were in the same kindergarten class, but Reiner could not, for the life of him, remember your name for two whole weeks. What he does remember is you eating a homemade coconut macaroon every first recess of the day. And like a typically five-year-old boy, he picked on you for it, calling you Coconut even after he learned your name. Even after you became the best of friends. Eventually, it became Coco for short, and from there, it just stuck. You’re not sure if you ever liked it; maybe you only did because it was him calling you that. One of the many special secrets shared between you two throughout the years.

You turn towards him, a pair of his socks in hand, ready to roll and toss into his half empty luggage, unfazed. “Huh?” You’re prepared to hear him say something else, anything else.

He swallows hard, a serious expression on his face, glancing at his feet. “I think we should break-up.”

It takes you a good minute to process it. Three minutes, if you’re being completely honest. And he doesn’t rush you this time for a response, seeing you stare back at him, a deer in headlights, seconds before getting hit and crushed under the weight of a semi-truck. Because that’s how it feels when your boyfriend of four years and your best friend of even longer tells you that he thinks the two of you should break-up. 

You’re surprised at how long it takes for the tears to stream down your face. Everyone knows, Reiner included, how much of a sap you are. You cry easily over the most insignificant things – a car commercial, people playing with puppies, a sad scene in a movie. But this – this absolutely warrants all the tears you’ve cried over stupid shit like that. 

Reiner quickly closes the door and wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your forehead. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His facial hair brushes against you, a sensation you’ve always found comforting. He was a late-bloomer, incapable of growing that rugged look all throughout high school. It was really only last year when he needed to pay more attention to it; grooming became part of his regular routine. Now, it’s harsh and coarse against smooth skin, an itch you want to scratch but can’t. Somehow, you keep your volume to a minimum, aware that Mrs. Braun is downstairs, blissfully ignorant to what’s happening above her. Through quiet, choked sobs, you ask, “Why?”

He sighs, a pained expression on his face now; he’s always hated seeing you cry. How much worse does he feel knowing he’s the cause of it? Leading you to the edge of the bed, he sits, and you follow. With your hand in his, he starts explaining himself. “We’ve been inseparable for so long; I just think we need to take some time to figure ourselves out. As individuals.” He’s practiced this before, you can tell. He usually sputters when he’s put on the spot. Not this time. He’s been thinking about this for a while, you realize, and it breaks your heart more. 

It’s hard for you to look at him as he speaks, so you stare at his lap, his hands holding yours delicately. When you don’t respond, he continues. “We’ve been friends forever, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t. I just need to explore my horizons.”

In your mind, you replace the word horizons with options. He joined a frat last semester, which you can admit, worried you at first. He assured you nothing about him would change, and you believed him. Before your logic can stop you, you spit out, “So you’re trying to fuck some sorority girls, is that it?”

He clicks his tongue at you, disappointed. You’re better than this, you know this, and he does too. “C’mon. It’s not like that.” 

“Then what? Don’t bullshit me, Reiner. If you’re going to break-up with me, I deserve to know the truth.” It’s fighting words. You can’t help it when you’re defenseless like this. 

He hesitates before confessing, “I’m not in love with you anymore.”

It fucking hurts to hear. The one person you were so sure would never harm you, stabbing you in every vital point of your body. It’s betrayal, disappointment, and heartache all at once, and you’d give anything to turn back the clock and go back to even a few minutes ago, when you were happily folding his laundry. You’re speechless, a jumble of thoughts stuck in your throat, gagging you until it’s too hard to breathe and you’re gasping for air. There’s static noise surrounding your ear drums, and Reiner’s voice is so muffled that you can barely understand him. You reach around him for a pillow, burying your face in it to hide your cries. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” Baby. He still calls you that through a breakup. You’re his baby that he’s not in love with you anymore. It’s all so fucked up. Between anguished sobs, you ask, “What did I do wrong?”

He rambles on and on about how it’s not you it’s me. It was nothing you did, except in the back of your mind, you keep thinking why wasn’t I good enough? He strokes the back of your hand with his palm, his skin cracked and calloused from rock-climbing, one of his new favorite hobbies. You’ve been nagging him about using that special cream you bought for him, the one that’s supposed to help soothe skin with a tiny dollop. Did that annoy him? Is that the feather that tipped the scale? You can’t help but replay every single fucking thing you’ve ever said to him, every single thing you’ve ever done for him, trying to discern when and where it went downhill. 

You’ve always been best friends first, lovers second. You thought it was special this way, that it means something more. Now, as you sit at the edge of the bed with him, listening to him talk in circles about how this isn’t your fault, you realize that maybe that’s what led to this. Better off as friends, nothing more. You were both sixteen when you decided to cross the line. At the time, it felt right. Looking back, maybe it was just convenient. Were the two of you doomed from that day on? 

“I’ll always love you, Coco.” He repeats it, hoping it’ll make you feel better. You hold your tongue, tempted to reply then why are you doing this? It’s a slap in the face when he says it. A consolation prize reminding you that you lost. 

At the end of the day, you can’t hate him. There’s too much history there. You’ve been through too much together, seen each other at your lowest points, held each other up at the highest. That kind of relationship is rare, a treasure too precious to throw away. But damn, you want to bury it in the darkest depths of the ocean right now. Hell, you want to sink down with it.  

There’s no yelling; you don’t have it in your heart to scream at him with his mother in the house with you. He probably planned it like this; he knows you too well. You don’t like making a scene, especially in front of Mrs. Braun, who’s basically another mother to you. 

You think back on the other night, in this very bedroom. His mom went out to dinner with some friends, leaving you two alone. Of course, you took the opportunity to fuck each other silly. He ate you out sloppily at the edge of the bed, kneeling before you on the carpet with your legs spread wide. Was he already considering the break-up in this moment? He must have. This kind of decision doesn’t just happen. As he bounced you on his cock, his usual tired eyes peering up at you with a small grin on his face, he said, “God, you’re perfect.” And when you came with his thumb on your clit, cock still buried deep in your pussy, he whispered, “I love you,” before he released inside you. He repeated it when you relaxed against his chest, bodies spent, chanting it while he caressed your back. I love you, I love you, I love you.

You sleep in his bed tonight. Instead of being cuddled in the middle, you roll the farthest you can, turning your back to face away from him. He does the same.

“Are you still awake?” he whispers, barely audible. You don’t respond. 

You hear him exhale. “I’m sorry.”

Several minutes later, he stops stirring and his soft snores fill the quiet. Eventually, you fall asleep too, wiping your tears on the pillowcase.  

~~~

The next morning, you pretend that everything is normal at breakfast. Mrs. Braun prepares a feast, as usual, before you make the journey back to school. She remains ignorant to the fact that you and Reiner are no longer a couple. He mentioned it last night, how he doesn’t want his mom to worry, that it’s not the right time to break the news to her. Honestly, he’s too scared to confront it, knowing for a fact how big of a deal this will be to his family. You two are practically married in their eyes. Well, were.

You do your best to act like your cheery self, despite being close to dead inside. Reiner gives you nervous glances here and there, afraid you’ll explode any second. You keep your cool, though, making conversation with Mrs. Braun, feigning excitement for the upcoming semester. Laughing along to jokes about how Reiner should be more focused on his studies and less on the frat parties. Ha ha ha.

Around noon, with the car fully packed with yours and Reiner’s possessions, you bid farewell to his mom. She gives you a warm embrace, squeezing you extra hard. “Take care of yourself, dear. And take care of Reiner too. Love you.” It takes all the strength you have left in your feeble body to not sob on the spot, so you quickly return the sentiment and walk to the passenger side, closing the door shut, burying your face in your palms. A few moments later, Reiner joins you in the driver’s seat, one more wave to his mother before starting the car and driving away. 

It's silent for the first five minutes, you wiping your tears with your sleeves, him changing the song every three seconds on his playlist to preoccupy himself. He finally picks a song, a familiar one that you know all too well. It brings back memories of the summer right after you graduated high school. The melody synonymous with weekly road trips to the beach or warm nights staying in, watching a movie marathon in bed. A bowl of popcorn on your lap, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. His face nuzzling your ear, lips nipping at your lobe. Soft touches leading to rough sex, with your mouth biting the pillow to muffle your moans as he pumps his cock into you. The cuddling afterwards, him whispering that he loves you, and that he’s so happy that you’re both going to the same college. Because he wants nothing more than to stay with you, to be with you, for the rest of your lives. 

You can’t take it anymore. Before you realize, you reach over to shut off the radio, the silence louder than the music that was playing. He glances at you, mouth agape like he wants to yell, but he doesn’t. He focuses his attention on the road again, taking a deep breath before saying, “You could have asked me to change the song.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning your head against the window, watching the blur of buildings pass as you approach the freeway. “Every song on this playlist reminds me of you. Of us.”

He pauses, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry.”

You’re sick of hearing it, but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you ask, “When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you wanted to break up.” After having a night to let it sink it, you’re ready to talk about it. At least, you think you are. 

He thinks carefully, knuckles tight on the wheel, brow knit. You wait patiently for his answer, growing more afraid of whatever harsh truth he’s about to drop on you. “It’s been on my mind all summer, if I’m being completely honest.” 

Never mind; maybe you’re not ready for this. Still, you let curiosity get the best of you. You swallow back the quiver in your throat, tears welling in your eyes again. “Why did you start thinking about it?”

He sighs, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I thought I already told you yesterday. It’s not you, it’s me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the cliché. “I’d rather hear the truth than hear that bullshit again.”

He bites his lower lip, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I guess I started to think about how you and I have been together forever. Basically our whole lives. We don’t really know what’s it like to not be with each other.” 

“And that’s bad?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not bad. It’s just…college is supposed to be about experiencing new things, right? Stepping outside our comfort zone. I don’t know if we can do that if we’re together. We rely on each other so much; we’ll never be able to explore the real world.”

You continue to stare out the window, watching as you zoom past the other cars on the street. Reiner has always been a fast driver, foot heavy on the gas pedal, raring to go past the speed limit for that tiny rush of adrenaline. You, on the other hand, are safe, never willing to push the boundaries, even for a fleeting moment. Maybe this type of mentality goes beyond the steering wheel. 

After a moment, he asks, “Haven’t you ever been curious?”

“Of what?”

“What it would be like to date other people?”

It’s your turn to bite your lip, contemplating the question. In all honestly, you’ve never pictured yourself with anyone else besides Reiner. He wasn’t perfect by any means, and neither were you. But when you pour your heart and soul into one person for years, it’s difficult to imagine repeating that process with someone else. 

You choose your words carefully. “I never thought about it, no. But I…I guess I can see where you’re coming from.” 

He doesn’t respond to that. You can’t tell from his expression if he’s relieved or concerned. Minutes pass before he speaks again. 

“You’re still my best friend, Coco. I hope you know that.”

You bite down on your lip harder, hoping the subtle pain distracts you from the influx of tears gathering in your eyes. Throat dense, tongue heavy, holding your breath because if you don’t, it’ll all come to a crumble. Before you lose it, you tap on the dial of the radio, turning it to increase the volume, not caring what song is playing anymore. Anything to get rid of the strained silence at the end of those words. For some reason, it hurts more than what he said last night. 

He doesn’t continue and neither do you, him studying the road, you gazing at the evanescent glimmer of the ocean as you cross the bridge. Officially leaving Marley and entering Paradis, halfway to Stohess University. It was your top choice when you first started applying for college, and it became Reiner’s, too. And when you both received your acceptance letters, you were thrilled, and so was he. So much so that he ordered matching sweatshirts from the online store, ecstatic to let all his friends and family know that the two of you were going to Stohess, together. That part of your life, although not that long ago, seems like a dream. You’re wide awake now and the gut-wrenching reality of it all is settling in. 

Finally on campus, you point him in the right direction towards your new dorm. He finds parking right in the front, reversing the car and backing into the spot. Turning off the ignition, he remains still, waiting for you. Without facing him, you announce, “I’m going to check in.”

He nods, looking down at his lap. “Okay. I’ll unload the car.”

After you check-in and receive your key, you make your way back to the Reiner, who’s already taken out most of your belongings from the trunk. 

“I’m on the first floor, so I can take it from here,” you tell him, grabbing one of your suitcases. 

“I’ll help you. It won’t take long.”

You don’t argue, swinging another bag over your shoulder and leading him to Room 104. You unlock the door, relieved that it’s still empty. Not ready to face Annie, your roommate, just yet. Reiner helps move your heaviest items, the mini fridge and a box of clothes and shoes. When everything has been pushed into the room, you both stand around, hands on your hips, waiting for the other to speak first. 

“Thanks for your help,” you start. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll help you with your stuff now,” you offer, grabbing your keys from the desk.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sure there will be some brothers there to help me.” He’s moving into the frat house on Greek Row, a few minutes’ walk from the sophomore’s dorms. Last year, the two of you lived in the same building, one floor apart from each other. It seems symbolic the way you’re separated this year.

“Anyways, I should get going,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Sure.” You consider stalling by asking him to help you unpack, but you decide not to. 

He looks at you, sadness in his eyes. For the first time all day, you finally meet his gaze, the lump in your throat returning. Stepping towards you, arms out, he embraces you, wrapping you snug in one of his signature bear hugs. “I love you, Coco. I really do. This is just something I have to do.”

You keep your arms to your side, nestling your face into his chest, memorizing the familiar scent of his t-shirt, tears soaking through the fabric. If you return his embrace, you’re certain you won’t want to let him go.

He kisses you on top of the head, giving you one last squeeze. Then, without another word, he walks out of your room, leaving you alone. 

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog

[v-o-i-d-e-d]

I've been binging romcoms with my younger sister and we just finished "To all the boys I have loved before" and now I can't get the idea out of my head: reader writing letters for different starfleet members without intending to send them and suddenly the letters are gone and being sent to their unintended targets (lol, probably Jim did it not knowing that they were not supposed to be read or something). Problem is: our favorite vulcan will too be receiving quite a love letter. Idk, I just thought it was cute, you can ignore if it's too silly ^\\\^

This was such a cute request and I love rom-com-type situations so I ran wild. Also, I'm sorry that this took so long for me to get out I have been busy with school and other annoying responsibilities! I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Spock x Kirk!reader

Warnings- none!

Word Count: 4047 my hand slipped

            Lieutenant (Y/N) Kirk had been having a totally normal day. She completed her duties on the bridge as normal and had just finished eating dinner with her brother Jim. Now as she headed back to her room, she could not wait to shower, crawl into bed, and enjoy the next few hours of sleep before she had to get up and do everything again. When she entered her room the automated door hissed closed and she was finally completely alone. She took a deep breath and turned the lights in the room on. She almost immediately noticed something that completely ruined her peace.

 Earlier that morning, (Y/N) was clearing out her storage closet and had sat a white box full of envelopes on her dining room table so that she would remember to find a new place for them. That box was no longer on the table. Now, one might think why is a missing box of envelopes a big deal? Well, they aren’t. It’s the fact that the envelopes were all properly addressed and full of letters to people she knew that she never intended to send. A few sappy ‘thank you’s to old teachers, a couple to her higher-ups including Captain Christopher Pike – the man who told the Kirk siblings to enroll in Star Fleet Academy. These letters would be slightly embarrassing if they got out but nothing (Y/N) couldn’t handle. After all, everything she wrote in them was true and she appreciates everything those people have done for her. There was only one letter in that whole box that worried (Y/N)—her love letter – a detailed love letter – to one Commander Spock. She cursed herself for writing and keeping a love letter in the first place though she didn’t anticipate the whole box would disappear. She tried to think back to earlier to see if she could remember if she moved it, but when she left her room after lunch it was still on the table and she hadn’t returned since.

            “This can’t be happening. It didn’t just sprout legs and walk away!” She said to herself. (Y/N) ran a hand down her face and thought hard. She paused, “No fucking way.” She exited her room at a jog and progressively got faster as she headed toward her brother’s room. She slid to a stop in front of the white door of the captain's quarters and rapidly slammed her fist against it.

            “James, open the door right now!”

The door slid open revealing a perplexed – and slightly afraid – Jim Kirk. He knew he had done something wrong for her to be angry enough to come to his room calling him by his full name. Of course, he had no idea what he had done but he decided it was best to try to start off ahead.

            “Look, I know you’re upset about-“

            “Did you move the white box on my dining room table when you were in my room earlier?”

            “Wait, what? That’s what you’re mad about?” Jim scrunched his face up and scratched the top of his head. (Y/N)’s eyes widened and she briefly looked around the corridor before shoving Jim back into his room and following him in. The door shut with a hiss and (Y/N) closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. When she opened her eyes Jim was staring at her with a confused expression and his hands crossed over his chest.

            “Please, for the love of god, tell me you didn’t mail those letters,” (Y/N) said as calmly as she possibly could. Silence followed her question and she already knew the answer.

            “Well –“

            “Oh. My. God.”

            “There was a box of addressed envelopes on the table so I thought you needed them mailed!”

            “Jim! Why would you mail someone else's letters? Isn’t that, like, illegal or something?” (Y/N) was absolutely freaking out and, for the life of him, Jim couldn’t understand why.

            “I was trying to be nice! I knew you had a long day today and I wanted to take something off your plate! Excuse me for being a good brother,” Jim rolled his eyes at his sister and threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

            “Well, jackass, a good brother would have asked before just taking a box from his sister’s room and now there is a love letter headed to your second in command!”

A long pause followed her statement. Jim blinked once. Twice. Then a prolonged third blink.

            “What?” Jim had no idea what to say. (Y/N) groaned and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. She began to pace in the entryway and ramble about how dumb she was to write it in the first place and how she should have burned the letters when she had the chance. Jim finally shook his head to rouse himself out of his stunned silence.

            “Why the hell would you write a love letter…to Spock? Or to anyone for that matter what is this 1812?” Jim chuckled at his own joke but covered it with a cough when (Y/N) glared at him.

            “I don’t know! I like writing letters and I just started writing one day and it turned into a full blown sappy confession that I had planned to keep hidden till the day I died! Now it’s headed off to the last person in the universe who I wanted to see it.”

            “Well, maybe this isn’t so bad.”

            “I want you to stop talking.”

            “No, I’m serious maybe this is what you two need to stop dancing around the obvious!” Jim gestured vaguely with his hands as (Y/N) ceased her pacing. She sighed and shook her head.

            “Jim, we’ve been over this: Spock does not feel that way about me. And that’s fine!” (Y/N) and her brother had had many conversations about this subject. Always with Jim insisting that the feelings were mutual and (Y/N) denying that Spock would ever even look at her in that way. I’m his best friend’s little sister and his subordinate, she thought, He’s way too professional for that.

            Before Jim could respond, both of their communicators chimed. They were being called back to the bridge for an emergency. They briefly held eye contact before rushing toward the door. As they jogged toward the bridge, (Y/N) continued the conversation.

            “Okay did you just mail them today?”

            “Why are we still talking about this?”

            “Because I want to know how long I have to transfer to another part of the fucking galaxy to avoid embarrassment,” They turned a corner and the lights flickered before flashing red. The ship shuttered and Jim and (Y/N) struggled to regain footing.

            “Is it bad that I’m hoping whatever just happened happened to happen to the mail room?”

            “Yes. And that was way too many uses of the word ‘happened’.”

Six hours and several shots fired later, the trouble was averted. A rogue Klingon battalion had decided to attack the Enterprise while it was stationary and almost destroyed the engines but quick thinking from Jim, (Y/N), Spock, and Sulu had saved the day. (Y/N) was officially beyond exhausted. She was so tired, in fact, that she forgot about the whole letter situation and went straight to bed after the whole debacle was over.

Day 1 of waiting:

She slept blissfully and woke up rested and ready for the day. She had gotten dressed and ready and made her way back to the bridge. Unfortunately, her blissful restfulness was cut short when she laid eyes on a certain Commander and remembered the imminent embarrassment that was bound to ruin her life at some point this week.

            “Good morning, Lieutenant Kirk. You look rested.” Spock greeted her with a nod as he fell in step with her toward the bridge elevator.

            “Uh, yeah, good morning,” (Y/N) managed to only stutter once and she quickly cleared her throat. She shouldn’t be freaking out. They walked together to the bridge all the time. Of course, normally Jim is with them but still, casual meetings with Spock were not entirely out of the ordinary. As they walked, silence filled the space between the two and, to (Y/N), it was suffocating. Something on her face must have given away the fact that something was wrong.

            “Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?” Spock asked. His face was neutral but he side eyed (Y/N) intensely. Briefly, (Y/N) met his heavy gaze before looking straight ahead.

            “Yup, feeling absolutely terrific!” She couldn’t even believe herself. Spock raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak again but, luckily for (Y/N), he was interrupted.

            “Lieutenant Kirk.” It was Scotty. God bless him! (Y/N) thought.

            “What’s up, Scotty?” Was that the formal way to address him? No. But (Y/N) just wanted to get out of speaking with Spock one-on-one.

            “I need to speak to you. There are some issues with a few of the privates stationed in the engine room and I could use your help to resolve the issue before I throw some people out of the airlock!” His accent was strong with annoyance and (Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle.

            “Sure thing,” She turned to Spock who had paused beside her, “You go on to the bridge, I’ll be in the engine room if you need me in the meantime.” Without waiting for an answer, (Y/N) hurried toward the engine room leaving Scotty to trail behind.

Day 2 of waiting:

            It was only the second day, and Spock had already caught on to the fact that (Y/N) was avoiding him. (Y/N) knew it was not going to be easy to allude him while also keeping it a secret that she was doing it on purpose, after all – Spock isn’t an idiot and (Y/N) is anything but subtle. Spock and (Y/N) had a routine and of course in an effort to not speak to him (Y/N) had changed it so that she was usually off the bridge when Spock was there and vice versa.

            “Lieutenant Kirk you are needed on the bridge,” Chekov’s thick accent crackled through (Y/N)’s communicator and she sighed. She knew Spock would be there which is why she was currently in the engine room recalibrating the warp drive. It was busy work that she normally wouldn’t do but anything to avoid the impending embarrassment.

            “On my way.”

            When she arrived, Spock immediately shifted his gaze from his work to her. (Y/N) briefly met his gaze before walking toward her brother who was seated in his chair with his legs thrown over the armrest. She rolled her eyes.

            “What do you want, Jim?”

            “That’s no way to address your captain, Lieutenant,” Jim had a smug smile on his face – as usual – and it took everything in (Y/N) not to smack him on the back of his head.

            “Tell me what you want or I’m leaving. I was working, unlike some people,” She scoffed as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned into her hip.

            “Okay, I am sending you and Spock on a mission,” Jim’s smirk got wider as he noticed his sister’s eye twitch in annoyance. “The planet we’re coming up on is supposed to be abandoned but there should be evidence of a previous civilization. I figured with your archeological knowledge and Spock’s general smart-assery you two would fit the job perfectly.”

(Y/N) took a deep breath in through her nose as she glared at Jim. She sneaked a glance at Spock.

He was listening in on the conversation – an action he deemed logical since it also pertained to him. His eyes were focused on the screen in front of him but he could see (Y/N) from the corner of his eye. He noticed her normally relaxed state was exchanged for tensed shoulders and a glowering expression. Whatever had been going on yesterday had most certainly carried into today. He thought. (Y/N) Kirk was one of his closest friends just as James Kirk was. Though many things that the younger Kirk did were illogical and not well thought out, she knew how to get the results she wanted and always figured out a way for everyone to be happy or at least safe. Spock enjoyed her company even more than he enjoyed her brother’s. She was smart, kind, and usually quiet if it was just the two of them. She was a challenging chess opponent and someone dear to his heart. Not that he would say that to her.

(Y/N) sighed, “Okay. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be in the atmosphere at around 12 o’clock Earth time so you’ve got plenty of time to research and prepare. Why don’t you and Spock take the rest of the day for whatever nerd stuff you need to do,” Jim waved his sister off before getting up and leaving the bridge. (Y/N) glared at his back as he left before begrudgingly walking over to Spock.

“Hey, Spock,” she said. Her eyes were focused on the ground rather than up at the Vulcan who was looking at her intently. (Y/N) took a breath in through her nose before finally lifting her gaze to meet Spock’s, “Let’s go get some lunch and we can talk about the mission.”

Before the Vulcan had the chance to respond, (Y/N) quickly turned on her hell and started walking toward the elevator. Spock easily caught up to her before the doors closed and as the elevator began to descend, Spock spoke up.

“(Y/N), are you feeling ill?” Spock dropped the formalities and asked straight out. (Y/N) lifted an eyebrow and looked at her Commander with a curious gaze.

“No, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” This was a stupid question, (Y/N) realized. Her behavior was at best erratic and clearly intentional so it was only logical for Spock to know something was wrong. She did breathe an internal sigh of relief knowing that Spock hadn’t received the letter, otherwise, she was sure he would have confronted her by now – mutual feelings or not.

“You’ve been acting strange for the last couple of days. I want to be sure that your behavior will not negatively affect your performance on this mission.”

(Y/N) fought the urge to roll her eyes as the elevator doors hissed open. Of course. She thought. He’s only worried about this dumb mission my dumb brother is sending us on to torture me.

“I am also worried about your well-being, Lieutenant.” Spock’s surprising sentiment almost made (Y/N) trip on her own foot. She cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders as they turned the corner of the hallway.

“I promise, I’m okay. Just have a lot on my mind right now.”

“Ah, yes, the letter.”

(Y/N) swore her heart stopped right there in the hallway. She hesitantly looked at Spock, trying her best to keep her expression as neutral as his. She didn't know how to respond I could play dumb, she mused, but he’s too smart for that to work. The man knows my handwriting so it would be impossible for me to deny that I wrote it. She took a deep breath through her nose, Fuck it.

“Yeah, actually that is what’s on my mind. And honestly, I had hoped I could just ignore the problem but I should have known that wouldn’t work with you.” (Y/N) rambled.

“Why would this be a problem?” Spock tilted his head slightly and furrowed his eyebrows, something that (Y/N) found impossible endearing.

“It could ruin things! In so many ways!” By now, (Y/N) was pacing the hallway and Spock was more confused than ever. “You’re my superior officer and I just sent a love letter to you! Of course, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to send it that would be my genius brother. But I was dumb enough to leave the box out and allow him into my room! But I mean, who mails other people’s letters without asking? What was he even thinking?”

“(Y/N) –“

“I’m so sorry! I seriously didn’t mean to tell you like this and if I’m honest, I didn’t intend on telling you at all! My feelings were supposed to be kept to myself! Well, to myself and Jim but he’s a nosey bastard who obviously can’t mind his business! I don't know why I tell him anything and honestly, I wish he’d just – “

“(Y/N).” Spock, tired of listening to her pointlessly rambling on about how annoying her brother is – a fact he knew to be true – grabbed her gently by the shoulder to get her to stop pacing. Now that she wasn’t speaking and instead was staring up at him like a kicked puppy waiting to be scolded his mind went blank. Spock was officially at a loss for words. “I was talking about the letter of promotion Admiral Pike sent you. About the head of engineering position.”

She wanted to disappear. Perhaps if she willed it hard enough, she could fade from existence on the spot. For once, it was running her own mouth that got her in trouble instead of her brother’s. (Y/N) tried to read Spock’s expression but couldn’t and that sent even more anxiety straight to her gut.

“Oh.” That was all she managed to say. She quickly regained her wits, “Then just forget everything I said and we can just go back to normal!” She let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a cry and started to walk in the direction of the cafeteria. However, Spock hadn’t let go of her shoulder and as she walked away his grip slipped from her shoulder down to her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Wait.” That was all he managed to say. His mind was still reeling trying to decipher her quick words. A love letter. He thought. She loves me? He couldn’t believe it. “You love me?”

Despite her distraught state, she had to admit she had never seen Spock looking so dumbfounded, as if what she said was something he had never thought of in any scenario. His hand still held hers firmly and he gently pulled her back towards him. “You love me.” He said again, though this time it seemed as though he was finally understanding the situation.

“Okay, Spock, you’re starting to sound like a broken record, and the record is titled Hurting (Y/N)’s Feelings.” She chuckled only to keep herself from bursting into tears out of sheer embarrassment. This was the moment she was dreading. The absolute end of a friendship and a lifetime of shame. I’ll have to go into exile. Maybe I’ll ask Scotty to throw me out of the airlock. She thought. Just as she was about to speak again, Spock dropped her hand turned on his heel, and headed back in the direction they came from. That was when the damn broke and (Y/N)’s eyes welled up with hot tears. Blinking rapidly, she haphazardly looked around the hallway to make sure no one saw her before jetting away in the direction of her room.

“You left her in the hallway?” Jim was on the verge of shouting. He was absolutely flabbergasted at Spock’s behavior. Spock rolled his eyes.

“I was unsure of what I was supposed to do.”

“So you decided to leave my baby sister in the hallway, by herself, after basically confessing her undying love for you.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Trust me, I am not.” Jim ran a hand through his hair and huffed out an annoyed sigh. He paced back and forth, a habit that Spock noticed the siblings share, before looking back at his second in command. “Okay, you have to go after her.”

Spock knew this. It was obviously the most logical course of action. There was only one problem: “What am I supposed to say to her?”

“Apologize for rudely walking away, first off. Then – and this is just a spitball idea – tell her you feel the same!”

Jim was actually convinced that Spock’s brain had short-circuited. Spock wasn’t firing on all cylinders because if he was, he would understand the logical thing to do. Secretly, Jim was happy this situation happened. He had been trying to the Spock and his sister together for months now but he found the process to be similar to cutting a tree down with a blunt axe.

“Beginning a relationship with Lieutenant Kirk would violate –“

“Not if she accepts the promotion.”

“She’d still be my subordinate!”

“Only in the same way Scotty is our subordinate! He only has to listen to us sometimes.”

“That is not how the ranking system works.”

“Who cares?” Jim was tired of arguing with Spock over something that seemed so obvious. Spock felt the same way. “Listen, if you don’t want to tell her you have feelings for her I can’t make you. What I can tell you is that no matter what you do the sentence needs to start with I’m sorry and end with something nice. Turn off the Vulcan side for a change, not everything you do has to be completely logical. Sometimes we just need to do things that we want.”

It must have been a strange sight. The commanding officer of the USS Enterprise stood stiffly in front of (Y/N)’s quarters. He was still trying to figure out what exact words he needed to say and he had taken to scratching at his cuticles out of nervousness. I should not just be standing here. He thought. Shaking his head and finally lifting his clenched fist, he knocked twice. Panic briefly set into his veins as he realized he was actually going to have to talk to (Y/N). A cold shiver ran up his spine as the door’s airlock hissed open and revealed (Y/N) on the other side. He could tell she had been crying, though the tears seemed to be mostly dry by now. Her red-rimmed eyes lightly glared up at him and she crossed her arms tightly over her body.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was scratchy and her words were punctuated by a sniffle. Spock felt an ache deep in his gut from knowing he had made her feel this way.

“I-“ He paused. Once again he was speechless but he was determined to make this right. “I apologized for the way I behaved. Leaving you there after such an important moment was not the right thing to do and I am sorry for hurting you.” Even as he did his best to keep his tone even he couldn’t help the slight waver in his voice.

“It’s alright, Spock. Honest. I’ll be okay and ready for the mission tomorrow. Like I said we can just go back to normal and forget about it.” She was offering him an out. He knew he could easily just take it and go but part of him, a large part of him refused to give up that easily.

“No.”

“What?”

“I do not wish to return to normal.”

“Oh.” (Y/N) believed this to be the final moment of friendship. He wanted nothing to do with her anymore. “Um, okay. I guess you can just do the mission alone or ask my brother to –“

“You misunderstand. I do not want to return to normal because I reciprocate your feelings of affection.”

Oh. (Y/N) thought. A moment of silence passed between them. Spock watched (Y/N)’s face for any sign of emotion but she seemed frozen. He wouldn’t lie, she thought. Vulcans don’t lie. “You do?” her voice was quieter than she intended, almost a whisper.

Spock took her hand in his larger one. “Of course I do. I believe an adequate way to put it would be you have bewitched me, body and soul.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the giggle, “So you do listen when I talk about Jane Austin. I thought you found romance novels illogical.”

“Everything about you is illogical, but that is one of the many things I find alluring about you.” They both smiled. (Y/N) had only seen Spock actually smile a few times and each time it was like new life had filled her lungs but this time it was even better knowing that the smile was put there solely for her. And this time, she couldn’t stop herself from kissing that smile even if she tried.

[physalian]

There’s this unskippable Google AI ad on YouTube where this girl consults the robot about how to cancel dinner plans with the people across the table in the most annoying voice (likely because I have seen this ad now and had to listen to her asinine questions 20 times at least) and this ad, right here, speaks to my frustration around AI:

It disincentivizes critical thinking.

I know the ad is a joke and meant to be lighthearted and I’m only this annoyed because it’s unskippable and irritating af, but every time I see it all I can think is “if you can’t manage enough creativity and critical thinking to come up with your own excuse to cancel on your friends, maybe you shouldn’t have those friends.”

I have a relative who is firmly in the ChatGPT camp and, for example, yesterday I was trying to figure out how to compress a video file and was venting to them about it. They sent me back something I didn’t read from ChatGPT. Meanwhile, I looked up a YouTube video and figured out how to do the rest on my own, and getting the file compressed was immensely satisfying. Far more than mindlessly and thoughtlessly consulting the robot.

“It’s just like a YouTube video!” They’d told me.

No, a real person put time and effort into that video. That robot stole their content without their consent, didn’t credit them, and spat it back out. I used to patronizingly refer to ChatGPT as "the magic conch" and now I can barely do that anymore because that metaphor is becoming all-too real.

While I can understand the barriers it lowers—like if you struggle with writing the robot does it for you, or if you need a piece of art and are too poor, you can generate it for free. Mindless, repetitive tasks that eat up creative juices that can just be automated by a robot, too (even though everyone can tell when a response is canned and artificial and no one appreciates talking to a machine).

If you keep consulting ChatGPT for how to articulate what you want to say, or just straight-up having it do the hard work for you, you’re never going to learn. Yes it’s taken me 8 years to reach the quality and skill of writing I have but as another Tumblr post out there said: The time will pass anyway.

I can’t draw to the skill level that I’d like to. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep practicing until I get there. I thrive off that sense of accomplishment. There’s no little hit of dopamine from typing in a prompt and clicking a button and I certainly don’t appreciate the final product scalped without consequence from real artists.

Or, like when I had to fire a beta reader for flagrant abuse of AI in her work: I can copy-paste my manuscript into ChatGPT, too. I’d paid her for a human response, not garbage feedback that couldn’t understand what I was writing beyond that there were words on the page. I wanted so badly to ask her why she does a job in a creative field if she's just going to have a robot do all the fun parts? I beta read at a great loss of profit because I enjoy beta reading and it's a fiercely competetive market. Surely if she wanted to scam people, she could have done so in so many other ways. You don't need to know how to pen complex prose in your every day life, but by god, you do need to know how to effectively communicate, contextualize, and argue your perspective and this ridiculous ad joking about cancelling dinner plans sure is funny, until it isn't.

And I know the people who made AI probably did so with the best of intentions but people can be lazy and cheap and we love taking shortcuts to save money and I stand by this: "Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."

So. Yeah. This is a writing advice blog and this post has almost nothing to do with it, but that ad annoys me to no end and I had to say something somewhere about it. Bottom line: Robots were supposed to make the hard jobs, the monotonous jobs, the overcomplicated jobs, the belittling jobs easier, not make us all into pudding-boned Wall-E people. If you want to write, learning is absolutely free - write on the back of your grocery receipts for all I care. If you want to draw, pick up a notebook and pack of pencils from the local dollar store and start drawing.

What you made will always mean more to you than something that didn't cost you time, effort, brain power, or even money to obtain.

[ms-scarletwings]

Endearing through the Alien Lens: A Clue About the Primitive Irken?

I love literary xenobiology. I love it a whole lot, in fact. There’s a paradoxical line I dance across, between criticizing intelligent fictional aliens for their likeness to our species, and criticizing them for their unlikeness. It’s a pretentious and laughable dance between “Come on, the sky’s the limit, there’s no real reason for a bucket of different extraterrestrial races to just all be more flavors of quirky humanoids! Boring, show me something actually alien!!” and the yearn for the use of alien races as a funhouse mirror of mankind’s own evolution. I think the way Irkens nonchalantly dwell somewhere on that subjective tightrope is a good part of why I can’t seem to stop thinking about them.

They are inspired and yet creatively original. They are truly alien, and yet, they can still play foil to the bottomlessly decadent humanity that Vasquez’s Earth has set the stage for.

Before, in the very first brain dump I let loose about them, I noted a few of their parallels to the worst in Homo sapiens and the insects they resemble. This time, something is chewing on me that i haven’t seen another put into perspective. A something that seems contradictory to our collective view of the heartless, sexless, atomized conquerors that all of the cosmos will fear:

They… have parental instincts.

I didn’t necessarily say drives or wants; however, they undeniably havewhat seems to be an actual, instinctual “cuteness response”. Like us, like social pack animals which invest a great deal of resources and time into their young. Given that the closest thing that 100% of smeets born on the home world get to call a parental figure is a literal cold, unfeeling, automated machine, this seems kind of weird, doesn’t it? They’re not even born like mammals or nested like birds, they’re mass produced, like hived wasps or ants, miles beneath their actual society and out of the business of the adults. So, what the heck with them being written to be humanized with this baseless, arbitrary trait?

But, ah ah ah, nitpicker Scarlet, it’s not baseless. It’s only ✨vestigial✨

Y’all could probably make a good guess to what the cuteness response is and why it exists in Homo sapiens, but to sum up- it’s the phenomenon of when we see something we find “cute” and it makes us react to it in a protective, nurturing fashion- or also want to bite/squeeze things, weirdly, if it’s just too damn cute. Well, what do humans find cute? Things that resemble human infants, basically. It’s a biological reflex that makes us want to defend and provide care for our kind’s absurdly dependent and slow-developing young, rather than abandon them in the shrubbery like they’re just screamy, food-leeching paperweights.

“Pff, really? Well I must be special cause I don’t even LIKE babies. I think babies are icky gross, not cute! So, genetic instinct my ass!”

I hear you, sure, but what about… harp seals? Or koalas, or pandas and puppies and fawns and kittens? Or funny little cartoon blorbos? At bare minimum you’d have to be an alien yourself to feel nothing looking at photos of young hedgehogs

See, the fact that a lot of us may often find baby animals a great amount more endearing than even humans’ is not even in conflict with this understanding of cuteness.

The concept of the “baby schema” was formally proposed in 1943 by Konrad Lorenz, an Austrian ethologist. Fun fact is he was also the same researcher who originally observed and described imprinting behaviors, as seen in newly hatched waterfowl. Point is that his “Kindchenschema” idea grouped together a handful of infantile traits that make fireworks go off in the parts of your brain that wants to keep things alive and baby-talk to them. Included on the list were features like proportionally large heads, big eyes, round faces, short noses, etc. despite the name, the baby schema’s effect is something applied not to just actual babies, but children generally, and even in our reactions to non-human animals.

It’s the hypothesis behind both why we’ve jacked up the skulls of so many small dog breeds in the name of aesthetics and why we generally find the portraits on the left side of this image more appealing to look at than the ones on the right.

The consistency of these features across many species may also give some hint that they experience a similar phenonemon, especially given that these are traits shared among bird or mammalian offspring which require significant attention and protection to survive. And, it may also explain why this image likewise gives me a huge dose of that sweet, sweet response.

Awww, look at that lil’ mans! Look at his teeny noodle arms!! I just wanna pinch him like a marshmallow!

YOU are not immune to cuteness psychology, and neither are the proud Irken warriors. I’m going to cite Zim’s proclivity to what I can only describe as paternal bonding as a demonstration of this response, but before you go reminding me about his pak defects, it’s far from the only evidence that this is a natural Irken trait.

Check out little Timmy (importantly, the surrounding response to him), a hilariously out of place youngster who appeared briefly in the trial transcript for the sole purpose of a dark gag and to get us some lore revealed.

Take further note of the complimentary nature of smeets themselves.

Suddenly finding themselves alive, fresh Irken babies too, like the hatched gosling, begin to immediately seek an emotional attachment with the first animate thing they see. While mobile and fast learners, smeets are far from being able to truly fend for themselves. They’re tiny and naive and they need lots of mental enrichment/teaching. They also play and form something akin to friendships, much like human children. In the bygone era before Irkens were so reliant on Paks and all of the advanced technology of the modern empire, smeets would have been exceedingly vulnerable. All signs point to a phase in Irk’s natural history where they were once nurtured after by adults of their own kind, and commonly bonded with their caretakers. This could mean compact family units, or maybe even a communal raising situation, akin to penguin crèches (Personally I like to headcanon that the tallests/queens were traditionally the only breeding members of the population but that’s neither here or now). Either sense, the evolutionary remnants of a parental creature are still around.

Taking all that to note, instead of perceiving Zim as the bizarre outlier to the Irken condition when it comes to having this soft spot, I instead see him as an opportunity to see natural behaviors in action without the suppression of his militarized society and its distractions. Even someone as warped and selfish as he can be is still very, very full of love to give that he doesn’t even understand enough language to describe. He pretty clearly shows he has no cultural understanding or reference of cuteness, and still, he’s not so different in this “weakness” than the very humans he manipulated into fawning over Ultra Peepi. It just took an example his own sensibilities could relate to instead of an unfamiliar, repulsive alien rodent.

And when he’s given the rare circumstance to show that potential, well-

*(With the rough shape/size down, no nose, and huge, bug-like eyes, Li’l Meat man may actually be a great approximation of the key “smeet schema” features. More importantly, it was made to specifically resemble Zim himself)

- I feel that’s downright adorable.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Love Game 1

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: Your fiance suggests incorporating roleplay in the bedroom to keep the spark alive, but playing pretend turns out to be all too real.

Characters: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I did this because I could.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'You ready?' 

A tingle accompanies the text. Your stomach tosses and turns at the thought. You think you're ready. As ready as you can be. It's all so new to you. 

You hover your finger over the automated reply suggested by the OS. You tap on 'yes', too shaky to type it yourself. You're not scared, just nervous. 

When Andy first brought up the idea, you laughed. It was so absurd. Silly really. 

You remember how the look he gave you was like hands on your throat. The hurt with an edge of agitation strangled away your laughter. You apologised and asked him if you heard him right. Then he explained and it made sense. Kind of. 

'If we're going to get married, we need to keep the flame alive,' your fiance said as you stirred the contents of a pan with a spatula. 'Trust me, I know. A dead bedroom can kill everything else.' 

You frown at the memory. You hate when he mentions his first wife. He's engaged to you now. You're not her. Besides, things are pretty good. That's why you laughed. There was nothing bland to spice up. At least, you hadn't thought so. 

'You know the plan?' He texts. Always thorough, if not persistent. 

'I think' you type as you squeeze your phone tighter then think better of the reply. You backspace. Remember the plan. 'Yes, sir.' 

You blow out between your lip and put the phone on the counter. You look in the mirror and pick up the bottle of moisturizer, smearing it over your face. Half the day you've spent prepping yourself. Everything has to be perfect. Andy is always certain of that. 

You snap the cap shut and peruse the rest of the basket. He thought of everything. New soaps, wax, perfume, and all sorts of goodies. You didn't need it all but he insisted. 

Everything about Andy Barber is pristine and tidy. His house not least of his carefully curated existence. So it is that you often feel as if you don't quite fit it, even when he tells you the opposite. 

Your phone vibes and you look down at the screen as the notification flashes, 'good girl.' 

Your lashes bat and you giggle thinly. You've never done anything like this. You struggle to get a precise grip on the tweezers and have to still your hand with the other. This is wild! 

You rub your thighs together and strike hotter the flame of your anticipation. As much as the whole thing has you uncertain, it has you alight. You steady yourself and lean into the mirror, just a few stray hairs. It shouldn't matter, it'll be dark, right? 

Your phone goes again. You pull back and glance down. You trade the tweezers for the cell and press your lips together. 

'Did you find your surprise?' 

You look up and search your expression. Surprise? You lower your brow and peer around the bathroom. There's more? 

'Bedroom' his next message comes bluntly. 

You chew your lip and leave the mirror behind. You go down to the main bedroom and ease through the door. The room still smells of his cologne. The whole place is drenched in him, meanwhile most people wouldn't guess at a glance that you lived there too. 

You see it on the bed. White silk and lace. The lingerie is sheer enough that you may as well forego it. You near and touch the scalloped hem. You know it must be expensive, funny how so little fabric can be worth so much. 

You step back and take a picture. You send it to Andy and wait, your thumb between your teeth. He replies. 

'Put it on.' 

His blunt orders add to the thrum coursing through you already. It seems he's already in character. You need to get yourself together and do your part. 

'Yes, sir.' 

You set the phone on the corner of the mattress and trade your bathroom for the lingerie. The thong, while high-waisted has you on full display. Not ass, no crotch, just lace straps that trim your thighs and bottom. The top is an open teddy with cups that do nothing to censor your pert nipples. Just wearing it sends a thrill through you. 

You take the phone and return to the bathroom. You use the full-length mirror to frame your reflection with the lens. You snap a few pics and sift through for the best one. You hesitate before you tap the little arrow. You're a mess of paranoia and lust; you shouldn't send photos like this and yet you can't help yourself. 

You wait for his reply. Wait and wait and wait. You have to stop yourself from staring at the phone, knowing that your hyperfocus will only slow time. You cross to the counter and place the phone near the edge. 

Your attention is drawn to the sheer fabric acrosd your chest. You can't suppress the moan that leaks from you. You can feel how excited you already are but your eagerness might just get in the way of the whole thing. 

You sigh and the buzz draws you back from your anxiety. You read the message, almost disappointed. 

'Midnight.' 

That's it. That's all he has to say. Was the pic not good enough? Is this part of the roleplay? You don't know. 

As ever, Andy has you guessing at what he really wants. Hopefully this time, you get it right. 

💕

10:47pm. You’re wired. You’re trying to settle down. You have freshly laundered bedding and a glass of wine; all the perfect ingredients to lull you to sleep. That’s all you need to do. Fall asleep. 

Yet knowing what’s coming won’t let your mind stop. Ugh, your heart is racing again. You need to finish the wine. You push yourself up and have another gulp. You lay in the glow of your phone, a Get Ready With Me playing on low volume. Usually this all works. 

Not tonight. You’re too buzzy. Too frazzled. Too eager! 

You empty the glass and lay back down. You were generous, filling the wide body of the glass to the halfway point. At least two regular glasses worth.  

Your head meets the pillow and you start to feel it. The acidic burn spreads through your veins and you sink into the soft sheets. You turn your head to watch the small screen of your phone, vision slowly hazing as the contoured woman applies her lip liner expertly. 

Your eyelids cling and start to itch. Your heady is swishy, your tummy too, and your limbs weaken. It’s working. You try not to think too much about it, not wanting to counteract the alcohol with your self-awareness. 

You roll onto your side and drift into a half-conscious daze. Your brain swirls and your blood burns hot. Your breathing slows and piques only when your rouse, glancing at your phone as a new video plays. The time stamps into your vision; 11:25. 

You curl your shoulders inward, more tired than anxious now, and slip back into your tipsy stupour. The screen is just a glow on the other side of your eyelids and the audio a scratch in your ears. It fades beneath the even ebb and flow of your quiet snores. 

As the light fades out and the sound dwindles to nothing but the still of night, you wake again. Your eyes open to the darkness. You’re alone. Confused. 

You feel around on the bed for your phone. It must have timed out or the battery died. You don’t find it. Instead, your wrist is trapped in a strong grip and dragged away from the duvet. You gasp and remember what’s going on. It’s starting. He’s there. 

“Ah, ah,” comes the grizzled tut as your other arm is seized and your hands are brought together above your head. 

Andy’s shadowy figure straddles you, pinning you to the mattress as you squirm. You let out a squeak and he hushes you. You still and arch your back, trying to push your chest up. 

“Please, who are you?” You whine, doing your best to play into the scenario. “Please, my husband will be home soon--” 

He shushes you again, holding your wrists together as he leans back to reach behind him. You can hardly see through the dark and your foggy tipsiness. The curtains have been drawn, obscuring the room to fuzzy lines and pulsing shadows. 

He hooks something around your arm; a leather cuff, then secures your other wrist. He keeps your arms up and reaches behind the mattress. He attaches the wring between the cuffs to some unseen hook. Where did that come from? 

You writhe as he stares down at you. You squint back at him, trying to see through the dim. Something feels off. He’s so quiet and forceful. It must be part of the roleplay but it just doesn’t feel like him. He feels like a stranger. 

He backs off of you, peeling back the duvet to drop it on the floor. He prowls along the foot of the bed and you kick your feet, whimpering as you strain against the cuffs. You keep forgetting it’s a game. You have to play your part too. 

“Please, don’t hurt me,” you beg. 

There’s no answer. Andy continues to pace, back and forth, back and forth. He's really transformed. Where he would usually have his hands on his hips, he has them folded behind him, shoulders squared, his steps lighter. 

He stops and lets out a willowy rasp. He unzips his jacket, slipping off the sleeves slowly, deliberately. You lift your head as you try to see him clearer. Did he change? He must have dressed up too. 

Then he pulls his shirt over his head and huffs out again, a growl catching in his throat. He drops the shirt with his jacket and the duvet. Andy never leaves a garment outside the closet or hamper but this isn’t Andy, remember? This is an intruder! And you’re the helpless housewife. 

You nearly moan at the thought. Something about it is so hot even if it makes you a bit squidgy too. You tug again on your wrists as you hear his zipper slice through the din. 

“Please--” you beg. 

He kicks the footboard and the loud bang silences you. You can’t help the pathetic noise that trickles from your tongue and you swallow. He’s doing good. It feels so real. 

He continues to undress. Your heartbeat picks up as you wait for him to really start. He bends to pick something up then climbs over the footboard onto the bed. For a moment, you wince. His silhouette is slimmer. Or seems so. The difference is so minuscule it might be your wine-laced brain playing tricks. 

He catches your kicking feet and pushes your legs wide. He trails his hands up them, a piece of fabric tickling beneath his left palm, and firmly hooks them around him as he moves between them. He stops at your pelvis, his rigid length hovering over you. He stretches the black cloth across your eyes, blotting out what little sight you have. He knots the band behind your head and you gasp. 

He traces along your cheeks and your jawline, as if he can see you through the dark, as if he’s learning you by touch. His fingertips dance down your throat and across your shoulders. You feel fragile as he toys with the strap of the lingerie and feels along the flimsy cups, circling his thumbs around your nipples as they pebble beneath the sheer silk. 

He gropes you and growls. The noise is guttural and raw. It flutters into your core and has you twitching. He pushes his knees against your cunt, moving so the friction flurries in your clit. You babble and raise your chest, hungry for his touch. 

He flicks your nipples and his hands crawl onward, down your torso, doting on the soft flesh of your stomach, and framing your hips as he draws back on his knees. He snarls and bends over you, bowing as he grips you tightly. His nails dig into your skin and you whine as you feel his hot breath against your folds. 

He nuzzles along the edges of the panties, growling as he does, squeezing your harder, then at once, buries his nose in your cunt. He wiggles his head and drags the tip of his nose up over your clit and swipes his tongue up to further set you aflame. You moan and curve your back, planting your heels as you urge him on. 

He delves into you, lapping and licking, suckling and swirling. His arm reaches up and he kneads your chest, blindly pulling the lingerie under one tis. He pinches as you cry out and he rolls your clit between his teeth. You puff out shallow breaths, swept up in the sensations. 

This is so different. Unlike he’s ever been before. He’s almost feral in how he touches you, how he feels you, how it seems he wants to consume you. There’s something else different, something strange you can’t place.  

Did he shave? You can’t tell, It must be the wine. His cheeks feel bare against your thighs and yet you swear you feel that scratchy tickle against your cunt. You don’t think about it; it’s all too much to focus. 

You squeal as you cum, spasming into his face as he drinks up your orgasm. You’re heaving and hollow as he doesn’t let up. He laps at you until you’re begging him to stop. Until you’re quaking, nearly sobbing in overwrought pleasure. Until you have a second, a third, and a fourth. 

Your slickness smears over his face and across your thighs. As he parts, his breath is humid, and you can smell the sweet scent of your release. You shiver as he raises himself up and the bed jostles. He snarls and slaps your thighs, squeezing until you whimper. 

He shifts and slides a hand under your leg. He flips you onto your stomach so your arms twist and your face is buried in the pillow. You pant into the linen as he smacks your ass with both hands and growls as he fondles you. You murmur as his touch sends tendrils down your legs and up your back. 

He grips your hips once more and raises your ass. Oh my god. It’s only a few times you’ve done it like this, often Andy prefers you on your back. He says he likes to see you.  

He pulls you back against him, his length resting between your cheeks as he bends over you. He inhales the scent of your hair and snarls against your crown. He reaches down to feel between your legs, spreading your swollen cunt as he angles his hips. 

His tip slips down and he uses his fingertips to guide it to your entrance. You’re so wet he slips right in. He sounds just as surprised as he gasps. He sinks into your limit and you whine. He retracts his arm, hooking it around your neck, and thrusts. 

You squeal as he buries himself even deeper. He does it again; harder. It hurts. You croak and press your chin down into his arm. You feel a ripple of fear. His chest feels... bare. Andy has that trim of fur that you like to play with. Maybe he got rid of it? For the roleplay? 

He snaps his hips again, staying deep before slowly rearing back. He pauses, then bucks again. The impact of his pelvis on your ass is painful and he’s hitting your cervix. 

“Ow, Andy--” 

“Quiet,” he grits in a deep sneer and brings his other hand up to smother your mouth. 

He leans his weight on you, your neck and shoulders aching from the angle of your spine. He dips into you again, again, again. Each pause between grows shorter as he tilts into a full rut. The entire bed shakes with his motion. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and curl your fingers into your palms, the cuffs slowing your circulation. You huff into his hand as he continues his rampant fucking, skin slapping, bones aching. Harder, deeper, faster, until you’re delirious. 

“What’s your husband going to think when he comes home to his wife being fucked like a slut?” He rasps and nibbles your ear, “huh? How’s he gonna compare to this, baby? Your husband can’t fuck like me can he?”  

He taunts and you cringe. You don’t like it anymore. It’s not fun. You don’t want him to be this man. To be this rough and rude. You want him to be Andy. You try to say his name again but only taste the salt of his palm. 

“Keep your mouth shut, slut,” he sinks into his limit and stays there, his voice echoing in your head. His tone is just... off. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

[officer-sebastian]

*Sebastian huffed and squeezed his way through an unexpected number of scientists and other employees through Sector E’s halls. Giving quick “excuse me’s” and “pardon me’s” as he kept rubbing shoulders with lab coats. Sebastian figured that this stretch of the Science Team must be clocking out for a late lunch, he’s never seen any sector’s halls so packed before, unless you count the highest level of top-side customer service and protection from the general and oddball public.*

Christ al’mighty Ah’m jus’ tryn’a git ta mah shift, y’know, th’shift that keeps y’all from actin’ like dogs without horses.. Clearly it ain’t helpin’ much, Jesus.

*After a few more left turns, the checkpoint position he had been assigned comes into view, another guard tapping his fingers on the desk and perking up at the sight of Sebastian.*

“Christ, Seb, what took you so fuckin’ long, eh? Was ‘bout to just clock out and leave this place hanging.”

*Sebastian just chuckled* Yeah, yeah, mighty sorry ‘bout that. Fer some damn reason th’halls were packed full of them lab rats an’ Ah could hardly git past. Go take’a piss an’ then cool off on yer lunch, Pauly, Ah got it from ‘ere.

*The guard scoffed and crossed his arms* “Whatever. Thankfully those old cronies only now just took lunch, what ever reason you’re filed under checkpoint over here, you’ll be glad to know it’s practically empty now. Have fun staring at the wall.”

Yer too kind. Ah take it ya prob’ly scared ‘em off an’-

*There was the faintest rumble between under their feet. Several lights from down the hall suddenly flicker and blow out, the emergency lights immediately turn on, painting the metallic walls an eerie red. Sebastian goes quiet at that, steadily eyeing the darkened hallway and listening close for anything suspicious.*

*Officer Pauly swallows audibly, eyes still on Sebastian* “The hell was tha-“

*BUZWARN* Warning. Power Outages Detected In [SECTOR E]. All Affected Personnel Please Be Advised.

*BUZWARN* Warning. Unauthorized Biological Forms Detected In [SECTOR E]. All Non-Disaster Response Personnel Evacuate Immediately.

*GARBLED BUZWARN* Warning. W-Warning. Security i̴̜̒̚͠n̵̢̫̞͍̍̆ ̵̢̦͈̜̏̂̑̉[̶̨̰̹̟́͛̑̓S̶̢̰̤͛̀ͅĖ̵̟̲̌Ć̴̥͍̣̞́̐T̴̯̿O̴̻̮͚̅Ṛ̵̠̟͍͒͆́̄ ̵͔̓Ḙ̷́̏͘]̷̧̪͗̎͗͋ ̵̠̝͌͜͝R̵̖̼̰̬̅̍e̴̱̔͒̌p̷̡̙̥̜̊͆õ̸̻r̴̗̤̀̽̏̇t̶̨̧̺̫͠ ̵̞̻̲͑̑́̐T̷̯̰̘̦̍̒̌ơ̴̼͔̿ ̵̘̣́[̶̖̰̓̇̓Ḁ̸͓̞̿̂̔̌D̷̞̫̣̻͗͗V̴͓̿A̸̢̻̤̘͂N̶̳̙̫̊͂C̷̜͎̆E̴̙̘͛̉̈̕D̷͙͕̜̹́͝ ̴̠͖̗͛͝ͅB̷̲̞͊̊͗Ḯ̸̘Ợ̵̩̒̏̇L̸͉̖̒̄̆̉O̵͇̅̀͘͝G̶͓͇̊̓̽Ḭ̴̦̥͕̌̌̊Ç̷̓A̴̮͉̩̋̀̀ͅL̶͎̈̆̇̚ ̸̗͕͌R̴̨̰̋̾͝È̷̺͕̏̓ͅS̴͕͆̚E̴͚̩̫̍̀̆͜͝A̷̼͋̃̍R̸̤̳͑̚C̴̩͕̼̬͠H̶̥̤̓ ̴͖̦̱̈̓͂̈͜C̶͙̿̒O̶̼̖̳̼͆M̷̠̖̬̦̽̾P̵̠͕̰̈͂̇L̸̝̀E̴̺̮̱̊̈̑͠X̵̛̗̹̂]̷͍́̃͑́ ̷̬͈̬͖̋͆Ị̸̛̩̲̦͒̅m̷̦̠͋̇̃͠m̵̖͕̙͉̿̚ë̸̬́̋͌d̴͈̹̝̀i̵̤̔̈́à̴̟͇̍̓͌t̸̲͍̦͒̽̄e̵̠̽̈́̇̈́l̶̰̍͜y̷̡̧̘̒̏̈́̈

*The two security guards listened in shocked silence as the automated comms buzzed in and out, the emergency lights flicking at the same time. Sebastian persed his lips in a straight line, taking a deep breath and suddenly pushing Pauly into the checkpoint box*

“THE HELL ARE YOU-?!” *The guard began to shout in protest, before Sebastian tossed him inside and shut the door. Pauly gets up immediately, pounding on the glass* “OI ASSHOLE! The fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

*Sebastian snapped his fingers and put one up to his lips* Quiet. Ah’m goin’ ta check it out. It ain’t lookin’ good on our department if they go an’ lose two men on th’job. Ya sit tight an’ wait it out fer me, ‘kay?

*The guard sputtered a few times at that response, gesturing his hands wildly before sighing and giving up any retort, having known Sebastian long enough to know arguing with him like this is fruitless* “If you go and get yourself killed I won’t be there for whatever shoddy funeral they give you. It’ll be all your fault down to the grave, Seb.”

Thank ya, kindly, Pauly. How ‘bout we go an’ git’a beer with th’boys if Ah make back it in at least 3/4s? Ah’ll make a’bet with ya. *Sebastian clicks off the safety of his pistol and checks the magazine while he talks*

“Wh- Pfft, fucksake, Sebastian. Fine, whatever, I’ll bet. Quit wasting time.”

*Sebastian nods and runs down the hallway, making a salute with his pistol before turning around completely*

[lithepetal]

Second Chance Chapter 8

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: Tony ruminates on the day he rescued Aurora from HYDRA.

Warnings: canon-typical violence

Italics = flashback

Series Masterlist

“You really need to sleep—” Bruce stopped, silenced by the look of agitation on Tony’s face.

“If I ever get my hands on the bastard,” said Tony, hunched over monitors, glaring at the on-screen image of Brock Rumlow.

“We’ll find him.” Bruce’s promise echoed the sentiment of the rest of the team. They were there the night Tony brought Aurora home, felt the blow just as heavily whenever he told them in strict confidence what Rumlow had done to her.

Rage quelled some by Bruce’s sympathy, Tony turned to his friend. “Is it wrong of me to keep this from her?”

“I don’t think so.”

As Bruce moved to stand beside him, some of the tension in the room deflated. They’d all been on edge, since intel of Rumlow surviving the Triskelion’s destruction surfaced, along with a new alias. Crossbones.

“Dr. Stahl says Aurora is making progress,” Bruce continued, “but we all see her, Tony. She—”

All of a sudden, a scream rent the air.

“And that, Banner, is why I don’t sleep.”

Tony hurried out of the lab; the automated door couldn’t open fast enough. From down the hallway, Aurora’s screams grew louder, shriller. In front of Aurora’s bedroom he paused to collect himself, before opening the door. What he saw broke his heart, it always did: his daughter thrashing fitfully, hair dampened by a cold sweat, her screams subsiding to a whimper. Turning on the lamp, he sat down, but didn’t touch her. Not yet.

“Honey, wake up,” Tony gently coaxed. “It’s just a bad dream.” He waited, watched as she began to relax, lulled by the sound of his voice. “Aurora…”

She opened her eyes, tears spilling down her face, and the relief upon seeing him was so visceral it gripped Tony’s chest. “Dad…”

Finally, he reached out, cradling her against him as she sobbed. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

~ * ~

With Steve, Natasha, and Sam battling HYDRA at the Triskelion, that left Tony, Clint, and Bruce to infiltrate the base where intel said Aurora was being held. There was no going in quietly or stealthily scoping the perimeter. In a barrage of missiles, hailing arrows, and brute strength, Iron Man, Hawkeye, and the Hulk broke through their first line of defense. Blood smattered the ground, the building, and pooled beneath dozens of dead bodies.

Leaving the Hulk to deal with the cavalry, Tony and Clint breached the facility. Clint entered first, bow at the ready, and nodded, giving Tony the all-clear. It was eerily quiet. Scans detected no heat signatures, no immediate threats in the vicinity. Tony didn’t understand, and it was that lack of knowledge which set him on edge.

They approached a fork, and still no sign of agents inside the base. No trace of his daughter, either.

“We should split up,” Clint suggested.

Tony agreed. As paternal instinct kicked in, his unease fizzled. He went west, and Clint headed north.

Tony was no stranger to betrayal. Obadiah left a stain, but Alexander Pierce left him feeling vengeful. He was expecting to kill at least dozens more HYDRA agents, and God have mercy on his soul, he wanted to bring ruin upon those responsible for kidnapping Aurora.

“Tony,” Clint radioed over the comm, his voice strained with an emotion Tony couldn’t place, rather, he could but didn’t want to, “I found her.”

“Is she—” He couldn’t find it within himself to finish, his heart lodging itself into his windpipe.

“She’s alive.” Clint’s quick relay was a balm to his soul. “I have her.”

Hearing this, Tony rushed back in the direction he came. He saw Clint at the far end of the corridor, helping Aurora walk. Stricken by the sight of her disheveled state, he clambered out of the suit and ran to her. “Aurora!”

“Daddy,” she cried, burrowing into him.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, protectively, as he wept tears of relief. “I’ve got you.”