#diving head first into this ship | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

midnightfict · 28 days ago

Text

What History?

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Squid Game fans have been shipping two actors not knowing they have a history together.

A/N — aaaa, writer’s block is killing me. but the reqs i've been getting is starting to help. i promise i’m currently drafting for the other reqs.

request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The room was brightly lit, cameras positioned at every angle, and a familiar nervousness settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t new to interviews, but something about these promotional videos always made you a little jittery. Maybe it was the anticipation of how fans would react, or maybe it was the fact that sitting next to you was none other than Lee Byung-hun—your former high school boyfriend and now your co-star in Squid Game Season 2.

The two of you walked into the room together, followed by director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who greeted the crew with a casual nod.

“Alright,” a staff member announced. “We’re shooting two videos today. The first segment is watching fan edits, and the second is reading fan letters. Just react naturally, have fun, and remember—no breaking into hysterics.”

Byung-hun chuckled beside you. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You smirked. “You sound scared.”

“I might as well be. Have you seen those AI edits of me and Lee Jung-jae?”

The staff gestured for silence, signaling that the cameras were rolling. You introduced yourself to the camera, followed by Byung-hun and Dong-hyuk. The screen before you flickered to life, and the first video started playing.

The first edit was cinematic—a high-energy montage of Squid Game 2’s most intense moments. Gunfights, chase sequences, close-ups of steely gazes. It had everything. The booming orchestral soundtrack made every scene feel ten times more dramatic.

Byung-hun let out an impressed whistle. “Did we actually shoot something this cool?”

You nodded. “Because I don’t remember looking this badass.”

Dong-hyuk leaned forward, squinting. “Wait—when did you do that roll behind cover?”

You snorted. “That’s the one where I landed wrong and bruised my entire arm.”

Byung-hun grinned. “Ohhh, right. And you tried to play it off like you meant to do it.”

“I did mean to do it.”

Dong-hyuk shook his head. “That’s not what you said when you screamed in pain afterward.”

Byung-hun burst into laughter. Your light punch to his side silenced him, earning a dramatic yelp.

“Give respect to your elders!”

You gave the camera a look. “He’s so dramatic. We’re literally only one year apart.”

The next edit was a deep dive into In-ho’s past, set in black and white with emotional piano music. It contrasted his life as a police officer with his role as the Front Man, highlighting the tragedy of his choices.

Dong-hyuk hummed thoughtfully. “This fan basically made a better teaser than we did.”

Byung-hun nodded. “Can we hire them?”

You pointed at a particular shot. “This scene—this is when you had to retake your mask removal, what, twenty times?”

Byung-hun groaned. “Ugh. The mask kept getting caught on my hood. Every time I tried to look dramatic, I just looked stuck.”

Dong-hyuk chuckled. “We had to cut out three takes where you sighed right into the mask.”

Byung-hun held up his hands. “No need to expose me like that.”

Then came the brainrot edit. An animation of Squid Game characters dancing to some bizarre, upbeat song.

You had the biggest grin—too silly not to laugh. The video didn’t even make sense.

Dong-hyuk had his brows furrowed, an amused but not entirely entertained smile on his face.

Byung-hun, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the screen. No one could tell what he was thinking.

When it ended, you all exchanged an awkward glance.

“I mean… I like it. It’s an interesting video,” you said, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, still laughing.

Dong-hyuk fixed his glasses. “Is this what people see when they watch my show?”

Byung-hun crossed his arms. “They didn’t do me justice. Why is the Front Man not included in this video?”

The staff smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a Front Man edit in the next one.”

The next video was different. The music was softer, the pacing slower. It highlighted your character’s interactions with In-ho—subtle glances, moments of hesitation, scenes where your characters moved in sync. It wasn’t obvious in the actual show, but with the way the editor framed it…

It almost looked like something was going on.

Byung-hun blinked. “What’s this?”

Dong-hyuk raised an eyebrow. “They created scenes that aren’t even in the series.”

You squinted. “Are we too old to understand what this is?”

It was a ship edit.

Silence.

Then, Byung-hun let out a slow, amused chuckle. “Well. That was unexpected.”

Dong-hyuk crossed his arms. “You two do have really natural chemistry.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, our characters have history, so—”

Byung-hun nodded. “Right, right. Former police officers.”

Dong-hyuk hummed. “Well, I had another love interest in mind for In-ho, but thinking about it… your characters being shipped makes sense. Maybe I should make it canon in Season 3.”

Both you and Byung-hun snapped your heads toward him.

“Huh?!”

The crew erupted into laughter. Dong-hyuk smiled and closed the segment with a thank-you and a Squid Game 2 promotion.

After a quick makeup touch-up, a staff member placed a stack of envelopes in front of you, Byung-hun, and Dong-hyuk.

Dong-hyuk stretched his arms and grinned. “Alright, let’s see what the fans have to say. If anyone insults my writing, I’m walking out.”

Byung-hun smirked. “I’d say you’re bluffing, but we all know you’re dramatic enough to do it.”

You laughed. “Place your bets, everyone. How many letters will be about Byung-hun’s attractiveness?”

Byung-hun scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a serious actor. Not just a handsome face.”

The cameras rolled.

You picked up the first letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud.

‘Dear Director Hwang, your storytelling is a masterpiece. Every scene feels like it has so much depth and emotion. How do you come up with such gripping narratives?’

Dong-hyuk’s face lit up. “Ah, A letter for me!”

Byung-hun immediately reached over, fingers grasping at the paper. “Skip it.”

You swatted his hand away. “No, let him have his moment.”

Dong-hyuk straightened his posture, adjusting his jacket with mock importance. “Well, since you asked… My process is simple. I think, ‘What is the most stressful, painful situation I can put my characters in?’ And then I do that.”

Byung-hun leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I knew you enjoyed torturing us.”

Dong-hyuk grinned. “Absolutely.”

Byung-hun exhaled, then grabbed the next letter from the pile, unfolding it.

‘Was filming action scenes difficult? Especially the parkour scenes.’

You didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. That scene where I had to jump from bed to bed? I had bruises for days.”

Byung-hun winced at the memory. “Oh yeah, you took a pretty bad fall.”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your arms up. “And no one even said ‘cut’ when I landed wrong! I had to just lie there in pain.”

Dong-hyuk raised a hand in defense. “Okay, to be fair, it looked intentional.”

Byung-hun let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “You heard it here first, folks. The director is a masochist.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “It builds character.”

Byung-hun rubbed his temple. “I worry for your future wife.”

You sifted through the pile and grabbed the next letter.

‘To Byung-hun, was it difficult wearing the Front Man’s mask for long periods of time? It looks heavy.’

Byung-hun groaned dramatically, flopping against the back of his chair. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dong-hyuk snorted. “He complained about it every single day.”

Byung-hun sat up, pointing at him. “Because it was a legitimate problem! The mask was so heavy, and it pressed into my face so much that I had red marks after every shoot.”

You bit back a laugh. “And let’s not forget the time it got stuck.”

Byung-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, please, let’s forget that.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “We have footage.”

Byung-hun immediately turned to the camera, eyes pleading. “Dear editors, if you have any mercy, don’t include that clip.”

They did.

Dong-hyuk chuckled and grabbed the next letter. “‘Director Hwang, who is your favorite character in Squid Game?’”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yikes. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.”

Byung-hun smirked. “But we all know you have a favorite.”

Dong-hyuk tapped his fingers against the table, pretending to contemplate. “Well… I have a soft spot for In-ho.”

Byung-hun gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck. “You love me?”

Dong-hyuk’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “I said I love In-ho. Not you.”

You burst into laughter as Byung-hun recoiled in mock betrayal. “Wow, I won’t return to Season 3 then.”

Dong-hyuk ignored him, his expression thoughtful. “I love complex characters, and In-ho has so much depth. There’s still so much left to explore with him.”

You leaned in. “So, does that mean he’s safe in Season 3?”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “I mean, it’s possible, but I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

Byung-hun cut in, laughing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You created the story.”

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “Let’s just say… No one is ever truly safe.”

The next letter Byung-hun picked up seemed harmless at first.

‘I don’t know what it is, but…’

He stopped mid-sentence, chuckling as he glanced at the camera, then at you and Dong-hyuk. “I don’t know if I can continue reading this without someone getting mad.”

Silence fell over the room.

Curious, you snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it. A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who’s gonna get mad over this?”

Byung-hun gave you a knowing look, subtly hinting at someone you had dated during filming.

Your expression faltered for half a second before you quickly masked it with a tight smile. Keeping your mouth hidden from the camera, you mouthed, “We broke up.”

Dong-hyuk grinned and leaned forward to peek at the letter over your shoulder. “Well, well, well. They think you two have some history together because you make the characters so compelling together.”

Byung-hun cleared his throat, spitting out a joke before anyone could dwell on the comment. “Have you guys ever considered we are both just very good actors?”

Dong-hyuk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Seeing how everybody seems to ship you two, maybe I should create a romance movie with you both.”

You and Byung-hun turned to him in horror, simultaneously shaking your heads.

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “What? The fans love it. I should give them what they want.”

Byung-hun laughed nervously and quickly faced the camera. “Okay let's end it! Thank you for watching this video. Don’t forget to watch us on Netflix!”

After finishing the shoot, the three of you parted ways—but the internet did not.

A week after the video was published, fans went crazy. The shipping theories got worse. Your social media was flooded with comments. Multiple media outlets invited you and Byung-hun for interviews together, riding the hype.

One afternoon, before another press event, you texted him.

Want to grab coffee before the next interview?

Thought you’d never ask.

At the café, he took a sip of his drink and smirked. “Remember how broke we were from getting coffee every other day in high school?”

You groaned. “Oh god, that was what? Twenty—no, thirty years ago? High school was rough. I don’t even want to remember that.”

“You’re mean. So I meant nothing to you?” He feigned hurt, holding back a smile.

“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” You playfully pushed his forehead as he held the door open for you. “Besides, we lasted ‘til university, no—”

Click.

A camera shutter.

You froze. He froze.

Through the café window, a crowd had formed. Some held up phones. Others were whispering excitedly.

Fuck. They found you.

Byung-hun exhaled. “Well, I guess there’s no turning back.”

Then, with a smirk, he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and yanked you out of the sea of screaming fans.

#lee byung hun #hwang in ho #x reader #fluff #front man #squid game #in ho #in ho x reader #lee byung hun x reader

590 notes · View notes

hamletthedane · 3 months ago

Text

I know I’m joking about how Wicked Part 2 is going to be insane compared to Part 1, but it actually is so interesting when viewed as separate second part of the story -

Because hear me out - imo, the end of Act 1 sets up where the lines in the sand are for the three key characters:

Elphaba chooses to follow her morals and reject the system, even to her own isolation and destruction. Her line is her dedication to “making good.”

Glinda, her foil, openly admits that she cannot turn down the allure of the system’s power and stability, even at the sacrifice of her morals and her closest friendship. Her line is her power and popularity.

Fiyero, further foiling Glinda, is the person who would have blindly said yes to Elphaba’s offer. He is completely, unquestioningly devoted to Elphaba - even to a fault - believing that she will always be good and choose the right thing (as she “doesn’t care what others think”).* His line is his unwavering loyalty to Elphaba.

*admittedly, this is less evident at the end of Act 1, but it’s made VERY clear within the first 5min of Act 2 so I’m counting it as an Act 1 arc

But then Act 2 forces them to respect the line they’ve decided to draw in increasingly devastating ways, and eventually forces them to violate their lines or have the lines destroy them:

Elphaba’s sacrifices turn her into a complete pariah, forcing her to lose everything she had and worked for in an instant. She fights every day for what she believes in, even though she sees it’s fruitless and only leading to the destruction of everything she loves. But Elphaba stands strong even against the Wizard’s temptation of leaving behind her failing cause. However, she’s finally pushed over her edge when one of the two people who still believed in her “goodness” dies for that belief. And it drives her to throw away every good intention and dive head-first into a pursuit of power and control. She must ultimately be influenced by Glinda to once again choose self-sacrifice for the greater good, giving up her power and dreams of normality in Oz. “Now it’s up to you, for both of us”

Glinda builds great political capital and becomes one of the most important, beloved characters in the nation. But nothing is real: she’s engaged to a man who clearly doesn’t love her, she’s openly decrying a woman who she clearly still loves herself, and the system she operates in troubles her even as she benefits from it. Elphaba again tempts her to leave, and Fiyero’s clear willingness to jump ship should be an even greater temptation, but she can’t leave it behind. Not until the very end of the story does she finally recreate the Ozdust dance: acting against her own self-interest to save Elphaba and take up the fire of her cause

Fiyero, to his credit, is the only person who cannot be pushed from his line. The very first chance he gets, he follows Elphaba blindly, despite hearing all these terrible things about her. Then he willingly sacrifices himself for her and her cause, and they torture him to (a fate worse than) death for it. And even when Elphaba really does go evil, he still believes that she will ultimately choose good. His loyalty to her is not well rewarded (see: fate worse than death), but he makes his sacrifice willingly. His belief destroyed him.

What I really like about the play’s story is that from all these different starting goals and motivations, every character is forced to give up everything that is dear to them - including their fundamental selves - by the end of the story. Yet, they all three still continue to overlap and influence each other in ways that lead them all to a choice of “making good” in the end. SO excited to see that played out on screen.

#wicked #Wicked meta #this was longer than intended but I had THOUGHTS and am currently bored in a deer blind #I’ll reread and edit later I’m sure this currently reads like shit

634 notes · View notes

touchyluffy · 2 months ago

Text

You were on watch duty when you heard his sniffles.

Looking down towards the sound, your heart shatters as you saw the straw hat angled backward as he looked towards the full moon, his red sleeve of his shirt coming up to wipe his tears, his hands gripping the balcony of the Sunny tightly.

At first, you're not sure if you should make your presence known, he came out here to be alone after all. But that thought passes quickly as you heard more of his shuttered breaths, you found yourself clamorying down the rope latter to get to him.

Luffy hears you coming behind him and breaks his gaze from the moon, for a moment the shock of you rushing towards him seems to break him from his sorrows. His face was still contorted in pain, his nose was running, but his eyes were wide and curious for what your next move would be. You didn't know either. For a moment, you could only stare at him.

You'd never seen your captain like this. He's normally so confident, strong, and goofy. He's your leader, your guide, your stability in the hardest of times. But now, he looked like a young boy, just a child. A child with his heart breaking. Pain knotted in your stomach when you saw him try to hide his tears, coming to the edge of the Sunny in the middle of the night where no one would see him. Zoro's words from so long ago suddenly rang in your head, "if you falter now, who can we trust?"

You stopped in front of him. The moment of shock passed and Luffy hid his face behind his straw hat, shielding his tears. You frowned, raising your hand and gently push the straw hat up further atop his head . His tears keep falling, his frown deepens, your heart aches. You gently wipe the tears from where they fall down his cheeks.

"I had a dream about Ace." He says and it's all he needs to say.

You open your arms for him and he dives in them. Somehow your knees had given out as you held each other, your cheek resting against Luffy's forehead as he cried into your shirt. His body shakes, his straw hat falls to the ship's wooden floor, his shuttered breaths disrupt the quiet night. You hope he cannot hear your heart breaking.

Your hands move in slow circles across his back, your hair falling down over his shoulder, your knees bending at his waist, trying to shield him from the world with every part of your body. You whisper comforting words into his ear, hoping the words go directly into the hole in his heart that his brother left behind.

You two stay in that position for a long time, even after his shuttered breaths become even and your shirt starts to dry. He still hides his face in your chest, you still rub circles across his back and whisper reassuring words. Minutes pass by and the stars in the night glitter above the Sunny.

Eventually Luffy slowly lifts head from your chest, looking you in the eyes and giving you a smile. A smile that immediately fills your heart with all the love, strength, and friendship he's shown you since you've known him. You can't help but smile back at him, wiping the last tear trail from his cheek. He sits up in a more upright position and thanks you. You shake your head, picking up the straw hat off the floor. Holding it in your hands gently, Luffy looks from the hat to you and back again.

"Don't hide, Luffy," you say, "Don't hide." From me, goes unspoken.

You pass him the straw hat and he puts it securely on his head, back where it belongs. He stands up and offers a hand to help you up, you take it and stand before him again. Your hands stay clasped together. The warmth of his hand radiating through your body. His free hand points towards the moon excitedly, pulling you closer towards the edge of the Sunny. Your shoulder is touching his.

"Ace loved the moon." He says looking back at you, "Wanna stay out here with me for awhile?"

#monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x you #one piece #straw hat luffy #luffy headcanons #luffy angst #one piece angst #one piece imagine #luffy imagine #fics

390 notes · View notes

writeriguess · 1 month ago

Text

Stolen Jacket // Sylus x fem!reader

author's note: I’ve written quite a few fics while I was away, and I’ll be publishing them before diving into any new requests. They’re currently written with an OC that’s essentially a self-insert, so I’ll need to convert them into reader inserts first. Honestly, I never thought I’d share them because of the whole plagiarism mess, but I’ve decided to let them see the light of day after all.

Sylus grumbled under his breath as he tightened the final bolt on the engine panel, his red eyes narrowing in concentration. The ship’s maintenance had taken longer than expected, and his nerves were starting to fray. He ran a gloved hand through his messy silver hair, which always seemed to defy gravity no matter how many times he tried to smooth it down. With a sigh, he leaned back on his heels, satisfied that the systems were finally stable.

“Done,” he muttered to no one in particular, shutting the panel with a solid thud.

The ship was unusually quiet. Normally, he could hear you somewhere nearby—talking to the AI, humming softly to yourself, or just bustling about. But now, the silence felt strange. It made his instincts prick, though not out of fear. No, this was something else entirely—curiosity, maybe. Or anticipation.

Standing up and dusting his hands off, Sylus decided to look for you. It wasn’t a big ship; you couldn’t have gone far. He stalked through the corridors with easy strides, his boots echoing faintly against the metal floors. He checked the kitchen first, then the cockpit, but you were nowhere to be found.

When he finally reached the crew quarters, Sylus stopped in his tracks, his red eyes narrowing slightly at the sight before him.

You were standing near his bunk, your back turned to him as you fidgeted with the hem of his jacket—the one he usually wore for missions. It was unmistakably his, the black leather adorned with silver accents and scuffed edges from countless scrapes and close calls. The jacket was too big on you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, the material loose enough to make it look like you were drowning in it.

It wasn’t just the jacket, either. You’d clearly raided his stash, pulling on one of his shirts beneath it. The sight struck him like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, Sylus just stood there, staring.

Something about it felt intimate. His clothes, which had always been a part of his identity, now looked completely different on you. And the fact that you were wearing them so casually, completely unaware of how much it affected him…

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest with an almost lazy smirk. “Well, well,” he drawled, his deep voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. “Is this what you’ve been up to?”

You turned around quickly, startled by his voice, though you tried to recover by flashing him a sheepish smile. “Oh. Uh, I didn’t think you’d be done so soon.”

“Clearly,” he said, his smirk widening as he straightened and walked toward you. His boots thudded softly against the floor, and his crimson eyes glinted with a mischievous light. “And here I thought you hated how this jacket smelled like engine grease and sweat.”

“I never said that!” you protested, clutching the front of the jacket as if to defend yourself.

“No?” He stopped a few feet away from you, tilting his head. His silver hair was as messy as ever, strands falling across his forehead in a way that should’ve looked unkempt but somehow made him even more infuriatingly attractive.

“I just thought…” You hesitated, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. “It was cold, and your jacket was right there, so…”

“Cold, huh?” Sylus’s voice dipped lower, the smirk on his lips softening into something more dangerous. “And the shirt? That part of your ‘cold’ excuse too?”

You opened your mouth to respond but quickly snapped it shut, unsure how to explain yourself without making it worse.

Sylus chuckled, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. His gloved fingers reached out to brush against the sleeve of the jacket, his touch light but deliberate. “You don’t have to explain,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I get it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “You… do?”

“Mm.” His crimson gaze swept over you again, lingering on the way the jacket hung on your frame. “Seeing you like this… it’s sexy as hell.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your face at his bluntness. “It’s just a jacket,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“Not just a jacket,” Sylus countered, his smirk returning as he leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “It’s my jacket. My clothes. And you’re wearing them like you own the place.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, his proximity making it impossible to think straight. “If it bothers you, I can take it off—”

“Don’t,” Sylus interrupted, his voice firm as his hand moved to the front of the jacket. His fingers brushed against yours, and his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “I like it.”

The admission was quiet but heavy, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. He tugged lightly on the collar of the jacket, his smirk softening into something warmer, almost tender.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he murmured, his thumb brushing against the fabric. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you go and do something like this.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Sylus chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “It is to me.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words hanging between you. Then, with a smirk that was equal parts playful and possessive, Sylus leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your ear.

“You might want to get used to this,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. “Because I’m not letting you give that jacket back anytime soon.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #sylus #lads #sylus x mc #sylus qin x you #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x you #sylus qin x reader #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deep space sylus

297 notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 6 months ago

Note

hey, i really love your writing esp fluff hehe..

I was wondering if you could maybe write a story where gf!reader has anxiety and decides to spend night at spence's but constantly keeps apologizing cause she is like afraid to be inconvenience but he keeps hugging and comforting her just some really fluffy story

Love yaaaa🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶💕💕

-🍓

A/N: FINALLY getting back to some classic requests! Thanks for this cute one 🥰 I love fluff where Spencer is so caring and considerate, so I hope you like this one, too!

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you avoid confronting new fears with your new coworkers until a late invitation lets you find comfort in Spencer's arms.

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, guns, other cases details etc.

If any other member of your team had so bluntly asked you the question ‘are you okay?’ you'd have lied to their face, convincingly, and not felt bad about it for even a second.

It had been, after all, long enough since your kidnapping to have become comfortable with new surroundings again. You went on cases fine. You dealt with similar unsubs perfectly, and you were absolutely a professional.

But with Spencer Reid in front of you asking you that same question, you felt like you were one slight breeze away from crumbling entirely.

The night had grown old as you sat with Spencer looking over some case files. You weren't shipping out for this one, thankfully, but you still wanted to be sure you knew every detail of the case so you could help find your guy and get him off the streets.

But having worked from 6 pm to 2am, your eyes were growing bleary, and you had to finally look up to the clock to see how long you'd been zoned out for.

“Shit,” you murmured, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“I have to go, Spence,” you scrambled for your keys, pulling your bag onto your shoulder as your heart started beating.

It was okay. You'd be okay. It was dark outside, but you'd driven in the dark before now. The roads were clear anyway, and you weren't on a job. You could drive home, get some sleep, and forget anything happened.

“Y/N, it's late, you’re tired,” Spencer said gently from opposite you, grabbing your bag from your hands and gently placing it down again. “It's okay, you can just… stay over tonight.”

In the few weeks since you'd been kidnapped, you'd told everyone you knew that you were okay and doing fine and that it would take a lot more than that to get you down. And then you'd go home to an empty apartment, triple check every lock, barricade yourself into your room, and sleep with a gun on your bedside table and a knife under your pillow.

You didn't drive in the dark. You didn't eat or drink anything you hadn't personally prepared, and you didn't dive head first into cases anymore. A few people had remarked about how you'd matured as an agent. They didn't understand that bile rose up in your throat every time you thought about being alone in a room with men.

Being alone with Spencer was different. He was your Spencer. You'd seen him kill unsubs, but you'd more often see him peacefully trap and release spiders instead of killing them. You'd seen him fumble talking to women by pulling out magic tricks, just as often as you'd seen him be approached by every single working girl you'd interviewed on a case.

You'd slept over before. This wasn't any different.

“Yeah… yeah you're right. It's probably not a good idea to drive this late.”

He smiled at you as you abandoned your path to the door, and went to grab you some clothes to change into. You paused, and tried to breathe deeply as you assessed the situation.

You'd been to Spencer's apartment before. If you slept in the living room, your best route out would be the front door. The kitchen didn't have any good exits. The bathroom window didn't open wide enough. The fire escape was connected to both the living room and the window in Spencer's bedroom. If anyone came through the front door, it would be safer to sleep in the bed and jump out the window before they had a chance to pursue you.

But if they came up the fire escape, they could choose between which window to come through. Without a second thought, you crossed to Spencer's window and checked the locks. They worked, but they were old. They could easily be forced open.

You checked, and you still had your gun on you, thinking about where the best place to store it would be. Next to the bed, under the sofa, somewhere it'd be easy to grab and shoot.

You worked yourself up walking yourself through your plan that when Spencer came up behind you again, without thinking, you turned the gun on him.

“Whoa, Y/N!”

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I don't - I was just thinking about what I would do in a h-home invasion, and it seemed safer to have the gun close, but-”

Slowly taking the gun from your hand, Spencer pulled you towards him and into his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and though it was the 100th time you'd heard the question in the last few weeks, you finally, finally broke down and told him the truth.

“N-No.”

Stroking your hair, Spencer held you as you began to quietly sob, not pulling away as you clung to him for dear life, letting the fear slowly drain from your body.

“It's okay. It's going to be okay, I'm here,” he whispered. After a few minutes, you gathered yourself and pulled away, wiping your eyes as you looked up at him again.

“I'm sorry, I must just be really tired. I'll just crash on the couch-”

“No, Y/N, you can't do that.”

“It's fine, I'm fine now. I've crashed on your couch before, and-”

“And the couch is next to the door. You're going to sit there all night with your gun in your hand, waiting for the door handle to turn. You won't rest.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom again.

“I know what it's like, not being able to sleep at night. Feeling anxious and alone and scared all the time.”

He handed you a pile of clothes and let you sit on the bed as he began to untie your shoelaces.

“Sleep in the bed. The window has a secure lock, and it's covered by the alarm system. The bedroom door locks as well." Finishing, he looked up at you from the floor, smiling weakly before standing up and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Your heart, which had been resting comfortably with the new details of your security, flared up into a fast-paced drum beat again as he left for the bathroom. You weren't sure if you were scared still, or if somehow a small kiss and care he'd shown you were enough to have you flushed like a middle-schooler.

You quickly slipped on the pajamas, which you recognised as old FBI training clothes, and hopped into the bed before your brain could decide to investigate any further.

Spencer returned quickly and climbed into bed right beside you, turning off the lights beforehand.

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking at him as you laid on your side.

“What for?”

“For not making this awkward.”

“Awkward? Is it weird for us to share the bed? Should I have taken the couch? I should have taken the couch, let me go-”

You leant over the small space between you and wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you for not letting me spiral. Thank you for letting me be not okay.”

He relaxed into your touch as you spoke and pulled you into him for a hug quickly. His hands rested awkwardly still on your shoulders and waist, as if he were scared to touch you more, to seem inappropriate somehow.

“Spencer?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I'd feel safer if you just held me a bit tighter.”

With your head on his chest, you heard the short rumble of laughter that popped out of him as he relaxed into your hug, closing your eyes and falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n

521 notes · View notes

youandthemountains · 22 days ago

Text

still thinking of that story from yesterday and how Spock reacts to potential loss - it's the opposite of what you'd expect, he grips tighter, he holds on. He fights it, he argues it, he verbally eviscerates it, he clutches it, he'll face it head on & he'll break his rules for it.

thinking of him clutching McCoy's shoulder when he finds out he's dying in FTWIHAIHTTS, or him diving into his head to find him in Return of the Archons and physically punching a guard afterwards, believing McCoy to be lost. Him gathering McCoy's hands together and resting with them in Miri. There's his mutiny for Pike, there's him asking McCoy to wish him luck, there's him erasing kirk's memory in requiem for methuselah. Beta canon has him arguing McCoy back into joining them, and like this story - logically destroying any idea McCoy floats that could lead him away. Of course there's 'we go together or not at all'. When Spock realizes he's going to die, he throws his Self into McCoy's, and uses his body to say goodbye to Kirk - reaching out again and again. His response to death is to take it seriously, to fear and plan for it and strategize around it and try to stop it.

On the other hand, also surprisingly, McCoy's response to the fear of loss is to let go. I always thought it was interesting that in the Autobiography of Mr. Spock, Spock spells out only two of the reactions to his deciding to go through with kohlinar - his mother's & McCoy's.

Neither are happy with the decision but give him their blessings in a manner of speaking. McCoy is silent as Spock is bombarded with messages trying to convince him not to, and then the day before Spock leaves, McCoy sends a message saying only, "Damn stupid cockamamie idea. I hope you know what you're doing."

Of course there's also the story with his father - maybe the first case of this that leads him to doing it all his life. In the face of death and against his own wishes and desires, letting go. For whatever led to the disintegration of his family - he famously lets go, escapes to space. In his first episode, he lets go of old love and old selves. With Spock - he lets him walk away, in The Immunity Syndrome, for kohlinar, begs him to leave him in All Our Yesterdays. When he thinks he's incurable, is ready to let go of the Enterprise. I don't remember what book it's from anymore but there's a quote where the ship is crashing and Spock looks up and is surprised to see McCoy is smiling at him, content in the knowledge that he's dying by his side. In the book Sarek, Spock calls McCoy to treat his mother and McCoy gently tells him the Vulcan doctors are correct, her illness is terminal, and Spock realizes he had called McCoy because he believed he'd miraculously cure her. McCoy talks him through the end of life things, including the illogical feelings and wishes that will come up.

His response to death is also to take it seriously - by fighting it as best you can but when it's time, burning out everything from yourself but what you loved and want to carry forward.

#spock #leonard mccoy #spones #tos #long post #ish #rambly post more like

215 notes · View notes

lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 month ago

Text

MERMAID- P.B PARKER

pairing: pirate! peter x mermaid! innocent!fem! reader

word count: 2.8k

summary: you and peter had fallen for eachother throughout his time on the open water- though the two of you couldnt properly communicate. however, one day, fate leads him right to you, as you were washed up onto shore with human legs. what will life be like now that he can finally have you aboard his fathers ship?

warnings: fingering, heavy praise kink, pet names, innocence/ corruption kink, squirting, swearing, mentions of booze, implications and advances, teasing etc

"beauty in the water, angel on the beach/ ocean's daughter, i thought love was out of reach. 'til i got her, had i known it could come true/ i would have wished in '92, for a mermaid just like you"- mermaid, train

Peter couldn't swim.

He couldn't swim- and yet he was here, upon floating wooden planks, and gallons of brandy.

It was long, and hard work on his fathers ship. Between monitoring the waters for any sign of life, and attempting to try and keep some of the lower men in order- he constantly grew tired.

And yet, when nightfall fell,and the other shipmates headed down for a pint and a smoke before going to their quarters- Peter was on the deck.

Wind ruffled his billowing shirt, tangling his hair as he would peer out the pale moonlight reflecting on the rippling waves. When nights were calm like this, he would look for you.

No one else knew why he was constantly surveying the empty waters, especially late at night- but they didn't ask. They knew not to.

At first, he thought he was seeing things.

The days were long, after all- and smokes could only keep him afloat for so long. But then it happened again. He’d catch a flicker of a tail between the waves, or the sunlight or starlight could illuminate your shimmering hair.

It was like gunpowder from a canon had hit him straight in the chest when you dared to inch closer to the ship, so he could see your eyes peeking out at him from above the waters.

You were beautiful. A siren, luring him to death.

He had never been so drawn to anything more in his life, not gold- not silver.

You were taunting him, each night you’d circle the ship as everyone was away, giving him a flirty little wave. He had no idea how he would get to you- but he needed to.

If that meant diving in the water just to flail- so be it, if it meant being closer to you.

He took a long drag of his smoke, letting it slither in the cool night breeze, the wind flapping the fabric of the sails loudly. Unbeknownst to him, you had slipped from your hiding spot, swimming under the hull of his ship before sneaking around with a gentle splash!.

He had tried talking to you- but it was no use.

You couldn’t respond, you were too far to hear- and for all he knew, you couldn't understand him. Yet he still tried.

You startled him, making him grasp his chest and chuckle to himself from surprise. “Good Lord, my little pearl you scared me!” he exclaimed from the ship, making you giggle.

The wind carried over the soft sound, reminding him of gentle wind chimes.

He smiled softly, admiring you with puppy dog eyes. They twinkled in the moonlight, looking like the stars above him. “I was worried you wouldnt come tonight. I thought you had swam away- away from me.”

You cocked your head staring up at him with a hint of confusion etched on your features.

I’d never swim from you. You wanted to call out, but the words caught in your throat like seaweed was tugging on your vocal cords.

“It’s probably not safe near humans, ya know. You’re a brave one, I’ll give ya that.”

But you’re different. You’re not like the rest.

“I suppose I’m the expectation, pearl. You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

You nodded and he smiled again, looking off to the horizon. A loud clang came from below deck, the sounds of broken glass and drunken laughs underneath.

You zoned in on the noise, observing him as he whipped around to make sure no one else had joined him. Once the coast was clear, he found your gaze again, watching as you dared to swim just a little bit closer.

The water was calm tonight, calm enough you caused little ripples in the water as you neared. You were so graceful, so elegant and beautiful- he couldn't help but stare at you. He never wanted to take his eyes off of you.

“Soon I’ll be back home, on land. I wish you could come with me, my love. I really do.”

Suddenly, as if Possiden himself had cast it, a towering wave rocked through the water,causing the ship to whip violently, rocking and teerting as it bobbed. The salt water covered his eyes, blinding him.

When the wave had finally passed- you were gone without a trace.

As if you had cast it, and had been swept right away with it.

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

The sky was dark gray, and that made him anxious.

The clouds looked threatened, crying tears of rain that coated the entire ocean in a murky haze. The wind was wild, howling so loud it was deafening.

His senses were blurred. His voice was stolen as he tried to signal to the crew to a patch of land he had found in the nearby distance- and from his frantic waving hands and constant look back- they got the idea.

It was rocky, the waves churning his own waves of nausea he tried to ride out.

Fingers digging into the splintered wood, he closed his eyes and prayed to every higher power out there that you were safe. That you were down below, hidden from the wrath the sky Gods had erupted on him.

It had taken time- had felt like years had passed, but the ship had made its way over to the mass of land that lay stranded. Ropes had been tied around any tree they could find that looked stable, the anchor placed down in the sand as the wooden bottom brushed the land.

Peter wasn’t worried about finding a place to sleep- the ship would be fine in the storm- it was the water below he worried about. For now, he and his crew were safe, they could warm up below deck and call it quits early.

But despite this, something felt off.

He couldn't help but jump down, off deck to the churned earth below. He was soaked to the bone, the only thing keeping him somewhat protected was the jacket that surrounded his broad shoulders.

Peter needed to explore. There was something calling his name, pulling him in, to the shores out of sight. He trudged on, before he was anchored to the spot.

There you lay, frail and small compared to the looming rocks around you, nothing but a thin dress of seaweed coating your torso. Shells were scattered in your hair and- legs.

Long, gorgeous legs lay out in the sand, bare feet covered in grains of sand.

He called, sprinting towards you against the wind to where you lay. You whipped your head towards him- towards that oh so familiar sound, and felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You were spit out upon shore- but to Peter you looked like a pearl that had emerged from an oyster.

You were ethereal. And you were here, on land- with him.

“My love? What- what happened? Are you okay?” he frantically scrambled over to you as you tried to stand, legs wobbly making you tumble down into his arms.

“I got legs. For you.” you whispered, looking up with a blissed out gaze, shivering in the cold as the wind blew through again. His eyes widened in shock, and his hand slipped up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing small circles against your skin.

“For me? But how’d you know I’d be here? My love, my love that was so, so risky.” he softly scolded you, stripping himself from his jacket to wrap it around your body- engulfing you.

You couldn't help but stare at his defined biceps that were now fully in view, his white shirt soaked through and clung to him like a second skin. He was so handsome it made you dizzy.

You wobbled again, and he picked you up with ease, cradling you into his chest as he started to walk back to the safe haven of the ship.

“I figured you’d be here. And, I just let the waves carry me. I begged them to take me to you. I guess they listened.” you smiled softly, despite your teeth chattering, fingers curling into his shirt. His skin felt warm, even in the storm.

“I wish I had known your name to call to the gods for you to come to me, my sweet pearl.”

“Y/N.”

He looked down at you, eyes glowing with warmth and admiration at the sound, trying the syllables out on his tongue- the taste so sweet he felt giddy. “That's a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn't tell you before. It just… it was feasible.”

He nodded in understanding, watching as the glow of the lanterns grew nearer.

“I understand, my love. But now, it’s feasible. And it's in my best interest to get you warm and fed, and protected. You're mine now, Y/N.”

You planted a soft kiss on his neck, his breath hitching at the sensation. Your lips were as soft as cushions, sending shivers down his spine in pulses of pleasure.

He felt ashamed of all the things he wanted to do to you- the things he had thought about for so long when the sun went down and he was alone with his cock in hand.

But now that you were here- that you were here with him? He almost couldn't believe it was real.

But as the freezing cold rain that pelted down his back reminded him- he was very much in reality.

------------------------------------------------------ Peter still wasn't used to seeing you in his bed.

It had been weeks since you had found him, and yet every time he saw you- you took his breath away, as if you were a goddess who had come down from heaven to save him from his misery.

The first time you had been in his bed, he had an audience. Everyone had wondered who and what you were- how it was even possible a girl was alive in this part of the ocean.

He had shooed them away like bugs- promising to tell them in the morning- knowing damn well he wouldn't.

You were his secret to keep, and to hold. They may know you with legs, but he knew you long before.

You were shivering- cold and tired as he placed you in a warm bath, helping you wash up before getting you some hot food, watching as you gobbled it up like a woman starved.

You had then passed out on his bed above the sheets, too tired to even try to wiggle under them. He had then realized that you had probably never slept in a human bed before, chuckling to himself as he tucked you in without you even stirring from sleep.

Now, his bed was your favourite place.

You savoured these private, quiet moments with him, loving nothing more than when he wrapped his arms around you, listening to his breath as you dozed off in his embrace.

Most days, you barely had time to see him- as his father had put both of you to work. Though his father took pity for you, thankfully-and left the grueling chores for the rest of the men. Not that Peter would let you really lift a finger, anyways.

He always snuck glances at you whenever he could on the deck, watching you as you’d look out on the horizon from a new perspective- breathing in the salty air as the seagals cawed above, the sun shining brightly. There hadn't been any storms since you had come on board. Metaphorically, and physically.

There had been no arguments, no brawls since you were found- and Peter almost hated it- because he knew the men only weren’t because they were trying to make a good impression on you. He saw their stares, even when you didn't- and couldn't help but snarl like some possessive dog with its bone when anyone got too close.

They were all envious, of course.

You were so charming, so sweet and naive- borderline clueless to their advances. They knew not to get too close- of they knew what was good for them- but he couldn't punish them for staring, afterall.

Well maybe he could…

“That tickles!” you giggled, the sweet sound breaking him from his trance. You wrapped in his arms, all ready for bed in your adorable sexy little white nightgown that drove him crazy- as his fingers traced little lines on your skin. Connecting all your little freckles, getting delight as you shivered from his touch, clenching your thighs together.

“Can’t help it. Your skin is just so pretty n soft, you smell so good my little seashell. You have little treasure maps all over you.”

You peered up at him, draping your leg across his thigh with a smile. You were obvious to the effect you were having on him, actions completely innocent when his thoughts were anything but.

The two of you hadn't done anything more than some kisses and passionate, teasing touches- as Peter didn't want to pressure or rush you into anything. You had just gotten legs- after all, and you were just so innocent.

But the way you looked up at him with those doe eyes… he still couldn't believe you were real. That you were here, and you were his- in his arms, in his bed.

“What treasure is it?” you asked, fingers wrapping around one of his, turning him on more than he thought was even possible.

Fuck he felt like a hormonal teenager again.

“You of course. You’re worth more than all the gold and gems in the world, ya know that pearl? My sweet girl.”

You giggled at his words, heat burning your cheeks. You were squeamish, your skin buzzing with warmth at his touch. You had so many questions about this feeling- was this how humans felt all the time?

All warm and fuzzy like- melting at the simple brush of a finger down your arms, down to your thighs?

“Peter?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m having funny feelings.” you confessed, and his face distorted with confusion.

“What do you mean my love? Where? Can you show me?”

“I’m just all tingly n warm. Your touch makes me feel funny-” you guided his hand to your inner thighs. “-right here.”

You looked up at him innocently, and he almost came right then and there. You were confused- confused with the concept, though slightly familiar because another mermaid had told you about the one time she spied on a couple in their bedroom, from below deck.

The things she described, you wanted Peter to do to you. You trusted him to do those things.

You nodded at his questioning gaze- as if to say are you sure?

You wanted this to be with Peter.

His gaze softened as you guided his fingers down to your damped panties, nuzzling up so you were pushed back against his chest as he spread your legs between his- caging you in.

“That'ssss it, show me where it aches baby.” he mumbled, kissing your head, smiling against you as he heard you gasp as his fingers dipped between your folds.

Jesus you were soaked. “Right there? Is that where it tingles?” he asked as you nodded, mumbling some incoherent praise as you bucked your hips and squirmed at the circling of your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t run from this honey. I know, I know it feels all funny but I promise it’ll feel so good.”

He kissed your head again, reassuring you as his finger taunted your entrance before curling into you- making you moan. ‘F-fuck-” you whined, making him chuckle.

“Now where did you learn that word from my love?”

“O-one of the guys on deck.” You moaned as his finger pumped in and out, clenching around him tightly. He tskked. “Well that's a bad word baby. We don't say that- okay?”

“O-okay…” you whined, clinging onto his arm as he continued to please you, your puppy dog eyes making him smirk.

He wondered how this felt for you. Were you extra sensitive because of the changes? He couldn't help but feel more turned on that you could come apart like this at the touch of his finger.

“I know baby, you’re doing so good. So, so good for me- so sweet n pretty like this, yea?” he cooed as you grinded up into his palm, whining, nails digging enough to leave crescent moons.

“Peter I can’t-”

“Yes you can baby. Just give in, doin ' so good.” he interrupted gruffly, planting kisses and praises to your head as you came, riding you through your orgasm.

“Good girl. You did so good for me, didn't you my love?” You nodded, watching as he removed his soaked fingers, looking down at the wet splatters on the sheets and on your thighs.

“Is that normal?” you asked hesitantly, and he smiled. “Yes baby, I promise. You did so good.” he assured, lips captring yours as you clung to him, legs shaking slightly.

“Soon, maybe you can take my cock.” he smirked, a glint in his eye before leaning down to kiss you again.

255 notes · View notes

pastafossa · 1 month ago

Text

"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.”

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room.

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom.

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.”

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.” “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…”

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh.

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.”

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…”

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?”

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.”

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.”

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.”

262 notes · View notes

bwat5-blog · 2 months ago

Text

The Cost Of Humanity: The Price Caitlyn pays

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

The discourse around Caitlyn's fall from grace and eventual redemption continues to be all over the place. I honestly struggle to think of examples from recent media that can compare when talking about the complexity and humanity of her arc, yet people continue to paint her with their broad-stroke, virtue signaling generalizations. Things like this, are why I started doing this in the first place.

Because as much as I have come to love doing these deep dives, and these character analyses, and how I learn along the way and learn new insights from all of you, peoples determination in disrespecting such a masterfully crafted story that is so full of heart, and depth, offends me to my core. As I have said repeatedly throughout my posts like a grouchy nerdy broken record, GOOD STORIES MATTER.

This is not about ships, it is not about favorite characters, and it is not about your right to like, or dislike her character. If you feel questioned by this post, I am not questioning your opinion of a character, I am questioning your ability empathize and see the humanity in a twenty-four year old girl, who has had every pillar upon which she bases her perception of the world VIOLENTLY changed.

To that end, what I am discussing this evening is the cost of Caitlyn's mistakes regarding her assuming the role of Commander and what follows. This is not about how she redeems herself, although I have spoken on that and do feel they did a masterful job in achieving it. This is not a deep dive into her fall from grace, the causes, or rather or not I believe it was justified. This is solely to address the following tidbit of lunacy and all of its variations that are still floating around.

"So Caitlyn's arc is that she becomes a war criminal and gasses kids and goes full KKK and she gets to ride off into the sunset with Vi with the only consequence being an eye patch?"

Physical:

As the easiest of consequences to measure, let's take a look at the effects Caitlyn suffers to her body as a result of her mistakes. For this I will focus on the battle at the end of the show, although she is certainly wounded in various ways in the commune.

Maddie's Betrayal- We will speak more on this when I move to mental, but Maddie literally hits her in the head twice with a rifle stock. Concussions anyone? Skull Fractures?

Stabbed - Stabbed in the stomach with Ambessa's blade up to the hilt. Now I am not a doctor and freely admit that I know nothing about the severity in the wound in terms of placement. And in a world with shimmer healing and such things obviously we can't strictly hold to real world rules. But a simple google search suggested the following as possible long term complications of such a wound: " intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, intra-abdominal abscesses, bowel perforation, delayed bleeding from damaged blood vessels, abdominal hernias, chronic pain"

Kicked- Kicked square in the midsection with a knife in her gut. Seems healthy

Head slammed into concrete- Ambessa using her skull-crusher legs sweeps Caitlyn off of her feet slamming her head into the ground (Please Note: Caitlyn is shown clearly struggling at this point tremendously to rise)

Kicked Again- Once again kicked in the midsection with a knife in her gut

Ankle- Ambessa pins Caitlyn's ankle to the ground by force and kicks her leg out from under her before backhanding her

Headbutt- After dazing her with the backhand, Ambessa full on headbutts her with her mask on

Kicked yet again- This time completely off of her feet

Loses her left eye- Her sacrifice to stop Ambessa.

Returning to the stab wound- She did all of this with the knife in her. Tearing and exacerbating that wound.

This was one fight. Don't mistake me, Caitlyn has become an absolute warrior as the show has gone on and is an amazing fighter. But she twenty four, and only a short time ago was still very much in her sheltered life. Ambessa Medarda is a LITERAL WARLORD.

Mental/Emotional:

**I'm sure there are things I'm going to leave off of this. But this is just what I am thinking of in the moment. This is NOT a bashing on her list. This is what I feel the kind and courageous woman we know she always been is going to have to work through in the aftermath.**

Violet- Thankfully she and Vi have found their way back to one another. And while I love their reuniting, I don't think its unfair to suggest there is still quite a bit of healing ahead of them. Vi was not without blame in what happened between them (not justifying what Cait did to her at all, just that neither of them are perfect and were going through a terrible time). But ultimately Caitlyn has to make peace with the fact that she left the woman she loves crying alone in that chamber, and that that heartbreak sent Vi into a spiral that very easily could have killed her. When you add to that the loss of Vander, Isha and Jinx in Vi's life these are all things a woman like Cait is going to struggle not to blame herself completely for.

Zaun- The early show does an excellent job establishing that Caitlyn does not share the classist and oppressive attitudes of others in her social circle. But at her most lost, she bears responsibility for the full military occupation of Zaun, imprisoning its citizens, and likely the death of more than a few at the hands of the Noxians who Caitlyn allowed to be there . And that is to say nothing of the actions of the strike team, or that it is Vi's home.

Maddie- The woman she invited into her bed to distract herself from the loss of Vi, came as close as someone could have to executing her right then and there. Someone she never realized was a spy, prepared to shoot her the back of the neck. I think the trauma here is obvious.

Death Toll- The deathtoll and destruction of the war are going to weigh on her. They just are. It is clearly not actually all her fault, But as I have stated, and as anyone who pays attention will have seen, Caitlyn IS A GOOD PERSON. Yes, I'm sorry, I know some of you want to pretend otherwise because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. But she is. And there is simply no way she does not feel the weight of the loss brought on in part by a woman she allowed to seize control.

Mental trauma from injuries- On top of the base physical component of her wounds, Caitlyn was quite nearly beaten to death. Speaking as someone who has been in a bad fight (nowhere near this obviously) it's not something you just forget. Not to mention the impact to her shooting which has been such a major part of her since she was younger.

I could go farther with all of this but you get the idea. Caitlyn is so.... so young. I and so many others have gone on at length detailing her arc, her grief, her trauma and all of the other components that make up this part of her story. I encourage you to read them if you are interested. This list of her suffering and of the suffering she will feel guilt for is not about what she does or does not deserve. As stated, that's not why I wrote this. I wrote this because as I stated in a much shorter look at this topic, you literally have to try to miss the consequences of Caitlyn's actions. You have to blind yourself in the name of being able to place whatever hashtag makes you feel righteous in condemning her character. If you want to say the reparations to Zaun were not fully addressed in the course of the show, okay I can give you that. But I would remind of you two things:

Caitlyn surrenders her family seat on the council to Sevika. For the first time as we understand it, the undercity now has a voice.

This show is not the end of the story. From the beginning Arcane has been our door into this universe, not out of it.

Listen folks, I'm not actually crazy. I understand it's a tv show. But as I have and will always continue to say, good stories matter. There is a reason fables and epics stretch back throughout our history as a species. Yes, of course for entertainment, yes of course to impart lessons or wisdom. But that belief that we can conquer our own darkness, that we can stand in the breach against those who would bring death to the innocent, and that can find redemption, these beliefs and many more have guided the best and worst parts of us for all time.

As always, thank you so much to any of you who take the time to read the rantings of a lunatic. I cannot express to you all the joy I have felt engaging in this community and celebrating this epic tale. I can't wait to see what they have for us next. Until next time, keep standing up for the stories that stay with us.

#arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 1 #arcane #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #media literacy

292 notes · View notes

slowlyoats · 2 months ago

Text

The Lost Boys: What does their room in the cave look like?

Marko

- I think he would have a small little alcove up on the “second”level of the cave

- It’s very small and it attached to the big opening we’re his pigeons like to hang out

- When I say small, I mean SMALL

- Like he has to sit on his butt, and scout in

- He fits comfortably though

- He built little shelves in it so he can display his trinkets

- This is also we’re he stashes his art supplies

- Dwayne calls it Marko’s “drawing spot”

- Because every time he goes up their looking for Marko

- He is listening to his Walkman, and in a deep trance, drawing

- He doesn’t have any fancy sketch books so most of the time he draws on whatever he can find

- Like napkins

- Drift wood

- Concert flyers

- Card board

- He’s room is definitely a site to see

- It’s decorated with his drawings, feathers, pieces of bright colored fabrics, basically anything that he can find around the board walk that looks cool

Paul

- he really likes to find old album covers and hang them up on his wall

- He typically finds them from dumpster diving or his friend at the record store will give him the ones that are shipped to the store broken

- I think his room is a shallow spot, where his head barely misses the ceiling when he stands up

- He is the only boy that’s room is somewhat open to the elements

- There is a small hole that he can just about stick his fist through, that faces the ocean

- I think he also has a shoe box that he keeps concert flyers in

- But only the ones he has been to, and actually liked

- It’s like a little scrap book

Dwayne

- I envision it to be a lot like how Star’s was in the movie

- You have to walk down into it, kind of like those conversations pits from the 60s you see in old magazines

- Marko likes to call it “The Pit”

- It’s a decent size, and out of all the boys most resemble an actual room

- It’s EXTREMELY MESSY

- But not in a horder type of way, its in a, if he just took the time to organize and put stuff back for once then just leaving it on the floor the room wouldn’t look half bad, type of way

- He has books and mechanic magazines everywhere

- He has a tool box

- Does he use it though?

- Maybe if he could find it

- He has mason jars filled with various nuts, screws, and bolts.

- Just think “dad basement/garage”

- There is a alcove, hidden by large rock formation towards that back of his space

- The alcove contains a small, somewhat shallow ocean pool

- Dwayne is the only one that knows about it, and he wants to keep it that way

- Out of all the boys he seems to be the cleanest

- So I think he uses this piece of ocean as his own little bathing spot

David

- I think his room would be on the first floor of the cave

- I think it would be smaller then Dwayne’s, but bigger then Paul’s

- He can fit an old recliner, and a side table in there while still having a little space to lay down in the back if he felt like it

- There is a loose rock on the right side of the wall in his room

- This is we’re he keeps his emergency stash of cigarettes, and his journal

- *audible gasp* DAVID KEEPS A JOURNAL???

- Yes and no

- He definitely doesn’t keep it after he fills it up with his thoughts

- As we all know he is a little paranoid, so whenever he finishes a journal he burns it

- I think he also has a little hook he hammered into the wall so he can hang up his jacket

- There is a deep, wide, indent into the cave wall, above the back wall of his room

- He has a trunk there that contains some extra clothing he has scavenged and some items from his past

#david tlb #dwayne tlb #lost boys 1987 #marko tlb #paul tlb #the lost boys #tlb fandom #tlb fanfiction #tlb fanfic #fanfic #tlb headcanons #tlb dwayne #tlb david #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne

213 notes · View notes

chiacanwritesometimes · 2 months ago

Text

the three times you tried, and the one time it worked.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.09k

authors note: this is unedited, i wrote this at like 2am and will finish it some time soon!! this fic dives into themes of pregnancy and miscarriage, so please please do not interact if these themes bother, trigger or make you uncomfortable.

===========

three times, you had gotten pregnant. three times, you held the stick up carefully, as to not shatter the illusion, and showed him. three times, he held you as sobs racked your body. one time, though, one time, it was different.

the first time was a surprise. you were in your bathroom, and found some old pregnancy tests that you bought from your college days.

sheesh, do these still work?

you unwrapped it carelessly, and sat down on the toilet. humming, you urinated on the stick, and when you were done, placed it on the counter. you cleaned yourself and pulled your shorts up. washing your hands was difficult. you were nervous, you weren’t sure why. it seemed like a good time for you and him to have a kid, it felt natural. sure, he was still going on missions with sam occasionally, but not often enough to where he would be missing out. you dried your hands on the hand towel, and looked at yourself in the mirror. you sighed. you started to trail your fingers around your skin, your hair, your facial features. little scars adorned your skin, reminders of your past. various ones from your cat, but others from less kind encounters. your examination was interrupted from his throat clearing. his body leaned against the door frame of the bathroom; he must’ve opened the door when you were focused on yourself. his eyebrows etched together in what was beginning to look like a sort of quizzical and sympathetic emotion. he tilted his head to the side, acknowledging the pregnancy test.

“what’s that?”

he asked. for a moment, you felt confused. you turned your face to look at it.

“um…”

it felt strange to have to say it out loud, it made it too real.

“it’s a…”

he walked closer. he grabbed the box of tests, and scanned the words. his eyes widened. he turned to you with his mouth slightly agape.

“are you..?”

“im not sure.”

you started before he could finish. you squirmed under his gaze, feeling like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. he placed the box down. he started moving the hair from your face.

“it’s okay.”

the two simple words eased you. it was okay if you were pregnant or not. he lightly placed a kiss on your forehead, and leaned to place his chin on the top of your head.

“how can you tell?” he asked softly.

“two lines means yes. one line means no.” you responded, face buried in his neck. you two stayed like that for a while, until you decided to check the test. you turn it over, and…

you at least had reached three months. you finished your first trimester, a good milestone. your bump was growing slightly bigger, and you began to waddle instead of walk. he found this endearing. he started calling you a penguin, and you rolled your eyes, which then made him laugh. it was a warm feeling.

fall had arrived. the leaves were turning brown, jazz began to swell from your home, and nights became colder.

it was a lazy day at the barnes house. both of you were at his home office, him at his desk and you on the couch adjacent to him. you were flipping through home and lifestyle magazines, occasionally breaking the silence with “we should get this!” or, “doesn’t this look cute?”. he often took breaks from his work to look at you. you had that glow, and not just from the pregnancy. both of you had many hardships previous to when you started to go out. you had supported him after the deprogramming from wakanda, and were the main reason he still walked out of bed a kind man. he was so grateful for you, and he was very glad to be entering this new step with you.

hours passed. night had begun to start, the lazy rays from the sun no longer there. you had fallen asleep on the couch, and he covered you with a blanket. he walked out of his office, and into a room full of liquor. as he poured himself a glass of whiskey, it happened.

screams filled the office, and his blood turned cold. he yelled your name out, and stormed into a scene from a horror movie. you were sobbing, your pajama pants soaked with blood. it wasn’t pooling, but enough has trickled to the point it stained the couch. he had no time to freeze. he scooped you up, given you a quick shower and grabbed the keys to the car as you were placing a pad on your underwear. your sobs had calmed down, but tears were still falling.

the trip to the e.r. felt excruciatingly long. the tense situation led him to white knuckle the steering wheel, his metal arm threatening to break it. you stared off into the distance, counting the stars to keep you distracted. you reached the destination, but neither of you had gotten out of the car. you remained frozen in your seat, and he grabbed your hand, breaking you out of your trance. his eyes were red, stained with tears of his own. “it’s…” he swallowed his tears back. “it’s okay.”

…

the second time wasn’t so long. it was five months after the first time you were…

you walked outside, and into the backyard. you and him had built a little shrine for the… “the one that couldn’t”, you had referred to it. calling it your child made it hurt, but not knowing if it would’ve been your son or your daughter hurt more. he thought it was a girl, but you said it was a boy. deep down, you agreed with him. you kneeled in front of the shrine. it was still cold out, old snow from the day prior covered everything in a thin sheet of white. you wiped away snow from her- err, it’s shrine, and closed your eyes. you breathed deeply, the cold air giving your cheeks a pink tint. you emptied your pockets. you lit a candle and started talking.

“happy valentine’s day, circe.” you chose that placeholder name because it was a mix between percy and cici, two potential names from the list. you cleared your throat. “valentines day is a day where you show appreciation to the ones you love most. you would’ve liked it, aside from the fact that we would have so much chocolate, something you wouldn’t have been able to eat.” the last words trailing off. “i love you.”

…

part 1/3? i will post the second part sometime tmr!

177 notes · View notes

winxanity-ii · 6 months ago

Text

HANDSY

ship: gamer boyfriend!gojo x fem!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering) word count: 3.3k A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that i'm reposting this from my alt account, lulu-4-u in case you've seen this posted before...

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, had beautiful hands—it was one of those subtle things you hadn't really noticed at first.

It wasn't until that one day, when you were out on a date, and Satoru had wiped a smudge of food from the corner of your lips, that something clicked.

The way his fingers brushed so effortlessly against your skin left you thinking about them long after.

Since then, you’d found yourself noticing more about his hands. The way they moved, their length—long, slender fingers with perfectly trimmed nails, always clean, the nail beds smooth.

His hands were... well, elegant.

They were the kind of hands that could ruin you.

This particular evening, the two of you were lounging in the living room. Satoru had his headset on, completely engrossed in some multiplayer game, while you were curled up at the other end of the couch, legs casually stretched across his lap.

You were working on some homework, your laptop beside you as every now and then, he'd hiss in frustration or shout some command into the mic, his voice sharp with focus.

Hours passed like this, with you finishing up your assignments. Satisfied, you wiggled your foot gently against Satoru's stomach to get his attention.

He looked over, blue eyes meeting yours as you mouthed, "I'm finished."

He gave you a quick nod, leaning over to cover his mic. "Give me a few more minutes," he whispered before diving back into his game.

Left with time to kill, you opened up a tab on your laptop and started reading... well, something a little more indulgent.

The smutty story had you wrapped up, but every now and then, you'd catch a glimpse of Satoru out of the corner of your eye. His curses and shouts grew louder as he scooted forward, completely focused, your feet trapped against his stomach as he leaned into the game.

That's when you found yourself staring at his hands again.

His fingers moved quickly over the controller, and without realizing it, that familiar warmth began to bubble in your stomach.

The fic had stirred something in you, but it was the sight of his hands, the way they gripped the controller, that sent your mind spiraling.

Thousands upon thousands of scenarios flashed through your head, ones you had no business thinking about while Satoru was so locked into his game.

You'd never thought of yourself as someone with a thing for hands... but here you were.

His fingers hovered over the game controller, each movement precise, quick. The way his thumbs grazed the buttons, the light tap of his fingers as they adjusted with every motion—it had your attention now.

His hands were large, the veins prominent as they flexed, each motion sending a ripple up his forearms.

They were graceful but strong, almost too perfect, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from them, not when he clicked through the game commands with that same fluidity.

Your mind wandered, drifting from the soft glow of the screen to something much more heated.

he way his fingers wrapped around the controller made your thoughts spiral into places they probably shouldn't have gone, at least not right now.

Images flickered in your mind, thoughts about what else those hands could do, how they might feel on you in... different ways.

Suddenly, a hand waved in front of your face, snapping you out of the fantasy. "Huh?" You blinked, looking up to find Satoru grinning at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've been calling your name for the past minute."

You hadn't even noticed, lost so deep in your own thoughts that you missed the world around you.

His right hand dropped from the controller, settling on your thigh as he gave it a gentle squeeze, emphasizing the point.

Though the gesture shouldn’t have flustered you, a rush of heat crept up your neck, your face suddenly feeling like it was on fire.

Satoru tilted his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "What's gotten your attention, hmm?" he asked, his voice playful as he set the controller aside on the coffee table.

You shifted a little, trying to look away, but your gaze kept straying back to his hands, still resting casually on your thigh.

You swallowed hard, your mind still lingering on everything you shouldn’t be thinking about. "N-nothing," you managed to stutter, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. It was lame, and you knew it.

He raised a brow, genuinely confused now, leaning forward slightly. "Nothing? You've been staring at me like I've grown a second head," he teased, clearly not buying your weak excuse. His fingers twitched against your thigh, and you felt the warmth of his touch spreading through your skin like wildfire.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out nervous and awkward.

Satoru frowned, scooting closer to you, his attention now fully on you instead of the game. "Hey," he murmured, reaching over to gently grip the bottom of your chin with his long fingers. His touch was soft but firm enough to guide your gaze back to him. "Look at me."

Your heart skipped a beat as his hand cradled your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.

The confusion melted into something a bit more focused as his thumb brushed along your jawline. "What's wrong?" His voice dropped lower, softer, as if he were trying to coax the answer out of you.

You didn't respond right away, your throat suddenly dry. His hand, now cupping your face, felt impossibly warm, and your mind raced with thoughts that made your pulse quicken.

Before you could stop yourself, your gaze flickered back down to his hand again.

Satoru noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He tilted his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His thumb paused against your skin, and he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Oh?" he whispered, his voice taking on a playful, knowing tone. "Is it my hands?"

Your breath hitched, and you felt the heat flare up all over again. He chuckled, low and teasing, as he moved his hand just slightly, the pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You've been staring at them for a while now… want to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You didn't have to answer for him to know. His gaze softened, though there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Would you like to feel them somewhere else?"

Your mouth opened slightly, only to close again as words failed you. All you could do was stare into Satoru's eyes, feeling your pulse quicken as he pulled back just enough to get a better look at your face.

His gaze was dark, half-lidded, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks—a rare sight for someone so confident, but it only made him more alluring. He watched you with that mischievous smile, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Perhaps here?" he murmured, his hand sliding down from your waist and splaying across your lower abdomen. His fingers rested dangerously close to your center, the heat of his touch sending a shiver through your body.

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and instinctively, your legs snapped shut, trapping his hand between your thighs.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but Satoru didn't seem fazed.

Instead he purred, the sound low and smooth. "I won't, not if you don't want me to,” he said, voice gentle but teasing. His free hand, the one not caught between your legs, moved up to cup your neck tenderly.

His fingers brushed against your skin, sending another wave of warmth coursing through you as he tilted your head back ever so slightly.

His lips hovered just above the apex of your jaw, the faintest brush of contact making your breath hitch. He nuzzled there, his warm breath fanning across your skin, causing your eyes to flutter shut for just a moment.

His hand, still resting against your lower abdomen, didn't move, but it was enough to keep your heart racing.

Satoru's touch was firm but so soft, his thumb brushing against the side of your neck as he continued to nuzzle along your jawline. "You just have to say the word..." he whispered, his voice melting into your ear.

Your breath hitched as the weight of the moment settled in, and before you could even think, a soft, stuttered "y-yes" escaped your lips.

That was all Satoru needed.

In an instant, he was on you like a man starved, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that took your breath away. It wasn’t gentle or slow—it was heated, hurried, like he’d been holding back for too long.

He ripped off the headset, tossing it aside without a second thought, and in one smooth motion, he was reaching for your laptop.

You let out a short, breathless giggle as he fumbled to set it safely on the coffee table, but the sound barely left your mouth before Satoru silenced you with another strong kiss. His lips were demanding, stealing the air from your lungs, as if he needed this more than anything.

His hands moved quickly, one gripping your hip with a firmness that made your heart race, the other tangling itself in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so he could deepen the kiss.

The way his lips moved against yours was raw, almost frantic, like he was drowning and you were the only thing that could save him.

His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and when you opened up for him, a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he kissed you even harder, pressing you back against the couch cushions.

Every touch from him was electric. His hands roamed, sliding up your sides, then back down to grip your hips as he pulled you closer, needing you pressed against him.

His kisses were messy, heated, filled with an intensity that made your skin flush.

You felt like you were on fire, and each second his lips were on yours only fanned the flames higher.

Satoru shifted, leaning in more, his body practically covering yours as his hand slipped down to the waistband of your shorts. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your lower abdomen, and your breath hitched again, a shaky exhale escaping as his lips moved from your mouth to your neck.

He kissed along your jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin as his hand teased at the edge of your shorts, but he didn't move any further—not yet.

He was savoring this moment, taking his time to build the tension as his lips continued to trail down your neck, each kiss, nip, and graze of his teeth leaving your skin tingling in their wake.

Your breathing grew more ragged as his fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric, tugging your shorts down slowly, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he pulled them past your hips.

You squirmed slightly, the sensation of his cool fingers against the warmth of your skin making you more aware of just how exposed you were becoming.

With one smooth movement, Satoru pulled your shorts all the way off, dropping them carelessly to the floor before his attention returned to you.

His lips continued their journey, trailing down your stomach before finally reaching your thighs. He nipped at your skin, soft bites that had your breath catching in your throat.

You could feel the heat of his breath as he kissed along the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of electricity through your body. He took his time, savoring every inch of your thighs, his lips brushing dangerously close to the edge of your underwear.

By the time he pulled back, your entire body felt like it was humming, your heart racing as he moved you. In one fluid motion, he gripped your hips and tugged you closer to the edge of the sofa, so that your legs hung off the arm of the couch, feet barely grazing the floor.

The shift made you feel vulnerable, laid out beneath him in nothing but your underwear, with Satoru towering over you, eyes dark and focused.

You could feel the heat pooling in your cheeks as his hungry gaze lingered, tracing over every inch of your body like he was committing it to memory.

Your face burned under his scrutiny, the silence between you both thick with tension. The longer he stared, the more embarrassed you felt, a soft blush spreading across your skin.

You huffed out his name, nudging him lightly with your leg in an attempt to break the tension. "Satoru…"

He didn't respond at first, but the way his lips curled into a small, knowing smirk told you he heard. Instead of pulling away or offering any comfort, he tightened his grip on your thighs, hands firm but gentle as he held you down, making sure you couldn’t move.

"Stay still," he murmured, his voice lower than usual, a commanding edge to it. His thumbs pressed into your skin just enough to make your pulse jump, and you bit your lip, feeling that heat rise even more.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, his eyes half-lidded and filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. "I'm not done looking yet," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

The heat in your face spread to the rest of your body as Satoru leaned forward, taking a deep breath that caused your breath to hitch.

"Satoru!" you squealed out, your voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

He didn't even acknowledge your reaction. Instead, he did it again, slower this time, but now it was followed by a low, deep groan that seemed to vibrate right through you.

A soft, needy whine escaped you as you called out his name again, this time unsure, almost pleading. "Satoru…"

He looked up, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips as he met your gaze. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a teasing lilt, though his gaze was dark and intent. He didn't stop, didn't let go of you. Instead, his fingers dug into your skin, just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted, completely pinned under him. "You sound like you want something," he murmured, dipping his head again, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't respond, unable to form the words as the heat building inside you clouded your thoughts, but Satoru didn't need you to.

He already knew.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down again and this time, delivered a long swipe of his tongue from the bottom of your underwear to the top.

The sudden warmth of his tongue through the thin fabric made your thighs twitch involuntarily, and you bit your lip hard to stifle a moan. He continued lapping at you, slow and deliberate, his tongue dragging up and down your core with an intensity that left you trembling beneath him.

You felt like you were on fire, every nerve ending in your body lit up as he worked through the fabric.

The dampness of your underwear only seemed to spur him on, and after a few more agonizing moments, Satoru finally pulled the soaked fabric down, the wetness making it almost transparent as he discarded it carelessly to the side.

Before you could process the next wave of embarrassment, he was back on you, his mouth quickly attaching to your nub. Your thighs twitched again, but this time he gripped them harder, holding you down as his mouth continued its assault.

His fingers teased at your entrance, tracing along your slit before finally slipping inside with ease, his movements confident and sure. Satoru moved with precision, as if he knew exactly what would make you fall apart. He easily found your g-spot, and you couldn't help but let out a low moan as he began to work it in slow, deliberate circles.

He added a second finger without hesitation, curling them perfectly to coax even more pleasure from you. He continued to whisper praises, kissing up your body until his breath was hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

His white hair laid disheveled, clinging to his forehead in strands. His lips were parted slightly, swollen from the intensity of your earlier kisses, his eyes dark with focus and desire.

"Gods, look at you," he breathed, sending a rush of heat straight through you. His thumb grazed your clit, teasing you as his fingers moved deeper inside, curling just right, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. "You're so beautiful like this... so responsive for me…" His words came out in a low murmur, each one laced with adoration, as if he were marveling at the way your body moved for him.

You could hardly breathe, the sensation so overwhelming that it made your breaths come out in shaky, ragged gasps. He was driving you closer and closer, every touch setting your nerves on fire.

"Good girl," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck as his fingers moved with practiced ease. "You're taking my fingers so well…" His voice was low, the praise making your heart race.

His free hand trailed up your body, tracing along your ribs before settling gently on your throat, not squeezing, just holding you, grounding you in the moment.

His eyes were low, pupils blown wide as he took in the sight of your face, watching the way your expression shifted under his touch. He could feel you getting closer, the way your breath hitched, the way your body responded to every movement of his fingers.

Without even realizing it, Satoru's hips began to move against you, grinding lightly against the side of your body as he sought his own relief.

He was focused entirely on your reactions; the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths—it was everything to him.

His lips found their way to the curve of your neck, and he lingered there, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Such a good girl… letting me have you like this."

The way he spoke to you, the way his fingers moved inside you, made you feel like you were driving you closer to the edge.

"I-I could stay like this forever," he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke. His voice was thick with desire, but there was a teasing lilt to it, something playful that made your pulse quicken. "Watching you fall apart just for me."

His hips continued to grind against you, but his focus remained entirely on you. He could feel how close you were, the way your body tensed, the way you trembled beneath him. His grip tightened slightly as he quickened his pace, driving you to the very brink.

His mouth was at your ear again, his voice a low purr, sending a fresh wave of anticipation through you. "Think you can handle three next time?" he whispered, his breath ragged and filled with desire, hips stuttering in tempo. "I-I'll stretch you out so good… I p-promise... make you perfect for me."

And that was all it took.

With his fingers curling inside you one last time, pushing you to that edge, the tension that had been coiling in your body snapped.

When you finally came down, still trembling and breathless, Satoru pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with satisfaction.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, his expression now softened with affection. "You did so well," he whispered, brushing a thumb across your flushed skin. His lips curled into a teasing grin, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I hope you liked my fingers," he murmured against your ear, "because you're going to like my dick even more."

A/N: hi guys! just decided to combine my alt account and main one... and if youre wondering why this even got to the point, long story short, i was kind of embarressed/unsure if i'd do a good job/know how to write smut but i'm pleasently surprised to see that people enjoy it, so i'll stay posting on here as well... i'll probably just can/save my alt account as a backup tho...

269 notes · View notes