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shywitchyfangirl · 4 years

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Tips for Beginning Spirit Workers!

Me? Posting something useful instead of just memes? GASP!

1. Plan communication and housing methods in advance. This is your responsibility, not the spirits’. Housing can include binding them to an object, binding them to yourself, letting them wander your house, or (my personal method) building an astral temple for them. Communication can take all kinds of forms, including dreams, hallucinations, Ouija boards, body sensations, intrusive thoughts, and telepathy. When starting out, you’ll probably be working with sensations and intrusive thoughts, and work your way up to other forms. An important thing to remember is if you’re ever unsure if something was them, assume it was. False negatives do far more harm than false positives when you’re trying to learn how to communicate. Assuming your spirit said something they didn’t might annoy them, but denying real messages will prevent you from developing your senses and harm your relationship with them.

2. Set boundaries and keep them! It doesn’t matter who they are, how powerful they are, or if they’re a literal god. You have rights, and they do not own you. Take no excuses, make no compromises. You don’t need to explain anything. If you give some spirits an inch, they’ll take a mile. I have a rule that no one can possess me while I’m on my period. Why? Because I don’t want them to, end of discussion. If anyone throws a fit about your boundaries, you don’t want to work with them anyway. If you’re planning to let them stick around, setting house rules is also very important! (”Don’t mess with the other human residents” is always a good starting point.)

3. Doubt happens. Even the most experienced spirit worker has moments of “Oh gods, I’m just crazy and talking to myself.” Don’t beat yourself up over it! Healthy skepticism is what keeps us sane. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad spirit worker. Try taking a moment to reflect on the times when your spirits did something that proved themselves to you, because I promise, those moments will happen too! One of my earliest moments was when a spirit possessed my and drew a bunch of dicks in my notebook before I even realized what she was drawing. If you haven’t had one of those moments yet, just remember the golden rule: You can’t be imagining it, because your imagination should never surprise you.

3.5 Know your craft, not others’. Related to the above, a big source of doubt is when you read about other spirit workers’ doing things differently. Remember, the term UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis) exists for a reason. Your Mileage May Vary! Every spirit worker experiences spirits differently. Different doesn’t mean wrong. Figure out what’s best for you and your spirits, and have confidence in your craft.

4. Don’t trust just anyone. Not every spirit you contact will be on your side. Some have their own agenda, others just want a plaything. Some spirits will pretend to be someone else to get past your defenses. The best way to stay safe is to always trust your instincts. If a spirit gives you a “bad vibe,” DITCH THEM. Never give them the benefit of the doubt. There is not a single spirit you NEED to have in your life, and thus there’s no reason to give a sketchy spirit a chance. Aside from that, don’t just assume any spirit you contact will be friendly and benevolent. Most spirit workers go through a “vetting” period of at least 3 months before deciding if a spirit is truly good to join their team. Yes, THREE MONTHS. You don’t want to allow just any powerful astral being into your life, do you? Remember, spirits have power, and they CAN hurt you. If you wouldn’t allow any random stranger into your house, don’t allow any random spirit into your life.

5. Do your research! Spirits aren’t human, and they don’t have the same wants and needs as humans. Research in advance what the particular species you’re summoning wants and needs. If they’re from a pop culture series, research the series. Research their friends, family, and enemies. Know who they will or won’t work well with. If they’re a nonhuman character, pay special attention to their species’ attributes, such as behavior, communication, and any unusual needs or weaknesses. You are responsible for your spirits’ safety while they’re with you! Remember, there’s no such thing as knowing too much. The more you know, the better prepared you’ll be!

6. Respect their boundaries. Not every spirit wants to be worshipped, especially pop culture ones. Some find it flattering, others find it creepy. Similarly, not every spirit wants to be your best friend forever, and not every spirit is eagerly waiting for your call every second of every day. Spirits may be cool, but don’t be a stalker. Give them some dang space. Also accept that many spirits don’t plan to stay with you forever. There may be a few that will be with you until you die (or even follow you to your next life!) but the vast majority have lives outside of you just like humans do, and there will be a time when you don’t need them or vice versa. Don’t feel bad about them leaving, and don’t try to force them to stay. Spirits come and go, and it does not mean you’re a bad spirit worker if you lose a few allies. Your closest friends will be the ones who choose you, and those are the ones you really want in your inner circle.

7. Don’t call up what you can’t put down. Always always ALWAYS have a banishing spell ready, and be sure to start small. Practice with a simple Pikachu before you go summoning Arceus. And keep that banishing spell handy during the vetting period! Many spirit workers suggest doing a banishing spell after every summoning unless you plan on letting the spirit stay permanently. It’s also always a good idea to have some kind of restraint the first few times you call on a spirit, even if it’s just a circle of salt. Personally I like to keep one of my stronger spirit family members around to babysit the new guys.

8. Always stay protected. Shield spells are your best friends. Use them. Keep them updated. There is never a reason to not be shielded. There is also never a reason to not have your house protected. At least once a month, update your wards, cleanse and banish everything, and recharge your home’s energy. Don’t worry, you can set your wards to whitelist your approved spirit family and any specific spirits you want to lure in, but it’s best to not allow just anyone in off the street. Consider placing sigils around to mark your territory as your own, or you may find someone or something trying to move in and claim your house for themselves!

9. Know the facts about spirit attacks. The first rule is that you’re probably NOT being attacked. If you have to think “Was that a spirit? Am I being attacked?” you’re definitely not being attacked. Spirits are empowered by your fear, they WANT you to know they’re attacking you. One time when I was attacked, the spirit broke my rainbow fountain right in front of me in a way that made both separate lights simultaneously only glow blood red. That doesn’t just happen. And then they immediately and obviously tried to pull me out of my body so they could take it over. The other two times, the spirits tried so hard to suck me out of my body that it made me disoriented and felt like someone was vacuuming my head while my body felt cold. Spirit attacks are always obvious because they’re trying to scare you. Which leads to the second rule: NEVER PANIC. The more afraid you are, the more power they have over you. Stay calm, put up a shield, call a trusted alley to aid you, and banish their ass to next week. Remember, most spirits who attack are just bullies looking for a new toy to torment. Even a simple “fuck off” can give them the message you’re not worth the trouble.

10. Be prepared before opening up to possession. Possession is real, and it can be dangerous. With a trusted ally, it’s tons of fun, and you can even ask them to handle things like chores for you. With literally anyone else, you’re putting your life at risk. There is nothing stopping a strong enough spirit from throwing you off the nearest bridge. The good news is that forced, full possession is rare. The bad news is it can still happen, and it’s very hard to stop when it does. This is why it’s so important to vet your spirit allies before allowing them close to you, ESPECIALLY before letting them possess you. If a spirit shows any sign of not respecting your boundaries, get them the hell out of your life. Luckily, partial possession is much more common (when you’re still in control but either being influenced, or only your limbs are moving without your input). This version can be fought off via internal struggle or countered with a cleansing spell or an ally’s help.

11. Get creative with offerings. Offerings are Spiritwork 101. You won’t be getting a lot of help from spirits if you don’t pay them back. But the important part is knowing exactly what to give them. There are certainly things that are standard, and things that are easy enough to guess (Moon water for the moon goddess, flowers for the nature spirit, etc.) But the best offerings are ones that are personal, creative, and meaningful. Your fairy friend probably has a thousand flowers, but have they tried your pancakes? Would your familiar like a friendship bracelet in their favorite color? Hell, does your ancient ancestor want to try Starbucks? Also note that offerings can be experiences, not just gifts. Some spirits love to hear new music. Jevil loves to possess me and play games, or even just watch me play them. And Seam likes to be cuddled while he possesses a body pillow, or to be read to. The better you get to know your spirit friends, the more ways you’ll find to make them happy.

12. Recognize a spirit calling, but don’t answer them all. As you progress in spirit work, you’ll start receiving “spirit callings”. Callings are different for everyone, but they’re generally feelings of obsession over a certain spirit. You may find yourself thinking “everything would be okay if X was here” when you’re having a bad day. You may find yourself wanting to know everything about them. You might notice signs of them, such as feathers if they have wings. If it’s a pop culture spirit, you may start obsessively tracking down fanworks of them. If you can’t get a spirit out of your mind, you’re probably being called! This means that good things could happen if you work with this spirit (though it does NOT mean the relationship will last forever!). However, this doesn’t mean you should answer ever single calling. It’s always important to know your limits. If you already have lots of spirits hanging around, adding one more won’t benefit you or them, no matter how strongly you’re called to them. Remember, there will always be another calling.

13. Know your limits. Speaking of which, remember that you’re responsible for your spirits, and you should never take on more than you can handle. Spirit hoarding is a real thing, and it’s harmful to everyone involved. Know how many spirits you can handle at once, and know how close you can get to each of them. My astral temple is designed to let dozens of spirits come and go as they please, but of those, I’m only comfortable getting truly close to exactly two at a time. There is no shame in letting a spirit you no longer need go before bringing in a new one. There is also no shame in not being perfect. If you need some space for a few days, take it. If all you can muster today is a halfhearted “hello” to your familiar, do it. Your spirit allies will always be there waiting once you’re feeling better. If they’re true allies, they’ll understand if you’re not feeling well and need some time to yourself.

#baby witch #spirit work #pop culture spirits #Pop culture paganism #witchcraft #spirits #spiritwork #spirit companions #witch tips #paganism #shy craft

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tundrainafrica · 4 years

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Note: Instead of posting a meta or a fic today, allow me to take a quick break from that because I think I really need to appreciate some people here and the fandom overall.

February 7, 2021.

Today, I turned 24 and my boyfriend surprised me with a gift I think I’ll be taking to heart for a very long time.

The story behind the gift was as precious (or even more precious) as the gift itself and I thought I’d share it since it turned out some content creators were involved in this gift and I very much want to express how much this gift has defined this day for me and will place my 24th birthday as one of those birthdays I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

Apparently, I had casually dropped both my tumblr and my ao3 account during one of our conversations and somewhere around November he had started looking through my bookmarks, my posts on tumblr and some of my interactions with people in the fandom.

I should have seen it coming. It had started with my boyfriend suddenly asking about my hyperfixation with Levihan.

Sav? Shipping? Sav? Binge reading ships and meta posts? Sav? Gushing about a fictional ship?

And I remember gushing about this with my seemingly uninterested boyfriend a long night after explaining what was oddly the most out of character thing for someone like me.

I was sharing with him my metas and hcs and maybe, I was dropping a few of my favorite quotes along the way and it turned out he was interested. Suddenly he was asking me about my favorite fics, my favorite scenes. Suddenly, he was rereading my favorite fics with me and a few times, he was quoting those same scenes. I did find out he was looking through my blog when I got a random message from a really sketchy tumblr telling me to open my facebook.

I suspected a few times that he could be planning something. December passed with nothing and eventually he stopped asking so I clocked that as a fevered dream or unnecessary assuming on my end and didn’t think too much of it after.

It turned out my boyfriend had messaged my favorite authors about their fics and he commissioned one of my favorite artists (if not my favorite) to draw a few photos and bound them into a Levihan Anthology

And it feels fucking amazing to receive something like this. To get Levihan which helped me through the worst of 2020, bound forever as a book I can just open up and read anytime. And I guess tearing up at receiving such a gift had me thinking of a lot of things at once (which were always at the back of mind) but I thought of sharing now.

The past year wasn’t easy. Actually. don’t think it’s an understatement to say this past year was dog shit. With the covid pandemic and all plans after that cancelled, I’m sure we can all agree we had our ups and downs.

I had a lot of my own plans completely thrown out the window for numerous reasons. I had plans of going to law school part time while building a career. And, I got a job right after college to make these plans come true. In September the law school I got accepted to (after working so damn hard the past year to get accepted) denied my appeal for night classes. I decided to drop my enrollment to focus on my career. A week later, my job laid me off.

And for once in my life, I wasn’t going anywhere. And I lived in a house where everyone was always doing something and as soon as I lost my job I was pressured to find another one. But as we all know, searching for a job during this pandemic isn’t easy. I was still reeling after having dropped my enrollment just to focus on my job only to lose that job the week after with no prior notice. Everyone around me was busy doing their own thing. I had no one to talk to and for a while, I was falling into this pit of depression.

My days consisted of me hiding under the covers of my bed in between the few interviews I would take day to day. Around that time, I decided to binge watch Attack on Titan as well

I was never one to get hyper fixated in ships. In fact, this was the first ship since Royai and Victuuri which I have been so passionate. And this is a whole new level of passion. I think this is the first time I’ve ever written so much in this small amount of time. It was slow going. Just like Levi and Hange’s relationship, my fixation with this ship was a slowburn.

Those days alone, I was reading fanfiction by the bundle, I was scrolling through the Levihan tag like a simp, leaving kudos in ao3 on a throwaway account and just scrolling through random people’s tumblr accounts.

What happened during the one month? And when I was alone, sad, lonely and stagnant with no one to talk to, when everyone around me was living their own lives, all I had alone in the bedroom was Levi and Hange’s stories to keep me company between interviews.

And the meta analyses and headcanons I had about their relationship were teaching me things. They were teaching me that life was never about how quickly you progress or how far you go. Maybe the real winners in life are the ones who can build good relationships, build relationships so mutually satisfying they keep each other growing and in those few moments reading, headcanoning ships, I did realize, maybe even as stagnant as I was at that moment, my life wasn’t dogshit.

No one’s life is dogshit for a few small bumps along the way. Sometimes it just is part of the process of growing, learning to get past the worse, learning to manage relationships. And maybe it’s these relationships which make life worth living. Maybe it’s these struggles depicted in these stories and the bounce back. Maybe it’s the love, the life, the emotions so carefully described and depicted in every single story which makes life, life.

With every single fic I read and every single fan art I scrolled through. Levihan was teaching my things about love, loss and life.

Sometimes, these fandoms are the things which can catch people before they fall too low into something. These works and stories authors and artists shared so generously were what pulled me out of this state and are what inspired me to explore this relationship for all the potential its worth and maybe share my own stories and headcanons which people may learn a thing or two from or maybe just find some comfort and hope in.

And these inspirations eventually evolved to writing. Writing 10,000 words in a day in between three interviews? I never was a writer but somehow, I found myself spending hours exploring the themes of love, loss and life with our favorite pairing

I didn’t start writing out of nowhere. I didn’t start making metas out of nowhere. I needed the right inspiration, the right content to get me into this point where I could continue writing, reading, meta-ing, appreciating, headcanoning and everything in between.

And I just wanted to express my gratefulness to every single person in the fandom who had made it possible for me to pull out of that blackhole. Fandoms are underrated and I believe there are so many lessons which can be learned from the right content and from the right people.

To the people who so willingly went along with my boyfriend’s little project:

@faerielleart I saved A LOT of your art and they’re sitting in my google photos under a folder called Levihan and maybe I did share a few of your photos (the cheeks one and the beast titan one and the les miserables) ones to my boyfriend unsolicited just to show him how beautiful Levihan can be. Thank you so much for these beautiful drawings.

@lizaloveslevihan You were one of the first people I talked with in this fandom and dreams really was one of those stories that fucked me up a little bit, had me make a few misses on the commute on the way home one day but maybe it did have me explore the angst genre a little more, maybe it did have me explore Levi’s character a little more.

@ariadneamare YELLOW. OH GOD. You know those letters? The ones which Hange left Levi at the end of the story? I ended up copying and pasting them and sending them to my boyfriend right after reading and I remember talking to him about this. We might be facing that same type of story in the future and I guess that ended up becoming a lot of foundation of our discussion and I guess, it’s just proof that there is so much to learn from fanfiction. There’s just so much to explore and fanfiction as a genre just does not get the credit it deserves.

@fanmoose12 I was exploring your works even before I started this tumblr up again. Maybe it was even your works which got me building my own headcanons from Levihan and writing from there. And I think I did leave a few anonymous messages telling you how I started exploring other genres because of your fics. Your works got my out of my dark place, it got me exploring a lot of other genres and for that I’m eternally grateful.

And somehow, my boyfriend picked that all up from late night discussions and one-on-one metas. Surprisingly, he wasn’t just playing along to humor his girlfriend. He was exploring the themes of love, life, loss and Levihan right along with me. (And got spoiled about Hange’s death along the way… Oops.)

And I am eternally grateful for that and I made sure to shower him with a lot of kisses after he kept me in the loop with what has been going on these past few months with his sudden interest in Levihan.

And this huge thank you goes out to all content creators (authors, artists, gif creators, shitposters alike). Sometimes you never know who’s thinking about your work, who’s shoehorning your works and quoting them to their best friends. Sometimes, you never will find out but your work had pulled someone out of a blackhole which they’ve been stuck in and sometimes you never know that your work has been that seemingly small thing that had taught them a lesson in love, life or relationships. Sometimes, that one work turned out to be an inspiration which got them writing and sharing their own stories or making their own drawings

And I guess, the point is, keep writing. Keep drawing. Keep sharing pouring your love, passion and emotions into works of art because you never really know whose heart you touched or whose life you changed.

I have a job now. I decided to push law school a few years back and maybe take the time to work on myself now and maybe spend the next months or maybe years writing metas and fanfictions. I was pulled out of my hole. I was inspired. I have my own stories to tell and I don’t think I would have been here if I hadn’t spent the last few months reading fic after fic, meta after meta, appreciating art after art,

So anyway, I just wanted to share some pics of my favortie fics, immortalized in one anthology, all organized by my boyfriend. And I think he made some great decisions with these.

(Bookbinding credits to @mayerwien)

#levihan #levi x hange #levi x hanji #lyf #life post

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saeran-imagines · 3 years

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Did you see the birthday chats from 2019? Specifically the one where Saeran (as "Unknown") invites you to come eat ice cream and watch Netflix with him? Since Saeran's birthday is coming up again, could you write what if MC had taken him up on his offer and gone to meet him? (Jindere has a video of the chats on youtube if you haven't seen it/want a refresher!) I'm obsessed with the idea of this happening and I love your writing so I'd love to read this from you 🥰

Heya! I remember those birthday chats omg, I just had to buy the picture that went along with them when it became available! That and the 707 version are just so pretty, I had them as my desktop background for a good while 🥰

I made this longer than I meant omg! I wanted to get it done in time for his birthday, which, HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAERAN !! (and seven too but this blog ain’t about you ❤) I have a bias for the soft Saerans so I didn’t think I’d like writing for Unknown as much as I did, but I had a lot of fun with this 😊 I hope you all like it!

You fiddle with your phone, the broken looking chat room open to “Unknown’s” messages. That hacker… what kind of person is he? There’s no doubt he’s up to no good, but he’s never done anything that would put you in danger. Quite the opposite, actually. You have a feeling he’d rush to your rescue if you found yourself in a bad situation. “It’s my birthday today. Meet me outside the building at 8 and I’ll show you a great time.” Coming from anyone else it’d sound creepy as hell, it should sound creepy as hell, he’s a complete stranger who hacked your phone, but… the feeling of dread you imagine would come before getting axe murdered just isn’t there. And more than that, there’s something in the way he typed, in the long pauses between messages that seemed… lonely. You look at the clock- 7:50. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself up, pull on a coat, and take the elevator down to the first floor. You wouldn’t be able to stand not knowing what might have happened if you didn’t go meet this mystery person. And hey, it could very well be a great time.

You take up a position right outside the building and look around- nobody seems to be here yet. The sun has started its trek downwards, the shadow on the building long enough to reach the other side of the road. It’s a little late to be out. What does he have planned? You take another deep breath and try to relax, worrying won’t do you any good. You check your phone- 7:53. Has it really only been 3 minutes? It feels like you’ve been waiting here for hours. Footsteps followed by a figure rounding the corner next to you cause you to perk up, but another person follows shortly after and you quickly look back down again, dejected. The couple shoots you a suspicious glance, keeping enough distance from you that they end up walking on the road as they pass you on the sidewalk. You must look strange, you realize, fiddling with your thumbs and glancing back and forth in the dark shadow of a building. You sigh, this is a little ridiculous. Just as you’re considering going back inside and forgetting about this whole evening, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey, doll,” a smooth low voice sounds from where your shoulder was tapped, and you whip around to see the source. “You actually came.” You notice his eyes first, a striking minty blue that almost glows in the dim light. Then you notice his white suit that matches perfectly with his hair, pink accents and all. Aren’t hackers supposed to be subtle? The only things about him that match your mental stereotype are the dark circles under his eyes and the mask covering the lower half of his face. Neither detract from his allure, though. He looks like you could find him on the cover of a fashion magazine. He chuckles at your stunned silence. “What, liking what you see?”

“Ah! Uh-” you stutter out. “You just… weren’t what I was expecting.” You can’t see his mouth under the mask, but you know he’s smirking anyways.

“Oh?” he teases. “And what did you expect?” You try your best to regain your composure. This isn’t the time to be making googly eyes at strangers. God, it’s been way too long since you’ve interacted with someone. You haven’t had the chance to after temporarily moving into that apartment.

“I don’t know, some weirdo in a ski mask?” you joke, making him chuckle again. You feel yourself starting to relax. He seems like a kind enough person, despite the teasing, and talking to him is comfortable. This night might turn out better than you expected. “So, what are we doing tonight?”

“Well, I hope you like ice cream. My favorite parlor stays open late, I figured I deserve a birthday treat. You know, since I’ve been such a good boy recently,” he laughs. It’s a giddier laugh than you expected from him, he must have been looking forward to this for a while. He holds out his hand for you to take. “Shall we?” You pause, looking down at his gloved hand. You can feel that this is the last chance you have to change your mind, to take the elevator back up to the apartment and forget about this interaction. Taking hold of his hand would form a contract that binds you to his side for the rest of the night. After a moment of deliberating you grasp his hand, perhaps a bit too tight. You’ve already gotten this far, your curiosity won’t let the night end until you learn more about this strange man. You flash him the most convincing smile you can muster.

“Let’s go.” He weaves you through the city, taking more than a few sketchy shortcuts through alleyways and unexpected detours. He must have to be careful to avoid detection in his line of work, he’s walking as if he’s trying to confuse anyone who might be tracking him. He makes some small talk along the way, prying you for your thoughts about various RFA members and asking you about your life outside the messenger. You learn that he has a bit of a soft spot for Jumin, seeming to appreciate his cold honesty and business oriented mindset. From the short walk you’ve had with this stranger he seems to be the type to prefer fun over work, but you suppose you’ve only seen one side of him. So far, that is.

You arrive at your destination after around 20 minutes of walking. It’s a small sweets shop painted white and baby blue. A chalkboard sign shows the flavors of the day through the window, around half crossed out due to the business day nearing its end. You feel a light squeeze around the hand that you nearly forgot was being held by the hacker. When you look up at him you can see sparkles in his eyes. When he notices your stare he looks away, is he embarrassed? “Sorry if I startled you, darling.” He apologizes for his sudden excitement, letting go of your hand “My flavor is still in stock,” he says with a smile. “Shall we go inside?” He holds the door open for you and you thank him, walking inside and losing yourself in the sweet scent.

“Welcome!” the chipper cashier calls out. “Do you two know what you’d like?” Your partner wastes no time in calling out a practiced order, something with mint and a waffle cone that you don’t quite catch as you scan the overwhelming array of colors and flavors. Not wanting to spend too much time gawking, you throw out a fast ‘I’ll have what he’s having’ and make your way towards the counter.

“Good choice,” your partner of the evening says with a grin. You stop him as he starts reaching towards his pocket. He tilts his head at you with a questioning stare.

“It’s your birthday, right?” you state more than ask. “My treat.” You pull out and swipe your card before he has a chance to protest. He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, not expecting this act of kindness, but he quickly recovers with a laugh and a thank you as he takes his cone. “Where to?” you ask once you both successfully make it out of the shop with delicious looking chocolate dipped mint chocolate chip ice cream cones. You want to see how it tastes, but a deep rooted birthday etiquette that lives inside of you forbids you from taking the first bite. That’s reserved for the birthday boy, after all!

“Just up there,” he points to a nearby hill. “You can see the stars really well.” You smile and nod before starting the trek. It’s a cool evening, luckily, so your ice cream only barely starts to drip on the way up. Talking to the mysterious hacker seems to get easier as time goes on. Any leftover anxiety you had fades as you make light conversation and tease each other. It feels like you’ve known him for years. You attribute at least some of it to the ice cream, his speech has become a lot more bubbly and a lot less guarded after he got his hands on his cone. You never thought you’d call the person who broke into your phone cute, but you can’t help but smile at how happy he seems.

You reach the top of the hill before you know it. A blanket is already laid out at the very top, and he guides you to sit beside him on it. It’s not a huge blanket, your shoulders are nearly touching. Which is NOT something to blush about, you tell yourself. He pulls his mask down for the first time tonight, leaving you to stare at him for a bit longer than you would have liked to. He was definitely handsome, but there’s a layer of familiarity that you can’t quite put your finger on. His pretty lips turn up in a smirk.

“What are you staring at?” You almost miss it, but his hands fidget slightly as he asks the question. Maybe he’s a bit more insecure than he lets on? You try to get past some of your shyness for his sake, if he’s worried about his looks you’d like to reassure him.

“Nothing much, I just think you look nice,” you smile, feeling just a bit of heat creep to your face. “Now-” you quickly change the subject. “You have to take the first bite of your ice cream so I can have mine. Birthday rules, and all.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say, doll,” he chuckles. He takes a bite, trying to catch all the ice cream that threatens to drip off. “There.” You grin and have a taste, too. There’s something about small shops that make everything taste a thousand times better. It’s the sweetest, creamiest ice cream you’ve ever had.

“Good, right?” he asks, already knowing your answer from the big smile on your face.

“Yup!” you exclaim. You finish your treats in a comfortable silence. The stars really are beautiful from the top of this hill, they appear so much bigger and brighter without the light pollution from the city. You glance to your side to see him looking back at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks. He’s closer than you remember.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “The stars are beautiful.” His eyes are shining like stars, too. The darkness has made their unnatural color stand out even more, it would be so easy to get lost looking into them. You force your gaze back to the sky, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating. “Are you? Enjoying yourself, I mean? It’s your birthday, after all.”

“Yeah, I am,” he says without missing a beat. “It’s not often that I get to go out like this.”

“Because of your hacking job?” you ask.

“Yeah, something like that.” He sighs and leans back, looking up at the stars once again. What kind of life does he have? It’s hard to get a read on him. You can talk to him like an old friend but you don’t even know his name. You get the feeling he wouldn’t tell you even if you asked. Better not to, then. You’re satisfied with the little snippets of him that you’ve gotten today, and if he wants to reveal more you’ll let him do that at his own pace.

“Well, I’m glad I came out to meet you then.” He looks over at you again, studying your face. Almost like he’s waiting for you to take it back, or turn it into a joke. You don’t.

“Yeah, me too.”

#saeran #saeran choi #saeran x reader #mystic messenger #mystic messenger imagines #mystic messenger x reader #mysme #unknown #saeran birthday #awawa writing this made me like unknown more #aaHhhhHH I'd ramble in the tags like I usually do but I gotta rush to get ready for something eheheh #I was gonna edit this last night but I was so tired AAAA #so I'm rushing this morning for his birthday I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT #andddDDd if you read this far #have a great day :>

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gamerwoo · 4 years

Photo

Hongseok: Bittersweet (part 3 -- mommy hui)

Summary: You were looking for a sugar daddy to make more money. Hongseok was looking for a sugar baby to get his friends off his back. But once you find out what he’s using you for, you don’t want anything to do with him. Unfortunately, you love his money more than you hate him.

a/n: timestamps don’t matter!!! i also have no idea what like decent prices are for this shit so just roll w me here lmao

Previous | Next | Bittersweet Masterlist

ೋღ ────────────── ღೋ

Of course Hongseok wasn’t actually going to get a girlfriend. Luckily for him, he was not only handsome, but also smart. He quickly came up with the idea that he could simply just make his friends think he got a girlfriend so they’d get off his back. But he also knew he didn’t have any friends who were women who would agree to help, and he knew any girl he had spoken to previously would just tell him to go fuck himself if he asked any of them -- and there was no way in hell he’d let any of those girls think they were actually his girlfriend. He needed to find a way to get a girl to go on dates with him while still making sure no romantic lines were crossed.

Again, Hongseok was a smart man, and he had money to spare, so his plan didn’t take long to come up with.

He wanted to get some assistance with his plan, but he had nobody he could tell. Hui and Jinho couldn’t know for obvious reasons, Wooseok, Shinwon and Yanan would just tell everyone else to get him in trouble, Changgu probably wouldn’t listen anyway, and Kino and Yuto were a no-go because they’d just be disappointed in him and would probably eventually let it slip to everyone else. This was something he’d just have to do on his own.

Hongseok searched up a few sugar daddy websites before picking one he found to be the most reliable and least sketchy. This one seemed to have better options, stronger background checks, and overall just seemed to be the safest bet. So he made a profile under sugar daddy and waited for a message or whatever.

It didn’t take long for him to get some inquiries, but he didn’t like any of them. They either weren’t his type or were interested in things he wasn’t looking for. Or they just came on too strong, which was automatically a no from him. He wanted someone he’d consider ‘normal’. Basically wasn’t overly-sexual, was just looking to go on a few ‘dates’ or whatever, and wouldn’t actually call him daddy. But they also had to be someone he’d consider cute or good looking, and it seemed like those two things he was looking for didn’t come hand-in-hand.

At least, not until he got one message around 7:30pm a few days after making the account. He was just hanging out in his apartment and doing what he usually did when he had finished his classes. Then he saw the email notification come up that he had a message from the sugar daddy website, so he went over to his laptop and opened the tab he left.

snflwr: hi!! um i don’t know how to really start this but my name is _____. i feel weird saying i’m interested in like your profile and stuff but i guess that’s basically what it is. uhhhhh yeah lmao i’m sorry i’ve never done stuff like this before

It honestly seemed to be the most normal message he’d gotten. Every other girl was always very straight-forward, but this one seemed to come from someone who was nervous and unsure about what to say. Somehow, he liked that over the overly-confident ones.

He clicked on the little circle for the profile picture to make it pop up on his screen. Not everyone used photos of themselves -- most of the sugar daddies did for obvious reasons, but not a lot of the sugar babies did -- but he always just asked for selfies if that were the case. In this case, the one he was looking at was a photo of their lips.

He went to the profile and read over it. _____ _____, 2 years younger than him, lived in the same area, liked to play video games, and was just looking for someone to spend time with. So far, so good. But it was still such little information that he still couldn’t tell if this person would be normal or not.

yanghong: That’s okay, I’m new to the sugar daddy thing as well lol. Do you mind if I see a photo of you first?

The photo that was sent was at least pleasing to look at. He thought the girl was very cute, actually, but he still had to be positive it was actually her. He could easily be catfished. He wasn’t stupid.

snflwr: can you also prove that’s you in the pfp? lmao

snflwr: no offense but i wouldn’t put it by some old dude to use a younger good looking guy w a six pack to catfish women

Hongseok couldn’t help but chuckle at that. She was funny, too. That was good.

yanghong: Would you want to Facetime? That would definitely prove we’re who we say we are.

It took longer than before for snflwr to reply, but he eventually just got a ‘sure’, followed by her information to contact her. He grabbed his phone to start the call before another message popped up.

snflwr: i’ll be honest, i’m really nervous, so my friend is gonna talk to you first. so like don’t hang up when you see a dude answer lmao that’s not me

Hongseok had to admit, that seemed just a little sus, but sure. So he started the Facetime call and waited.

Sure enough, when they picked up, there was a guy with a black baseball cap on, his blonde hair peeking out through the sides.

“Oh damn, it is him,” he chuckled, looking off camera before looking back at Hongseok. “I’m ______’s friend, Soonyoung. I wanted to make sure you were legit first. She’s...well, she’s shy.”

“But she’s looking for a sugar daddy?” Hongseok chuckled. “Why would she want to go hang out with a stranger if she’s shy.”

Soonyoung just shrugged, “Can’t be too picky in this economy.”

“Lemme see!” another male voice called before a second boy popped his head in frame. This one had cotton-candy-blue hair, and was wearing a brown visor with the name of a local cafe embroidered on it. “Whoa, you are real. I really had my money on you being a creepy old guy.”

“Okay, well now that you know I’m legit,” Hongseok began, “can I actually see that _____ is?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Soonyoung replied before handing the phone over.

Hongseok only saw a few empty tables in the cafe before he suddenly saw your face on screen, your eyes still looking up at the two boys from where you sat. You were laughing a little timidly at someone one of them was doing behind the phone before your eyes settled on the screen.

Thank god, it was the same girl that was in the photo.

“Hi, sorry about that,” you said. Your voice wasn’t necessarily what he expected, but it wasn’t like it was anything bad. It was just...normal. Nothing annoying to listen to or anything. “But uh, yeah. I’m real.”

“Good,” he chuckled. “So tell me a little more about yourself. What do you do for work?”

“Technically, I’m a streamer,” you shrugged, “but it’s only because I’m a full-time student. But obviously it’s not making a lot of money since I’m here doing this.”

Hongseok laughed, “Yeah, I don’t even have a job right now. My parents just make a lot of money, and I’m supposed to take over for my dad when he retires. I’m also a full-time student.”

Neither of you decided to ask where the other went to college because that seemed too personal, especially considering what your arrangement was -- well, hopefully would be.

“So you’re just looking to spend time together?” Hongseok checked. “Not offering anything more?”

“Nope,” you replied. “I don’t really want to do any of the stereotypical stuff you hear about. I’m not...comfortable with that, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly okay,” he nodded. “So...I guess we should talk about how it would all work out then?”

“Yeah, what’s the deal?”

What Hongseok was looking for was proof. Proof that he had a girlfriend, so he needed to make it seem like he did. Going out on dates, texting, stuff like that. Stuff where he could give photo evidence that you existed if his friends asked.

“Just go out with me like, once a week if your schedule allows it,” he explained. “You don’t have to call me or anything, but some texts would be appreciated. You don’t have to talk to me everyday, but don’t just like, ignore me for a week, y’know?”

You shrugged with a nod, “That seems reasonable. I’m down.”

“Okay, so we should talk money, then,” he chuckled. “I was thinking like, $800 a week -- assuming we do go out every week -- and I’ll pay for all of the dates on top of that. Otherwise, just $300 for talking to me every week. Sound fair?”

For a second, he thought he lost connection because you were just frozen on screen. $800 a week? That seemed too good to be true to you.

“U-um, yeah,” you stammered finally, making Hongseok smirk. “That sounds good.”

Perfect.

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charming-2d-boys · 4 years

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Hi, there! I hope you're doing well, staying safe and taking care of yourself ówò💜 I really enjoy your works and was hoping if you could possibly make a part two to that Hisoka x reader fic where reader hid their relationship from her parents? Maybe awkward family dinner with Hisoka if you're up for it?

Hi! I hope you're doing the same, anon! 🤗

Oho, that dinner’s gonna be a disaster and I don’t know who I should feel more sorry for 😂

But I got so invested in this and it got long, but it’s late and I wanna hug someone now 😣

Thank you for requesting and I hope you'll like this! 😄

Here is part one for a bit of context.

-----

It had been quite a few months since that scene at your parents’ house when you pretty much told everyone present that you and Hisoka were together and still going strong after two years.

That night, when you arrived at home, Hisoka’s hands pretty much glued themselves to your body and didn’t let go, not even after you were both spent from one the most passionate nights ever. The way you defended your relationship with him in front of so many definitely contributed to this and you were honestly too happy with how cuddly and affectionate he was because of it to say anything else.

You didn’t think your parents would want anything to do with you after that moment and would most probably disown you and act as if you were never even born - yes, they could be that extreme.

So you were more than shocked when you received a text message - a text message, not a call, ‘cause that’s how petty they could be - asking if you and your boyfriend would like to come to dinner so they could get to know him better. You were instantly suspicious, of course. Who wouldn’t be? Months of absolutely nothing from them and suddenly they want to get to know Hisoka?

You called Hisoka and only received a loud hmm before you stepped into the kitchen, where he was cooking dinner that night. You told him nothing, only shoved the phone in his face so he could read the text, making him stop cutting the vegetables in front of him. After his eyes quickly skimmed over the letters, he turned back towards the task at hand, leaving you in complete silence.

“What do you think? Should we go? I don’t know what they’re planning and I-”

“It’s up to you, lovely~ I had so much fun last time~ ♠️” Hisoka’s voice sounded playful and you really wanted to smack him.

“Hisoka, I’m serious.”

“So am I. ♣” You looked at his face for a few song seconds as he continued chopping the carrots in front of him, a smile on his face. You sighed before putting one arm around his waist and your face on his upper arm, feeling the muscles contract as Hisoka’s movements continued steadily.

“I’m just scared, you know? I know how they can be and you’ve caught a glimpse of it when you were there. This is just... sketchy. I don’t want them trying or saying anything to try and break us up.” Your voice was so quiet and Hisoka understood what you were saying. He didn’t like your parents, that’s for sure, and despite wanting to kill them, he couldn’t risk having you upset with him and leaving him.

“Now, now, where’s my brave girl who stood up to them all those months ago? Hmm? ♦” Hisoka asked you teasingly, moving his arm a bit as if to nudge you. When you said nothing in response, he stopped chopping again and looked down at you.

“(Y/N), look at me. ♣” Your eyes trailed up to his. He rarely called you by your name and this time, his face held a very small, gentle and rare smile. “Some words and threats won’t make me leave you and I hope it’s the same for you. I don’t care what they have to say about me, I’m used to pretty much everything people say about me. And if it gets physical... you know what happens, don’t you? ♦️” You knew very well what would happen and you probably wouldn’t be able to stop Hisoka, so you only nodded. “As long as I know that you want to be with me, I don’t care about anyone else and their opinion on this. ♥️️” He said confidently as he pressed a kiss to your forehead before going back to his vegetables - the conversation was over and you knew it.

You could only hope that everything would go smoothly.

And that’s how you found yourself in the passenger seat of Hisoka’s car, speeding down the road while your stomach was in knots from nervousness. That feeling only intensified when you reached your destination. Hisoka turned off the engine and looked at you, taking your hand in his, your heartbeat calming down a notch when he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The two of you would overcome this somehow. Compared to other things you and your relationship had gone through in the past, this seemed like nothing.

The moment you knocked on the door, it was opened by your father, who looked at Hisoka with something akin to disinterest and contempt, before his eyes flitted to you, and you could almost feel the word betrayal leaving his eyes.

“Come in.” The monotonous tone of his voice made your eyebrows furrow a bit, but you should’ve expected this. You both entered and were quickly led to the dining room, where an entire feast had been laid down on the table. Show-offs.

You all sat down and just endured the awkward silence. They told you two to be there and you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of breaking the silence. Your eyes were cold as they glanced from your mother to your father, while Hisoka seemed relaxed, looking at the food, the house arrangements, the pictures on the walls, little trinkets spread neatly on different pieces of furniture... He didn’t really seem bothered by the glares your parents were throwing at him, but you still inconspicuously moved your hand underneath the table and grabbed his. His fingers immediately laced with yours tightly and squeezed. You were both there for one another.

“So, you said you’ve been together for two years already?” Your mother asked in a cold tone.

“Two years and a half, actually. ♠️” Hisoka answered casually, his eyes moving to stare straight into your mother’s without a hint of fear. She barely flinched at the cold look in his eyes. Hisoka didn’t even need to release his bloodlust. They were already scared of him, and for good reason. You were trying hard not to laugh: finally, your parents were scared of one of your partners, not the other way round.

“And we’re very happy together.” You completed, not daring to break eye contact as you glanced from one to the other.

“W-what do you do for a living?” Your father asked this time, seeming a bit more composed. Hisoka’s golden eyes moved to him instead.

“I’m a Hunter and a Floor Master at Heaven’s Arena.” His answer seemed to shock them somehow. They’d probably heard about how many people usually died while trying to become either one of those. “(Y/N)’s seen my apartment at Heaven’s Arena several times, especially when I had a match, right, lovely? ♥” You nodded, a bit embarrassed, because Hisoka had definitely “shown” you his apartment several times already in all those years. It was luxurious, spacious and felt like a second home whenever you came to visit him since he couldn’t come to you.

“What about your family?” At this, Hisoka’s smile became tight-lipped and the room temperature seemed to drop a bit as a hint of bloodlust leaked out. Not even you knew everything about Hisoka’s past, but what you knew was that it wasn’t pretty.

“I don’t care about the past. ♣” He responded simply. You squeezed his hand again and felt relief when he did the same. The situation was still salvageable.

“This is something only me and him know about and not even I know everything. But unless he wants to tell me, I won’t force him to.” Hisoka knew he’d made the right choice when it came to dating you all those years ago.

“And what about your plans from now on? What about marriage? What about kids? What will everyone say when they’ll see that you haven’t done any of those? You’re not getting any younger, young lady. Don’t forget the fact that you’re a woman and it’s only natural that you have children.”

Of course, that’s what they cared about. Why care about your happiness, right? What people said and thought about your family’s reputation was a lot more important, apparently. You were grinding your teeth at this point from all the pent-up anger you felt. Hisoka’s thumb gently moved over your fingers before a sly smirk overtook his face.

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about kids~ We’re trying several times a day~ ♠️” The embarrassment was evident on your face, but it was overshadowed by the discomfort your parents’ faces showed. “We’ll definitely have a few mini-us running around the house in no time~ Right, lovely? ♥” Hisoka wasn’t lying about the many times you’d slept together, no matter what time of the day it was. That man’s stamina was limitless, you’d experienced that first-hand. And still were.

“A-and marriage? You can’t have children out of wedlock!” Your mother’s tone of voice was trying so hard to be firm, but it was barely loud enough for the two of you to hear from across the table. Hisoka looked at you with that mischievous grin. Oh God, what was he planning?

“Now that you mentioned it... I do have something to say about this~ ♦” He said as he pulled out his pack of cards from his pocket. “I didn’t know how to do this before, but you inspired me with your little speech from before about marriage and kids... so you get front row tickets to this show~ ♠️” Hisoka shuffled them several times between his fingers, making either the whole pack, half or one appear, before he threw them up into the air, with several of them falling gracefully facing up while the rest had their numbers, suits and patterns hidden. The cards facing up all had a letter written on them, all of them spelling Marry me? with a heart under the question mark where the dot was supposed to be.

“What do you say, lovely? Will you be mine forever? ♥” Hisoka almost felt like laughing when he pulled out the ring box out of his pocket. He hadn’t told you that he’d bought the ring several months before nor that he actually practiced how he’d propose to you. It definitely wasn’t the way he planned, with you being in your parents’ house and all, but this felt better. Your face was half-covered by your free hand and your eyes were already watering, while your parents’ faces were as white as paper and frozen in shock. But even now, you were all he could see and he’d be damned if he’d allow anyone to make you sad.

You could only nod frantically as you whimpered yes several times before hugging Hisoka tightly as he hugged you back, kissing your neck sweetly a few times. You’d never even discussed marriage because you’d never thought Hisoka would even want such a commitment. Clearly, you were wrong and actually lifted your face from his neck only to passionately kiss him, something that pleasantly surprised him. Your parents’ presence had completely disappeared and all you could see, taste, smell and feel was Hisoka. When you two broke apart, you whispered an I love you in his ear before he put the ring on your finger, smirking at you.

The two of you had completely forgotten about your parents until you spared them a glance. Their mouths were wide open in shock. They thought Hisoka would get scared at the idea of kids and marriage since he didn’t seem like the type to settle down. They had been so wrong and instead of breaking you up, they only managed to make your bond stronger.

“Thank you for coming to our show! We will be taking our leave now~ ♠️” Hisoka said as the two of you got up, hand in hand, and walked around the table towards the door. “See you at the wedding~ ♦” He said one last time before he used his Bungee Gum and collected all his cards that were on the table, pocketing them as he opened the door and you both left.

As soon as you got into the car, Hisoka kissed you, gently this time, before saying his own I love you as he wiped your tears. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s go home and celebrate. ♥ I have to call Illumi and let him know that he’s going to be my best man. ♠️” You only laughed before kissing him again and leaving just like 6 months ago, this time with your hands intertwined as the ring sparkled in the sunlight coming in through the windows. You really wondered if your parents would come to your wedding. But whether they would or not, you were definitely excited to become Hisoka’s wife and they wouldn’t be able to stop either of you.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #hxh hisoka #hxh writing

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bitsmasterlist

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firefly464 · 4 years

Text

The Real World - Chapter 11

Ok so this ones a bit more of a slightly slower chapter and kinda does a bit more world building sooooo yeah. BUT ALSO THERES SOME WHOLESOME FRIENDSHIP MOMENTS SO THATS GOOD

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now Thank you to @rivys for beta reading and editing!

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

~~~

Silence. Complete and total silence fell over the call as both Tubbo and Wilbur tried to process what Tommy was saying. The moment was tense, and loaded with unanswered questions.

“Fuck…” Wilbur muttered. He didn’t know what else to say. He was in a state of shock. What was he supposed to do? He had just learned that two of his friends were trapped in another dimension, and that said dimension was going to be destroyed because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah. I feel like that sums it up pretty well.” Tommy had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, or even feeling. There were so many emotions raging through his mind. Anger at Wilbur for talking to Dream. Relief that Tubbo and Wilbur weren’t screaming at him. Fear that his home was going to be destroyed.

God, he was sick of being afraid. He had felt nothing but fear and terror for a week straight, and thought that he had grown numb to it. He had thought wrong. The raw terror that coursed through his veins in that moment was nothing like he had ever felt before. It was cold and numbing. It made him want to just crawl into his bed and lay there. He felt completely and unbelievably hopeless. At least during the war there had been a small sliver of hope. A tiny beacon of light in all the darkness. It had been what kept him going. Now, there was nothing. He had no way of fighting back. No way of even contacting his friends and seeing if they were safe. He hated it.

“So. What’s the plan?” Tubbo’s voice shook Tommy from his intrusive thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for Tubbo’s optimism, despite the fact that he knew it was hopeless. “How are we gonna stop him?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“We’re not just going to let him kill all those people, right? There's gotta be something we can do. Some way that we can stop him.”

“Tubbo, I-” “No, he’s right.” Will interjected. “We aren’t just going to sit around and do nothing. Besides, if what you said is true, then our Tommy and Dream are stuck there as well. We’re not just going to let them die.”

“You guys don’t get it, do you…?” Tommy muttered. He knew his friends were trying their best, but the hopelessness of the situation was suffocating. It was like he was standing in a pool of quicksand, slowly being dragged down. Each time he struggled and tried to resist, he was only dragged down farther. He was tired of fighting it. “You can’t stop him. We don’t even know where he is.” Tubbo was silent for a moment. “What if we switched you guys back? We could figure out the command that swapped you in the first place and just run it again.”

“I mean, you can try. But wouldn’t you need Dream’s computer?”

A sly grin spread across Tubbo’s face. “Who says I need access to his computer to access the server? Just give me a few minutes.” The sound of typing echoed through Tommy’s headphones.

He frowned, confused as to what was going on. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to access the server.” He didn’t offer any more information.

“While he’s doing that, maybe you could tell us more about what happened to you. How did you even end up involved with Dream? From the sounds of it, he's fucking terrifying,” Wilbur asked. He figured that the more they knew about what was going on, the easier it would be to try and solve their issue.

“I… He used to disappear for really long periods of time. Eventually I got curious. I saw him leaving and tried to follow. He caught me pretty quickly. He… he said that he would kill everyone in L’Manberg if I didn’t go with him and do what he said.”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t make any sense. Why on earth would Dream force Tommy to go with him if he hadn’t gone far? Something wasn’t adding up. “What-”

“I’M IN!” Tubbo yelled out, cutting off Will’s question.

“You’re in?” Tommy asked.

“I have access to the server.” Tubbo explained. “Maybe I can try and contact them.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have access to the server?” Wilbur said.

“I have the console open, wait- here.” Tubbo started sharing his screen on Discord.

A black background filled with white text that neither Wilbur nor Tommy could understand appeared on the screen. It was filled with coordinates and commands that were constantly being updated every couple of seconds. A waterfall of white text was filling Tubbo’s screen. He could see a grayed out command that read ‘/msg TommyInnit hello?’.

“Hey, wait a second,” Wilbur said. “Tubbo’s commands aren’t working.”

“Do you think it could be some sort of activation key?” Tommy asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

“...Exactly. How did you know?” Tubbo asked.

“I think I may know where that is.”

~~~

“What the fuck?” Tommy held the wooden bow in his hands, staring at the blinking light. “Have either of you ever seen this kinda thing before?”

“Why the hell would I know anything? I’ve been here as long as you have,” Dream remarked as he took another drink from the glass bottle.

“I dunno, maybe because you’re the server owner?”

“Just because I’m the server owner doesn’t mean I know what's happening.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

Dream only rolled his eyes. Tubbo squirmed a bit. Seeing Dream acting so casual was… unnerving. The lack of a mask only made it ten times worse. Until an hour ago, he had never even seen the man’s face. It was always just the blank mask, cold and emotionless. Seeing the raw emotions on his face was somehow scarier than not seeing them at all. A shudder ran down his spine.

“Tubbo? Any ideas?”

Tubbo jumped slightly, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Huh? O-oh! No, I don’t know. Sorry man, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

A sigh escaped him as he ran a hand over the leather wrapped grip. The blinking light stared up at him, almost taunting him in a way. That was when he felt it. A small raised section of the grip, right where his finger would sit if he were holding it normally. He frowned. “what the fuck?”

“What? What is it?” Dream asked quickly.

“I dunno. It’s just a weird bump…”

“Oh. That's it? It's probably just from the other Tommy making his bow wrong or something.”

Tubbo shook his head, quick to defend his best friend. “No… Tommy was really good at making weapons. He wouldn’t have done something like that. It’s not like him.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he ran his finger over the strange button. On a whim, he pressed down.

A scream was torn from his throat as a robotic voice played in his ears. “Hello?” it said.

“What the fuck?!”

“Tommy?! Tommy are you ok?! What happened?!” Tubbo was instantly on his feet, trying to check on his friend. His instincts kicked in. Everything that had kept him and his friends alive during the war came rushing back to him as he frantically checked Tommy for any wounds or injuries. Nothing. No visible cuts or bruises. Maybe it was mental? Or a type of potion. Or maybe even-

“Tubbo, Tubbo! I’m fine! I promise. Just a bit startled.” Tommy’s voice brought his train of thought to an abrupt halt. Tubbo sat back down, his face burning with shame.

Dream stared at them in concern. “What happened?”

“Did you not hear it?” he furrowed his brow, trying to put the pieces together.

“Hear what?”

“That weird voice thingy. I pressed the little button and the robot lady started talking.”

“You’re hearing voices now? Are you alright?”

“Yes, Dream! I’m fine!” he cried out in exasperation. The blinking light on the grip of the bow had gone dark, leaving nothing but a regular wooden bow.

~~~

“How do you even know that they’re in your world?” Wilbur asked. Tubbo had already set the command in the server, and now the three of them were just waiting for some sort of results. Now, they were all just sitting around, trying to get more answers out of Tommy. “I mean, for all we know they could be floating out in the empty void of nothing.”

“No, I’m sure that your Tommy and Dream are in my world. Dream seemed really confident about it. He said something about it already being tested or whatever.

“Tested? Tested on what?”

“I don’t know. He never told me. All he said was that the test had worked.”

“Alright, I’m just gonna be the one to say it, thats sketchy as fuck.” Tommy couldn’t help but jump. Tubbo had been so quiet while they were talking, he had forgotten that he was even there. “I mean, I get that he’s a sketchy guy, but that's just weird.”

Tommy took a deep breath to try and calm his racing heart. “Yeah… It really is. I learned pretty quickly not to question him though. He was fucking terifying whenever he got asked too many questions.” A shudder ran down his spine as he remembered the blank, emotionless mask. God, he hated that fucking mask. Every night, he was plagued with nightmares about it.

“Tubbo, I think your command went through” Wilbur said, his voice cutting through the fog that was starting to build in Tommy’s mind. He looked at the screen. Sure enough, the grayed out text was now gone, replaced with a blank text box.

“Someone must have found the trigger. Hopefully it was your Tommy and Dream. I’m not sure what would happen if someone else managed to get their hands on it.”

“Either way, it should have only sent the message to Tommy, right?” Tubbo asked.

“I don’t fucking know. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the console.”

“Probably because you’re a little gremlin child.” Will couldn’t help but make the snide comment. Maybe he just wanted to pretend, if only for a moment that nothing had changed. Maybe he was searching for a way to lighten the mood. He wasn’t sure.

Either way, the comment earned him a cry of protest. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means that you are a little gremlin boy. What else would it mean?” Despite his best attempts, he couldn’t quite keep the smile out of his voice.

“Alright, you son of a bitch, you listen here. I could beat your fucking ass in a fight, no questions asked.” Despite the harsh words, Tommy couldn’t help but grin. The friendly banter was familiar to him, and he couldn’t help but be thankful for it. In a world where everything was strange and foreign, it felt nice to have something that stayed consistent.

“Oh yeah? Prove it”

“Alright. Next time I see you, how about we 1v1? Me versus you.” “Uh, I don’t think that's a really good idea,” Tubbo interjected.

“What? Why not? I’ve beaten him before, I’ll do it again.” Tommy’s voice was dripping with confidence. He may not have been nearly as strong here as he was back in his home world, but he still knew how to fight. Not to mention, he had spent most of the past week trying to get his strength back.

“I don’t doubt it, it’s just that fighting someone is generally considered not good here”

“Are you serious? That's so lame! Back at home we used to spar all the time!”

“Yeah, not here. Unless you’re in a fighting style sport, sparring just isn’t something that you do here”

“Ughhhh, that’s so dumb.” he grumbled.

“So, uh, what’s the plan now?” Tubbo asked. On the screen, another /msg command was pulled up, ready to be sent. The message section itself was blank, but it was clear that Tubbo was itching to try and communicate with his best friend.

“We just input the command, right? We swap you back, you guys could go home, and we get our Tommy and Dream back. Boom, problem solved.” Wilbur couldn’t help but feel slightly confused. Hadn’t that been the plan from the start?

“I uh… I don’t know the command that he used,” Tommy admitted.

“Fuck.” The three sat in silence, trying to figure out what to do. Tommy couldn’t help but feel like hopelessness starting to drag him down again, pulling him down into the pit of quicksand.

“What if we brought them to the console? That way they could actually respond and we might be able to come up with some sort of plan?” Tubbo suggested.

He weighed his options. On one hand, it was the best bet they had. Hell, he was about 99 percent sure that Dream would have left some sort of clue as to what the command was, if only because he enjoyed the thrill of the danger. On the other, who knew what kind of trap Dream had set up. Knowing him, he would have expected them to do exactly this. No. No he couldn’t think like that. This was their one chance. It was his only chance at saving his home, at saving his friends.

Swallowing his fear, he nodded. “Yeah. Alright, that sounds good.”

~~~

“What the fuck?! Why is it blinking again?!” The small red light was back, blinking up at the blonde teenager annoyingly.

“Press the button again?” Dream offered helpfully.

“What? No! I’m not pressing that fucking button again! You press it if you’re so curious!” he tossed the bow onto the table carelessly, the loud noise making Tubbo flinch.

Dream grabbed the weapon and looked over it. “Alright, maybe I will. Where did you say it was?”

“On the grip, right next to the little light. It's really small though, you have to feel it.”

“Got it!” with a soft click, Dream pressed down on the button.

Instantly, the robotic voice echoed through Tommy’s mind once more. The voice was cold and metallic, with no emotion whatsoever. It reminded Tommy of pretty much every computer generated voice he had ever heard, only this time, it echoed through his skull. He could feel his teeth vibrating from the sheer volume of it. His eyes shook, causing the world to vibrate and jitter. It reminded him of when the bell had been rung, only this time he was the only one could hear it.

“Hey Tommy, it's Tubbo. This other Tommy just told me and Wilbur everything that’s been going on. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you out of there, alright? Apparently the other Dream is going to really fuck everything up if we don’t stop him. And by that I mean he’s going to delete the server and most likely kill all of you and I really don’t want that to happen. So we’re gonna stop it!”

The voice continued for a bit, explaining what the plan was and where he and Dream needed to go, and Tommy did his best to keep track of Tubbo’s directions. “... Anyways, we really miss you man. I swear, we’re gonna figure something out and get you guys home. Yours truly, big T.” The voice stopped, and Tommy blinked. Tears pricked at his eyes.

He didn’t really understand what was going on, but he did understand one thing: there was hope. He might be able to go home. Tubbo and Wilbur were going to bring them home.

~~~

Master Post

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#if you cant tell i wrote this over two days #and i forgot what i wrote #so theres a bit of repetition #but whatever its fine #its still fun #wilbur soot #wilbursoot #tubbo_#Tubbolive #dreamwastaken #mcyt #mcyt au #The Real World #The Real World AU #my writing #dream team #dream smp #fanfiction #tommyinnit

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ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Worship me- chapter.2

Worship me- Chapter 2

Warnings: abusive family, arranged marriage, talk of sexual abuse/ child marriage, talk about religion and other triggering themes. (lots of angst as well)

Word count: 2.6k

Last chapter recap: Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she typed in his number, writing him a text

‘Harry, it’s Y/n are you awake?”

His response was quick, maybe 30 seconds after she’d sent hers

‘yea, what’s up? You alright? Feeling better?’

A fresh wave of tears were building in her eyes, shaky fingers typing out her next message

‘no, Harry please help me. I’m scared please.’

The word that best describes Harrys current state is : panic.

As soon as he read her response his heart started to race, hands itching to clench into fists and his stomach felt like it’s been punched by Mike Tyson. He didn’t understand why he felt this surge of emotion, he’s not used to experiencing empathy or concern for people other than himself. He was a cold, confident and described as a ‘tough guy’ so he really didn’t know how to handle the way he was feeling right now, especially over his classmate. Harry was the type of guy who fucks and dumps a girl, he didn’t really care much but with y/n for some reason it was different and he didn’t know if he likes it or not.

‘what? What’s wrong Y/n?’

He was gnawing on his lip waiting for her reply, his forehead breaking out into a cold sweat from the stress when she took over three minutes to reply.

‘my parents hurt me Harry, please help me’

Immediately he was on his feet, marching towards his mothers room since she took his car keys at night, trying to prevent him from sneaking out at least on school nights. He didn’t care it was midnight, someone asked him for help and he was going to try his fucking hardest to do so.

“Mum! Mum please open the door! I need my keys it’s an emergency” Harry felt a bit guilty about pounding on his sleeping mothers door at such a late hour, but he has to focus on something else right now. When a sleepy confused Anne cracked her door open, squinting at the hall lights he took his chance to barge in, “Harry, what are you doing? What happened baby?” the boy plucked his car keys from the little bowl on her dresser turning back to his confused mum. “I’m sorry, I’ll explain later but my friend needs help. It’s Y/n, you know the girl I did a project with? The sweet one? She needs help. I love ya’ mum I’ll be safe I swear.” As soon as he entered the room, he left slipping his shoes on as he slipped out the door to rush to his car, fumbling with his phone to send another text to her.

‘I’m on my way, what’s the plan? Are your parents asleep?’

He cursed to himself when his nervous hands dropped his keys under his seat while on their way to be shoved into the ignition. His ringtone sounding deafening to his ringing ears.

‘They are still awake. This was a bad idea, I’m sorry for bothering you. I shouldn’t of overreacted.’

Y/n was shaking, her parents had come knocking on her door just as Harry texted her about his whereabouts and she immediately knew she wouldn’t be getting out of there and she was stuck doing damage control through a text while trying to stuff her phone under her mattress so her parents didn’t break down her door. She somehow managed to do it all in 10 seconds, swinging her door open to reveal her mother. Y/n shivered from the look her mother was giving her. She knew what was going to happen and she wanted to vomit from it. Her parents would force her to do ‘purity checks’ whenever they thought she was disobeying god. It was a humiliating experience, painful and it made her feel sick every time. she felt stripped of all security and privacy when her mother did a gynecologist type exam on the young girl to make sure her hymen is still intact justifying it saying, ‘when you disrespect god, we have to make sure you aren’t doing it from lack of purity’ ‘no husband will want a dirty girl’ ‘it makes god happy’, but it didn’t make Y/n happy. It made her scared, it felt wrong but she knew she didn’t have a choice and she was royally fucked if Harry was still on his way there.

Her tongue was numb from how hard she had bitten down on it, silent tears puddling at the side of her face while her mother did her ‘check’ on her daughter. Y/n was mortified, felt entirely violated and was trying to resist the urge to vomit. Y/n has started to disassociate during stressful times like this. She forced her mind to go else ware so she wouldn’t completely break down. If she let her mind convince her she was on the beach, wrapped in a warm towel with the sunsetting it made the reality less loud to her.

Her lucid state vanished as her mother removed herself from between her legs, noting she was still ‘pure’ and ‘valuable for trade’. The dehumanizing way of speaking, truly and deeply made Y/n feel like nothing more than an object. A possession that’s meant to be bought and sold, rather then the young woman she was growing to be. Feeling worthless was something she was becoming accustomed too even when it made her feel like maybe, life wasn’t worth living anymore. She didn’t like feeling like this.

The tears didn’t seem to stop while she walked into her bathroom, dipping her head down to take a sip of water from the faucet to try to soothe her pounding head.

When she was sure everyone else was asleep, she felt grabbed her phone from under her mattress finding loads of messages from Harry.

‘what? Love, you’re scaring me what’s going on?’

‘I’m coming anyway, I don’t care.’

‘I’m outside, whenever you see this let me know because I’m not leaving I’m parked by the end of the block.’

‘Y/n please, please answer me. you’re not okay I know it’

y/n was conflicted. She felt trapped, her way out was so close yet felt so fucking far. She didn’t know what to do, her head felt like it was going to explode.

‘sorry, my mum came in and did a purity check. Had to hide my phone. I’m sorry I scared you I shouldn’t have said anything. You can go home I’m sorry Harry.’

Harry lifted his forehead off his steering wheel when he heard his phone go off, a frown etched deep on his face while he read it. What the fuck is a purity check? Why is she defending her parents? Why is she apologizing for asking for help? It didn’t sit right with him, not one bit. Harry had met y/n’s father once at a school event and he didn’t like the vibe he gave off in the slightest. He reminded him of how the handsy priests looked at the young girls at school, her father had cold eyes was basically emotionless and spoke about Y/n like she was a dog or an object. It made his skin crawl then, and now more than ever his alarm bells were going off. Harry was good at reading people and energy they gave off. He was associated with drug dealers, and other not so savory characters and he had a good reader on for when they were sketchy, or untrustworthy and her father definitely gave that vibe.

‘no, y/n I’ll break into your house if I have to. You either come with me willingly or I come in and get you. I’m not leaving without you.’

His response woke Y/n up a bit. She was reminded why she asked for help earlier, the feelings coming back completely. And so, she listened. When she heard the soft snores start to grow louder coming from her parents’ room, she started quietly gathering up a small bag with her phone, a charger, her school bag and a toothbrush. She was still dressed in her school uniform from earlier, she never had a chance to change. Her knuckles were swollen, bruised and aching while she zipped the bag tiptoeing down the steps and fleeing through the door in only her tight clad feet dashing towards Harry’s car.

Harry jumped when he heard the sudden knocking on her car window, seeing Y/n he immediately unlocked the door breathing a sigh of relief when she hopped in the car. He felt better knowing she was with him now, she was safe for the time being, and as soon as he looked at her, she burst into tears. Big fat tears coming from her pretty eyes, rushing down her cheeks as choked sobs rattled through her throat. He felt a foreign pang in his chest seeing the usual sunny girl breaking down in front of him. “Here, hey c’mere.” He spoke softly to her, his hands moving to bring her over into his lap using his free one to pull a lever so the seat slides back to give them enough space for her to be held securely in the older boys embrace. “it’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright. You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you. Not gonna let them hurt you either. Breathe Y/n breathe, god you’re shaking like a leaf darling.” He kept his tone level and soft while he spoke to her, stroking her back and hair trying to calm her down enough so he can drive them somewhere safer.

Y/n sat herself up a bit to wipe her eyes, only then did Harry see the damage on her poor hands. It looked horrible, how someone’s knuckles look after punching a concreate wall. He gently took her hands in his, looking over the injury sucking in a pained breath “Christ love, what did they do to you? Does it hurt? can you bend them?” she nodded and showed him how she could still ball her fists even with the bad pain, which showed him they weren’t broken.

“C-can we le-leave please? Y-you can drop m-me at the school and I’ll c-camp out there till we have class. I don’t have anywhere e-else to. I c-can go back home if yo-you want me to-“ she was rambling, she felt like a burden. Y/n really didn’t know where to go from here, where did she even have to go? Her sisters were hours away with their husbands, she didn’t have any friends and there was no where to go. “No no, you can come to my house. Not letting you sleep outside that shithole. Can come to my house, promise I won’t hurt ya’”

At this point she was too tired to fight, too upset to refuse so she simply nodded and let him place her back in her seat and make the drive towards his home.

“Here, drink some water. Do you want to change hon?” Harry had Y/n sit on the couch as they got into his home, handing her a bottle of water before sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “No, I don’t have any clothes. I’ll just keep this on since we have school in a few hours. I’ll just have to wait to get home before I can change.” Y/n wasn’t really understanding the situation at hand, she didn’t see the turmoil around her like Harry did. “No no, we’re taking the day off school and you’re not going back home till I know what the hell is going on there. you can wear some of my clothes. They’ll be big on you but it’s better than our shitty uniform.” He insisted, holding her chin to make her look at him. “Harry those are bad words, shouldn’t say that.” Her reply was soft, reminding him she still was y/n sweet and innocent. But right now, he needed to be the mature and brutally honest person for her because she was clueless.

With some gentle convincing Y/n finally agreed to change. He gave her privacy while she changed into the baggy sweat pants and hoodie that seemed to swallow her since they were so large. Harry thinks she’s never looked smaller, more fragile, or cuter. But right now wasn’t for crushes or cuteness, this was a time to take care of the girl. “Comfortable? Good, here finish the water and eat a few of these crackers. Can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch yea?”

She did as she was told, sipping the water till it was gone and munching on the saltines while she sat on his bed laying down when she was finished.

Harry took a blanket and pillow downstairs and started to situate himself on the couch, getting himself comfortable before a soft padding on the steps caught his attention and there was Y/n standing with misty eyes holding one of his blankets in her hand. “What’s wrong love?” “Scared…scared to be alone I’m sorry…c-can you stay with me please? Or i-I can sleep on the floor while you sleep on the couch so I’m not alone?” Harry took a few moments to think her words over, his mind slow from his tiredness but Y/n in her fragile state took this as a dismissal and so she nodded to herself and sniffled, “It’s okay, sorry for asking…sleep well Harry.” Before he could respond she had rushed back up the steps and into his room. She felt embarrassed, small and vulnerable. Her mind screaming, she was ‘stupid’ for even asking him that, she was convinced he only pitied her and that’s why she’s here. She couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone actually wanting her around or caring about how she feels. While in her current mental state with the loud thoughts banging on the inside of her skull, she started putting her things back in her bag, planning to leave so he could sleep without being bothered by her.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice seemed 10 times louder as he stood against his doorframe, rubbing his tired eyes while watching Y/n scramble to collect her belongings. Her movements halted instantly, nerves making her feel sick yet again. “W-was just gonna go home. I’m sorry I shouldn’t of come here, you did so much for me I just have to change and I’ll be gone, I’m sorry.” Her speech was frantic, fumbling her words a bit as she tried to rush it out. “What? Is this because of what you asked? Love I’m sleepy took me a minute to form coherent words. Relax put the bag down, lay down I’ll stay with you.”

When she didn’t react he took it upon himself to remove the bag from her shaky bruised hands, gently placing it on his desk and guiding her to lay in his bed moving in next to her before flipping the lights off.

“Harry?” her voice was mouse like, but he still heard it. “yea love?” his hand searched for hers in the dark, “Thank you for helping me…means a lot…i-I’m afraid Harry...” once he grabbed her hand he remembered it was injured, opting to wrap his arm around her shoulders instead. “Scared of what Y/n?” there was a few beats of silence before she timidly answered, “My parents…and God”

Harry took a deep breath before responding, “Well, you don’t need to be scared of God. You’ve done nothing wrong. Your parents are going to be punished by him, not you. And for your parents…can you please tell me what is going on?”

“what do you want to know?”

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #Worship me #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles dark #harry styles imagines #harry style drabble

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tiredloserr · 3 years

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CREEPY STORYTIME!

(long post, sorry lol)

okay, so I don't live in the best neighborhood in the world and about a month ago, one of my more sketchy neighbor's house burnt down (this being the second time it's caught on fire in 2 years, but we don't have time for all of that). stuff from their house has been blowing around since but we are across a circle from them so we don't get too much stuff coming over. today I was cleaning my yard and I found a page from some religious book sitting up against a fence.

[Image Description: a dirty, slightly burnt page that has "The Future Millennial Kingdom" typed in the header that reads "(...) spoken of in the present tense in Revelation 20:10, indicating that they are still there. It is into this lake of fire that Satan will be cast. He, the Antichrist, the false prophet, and all those from every age in history who rejected God's free offer of salvation through faith in Christ will 'be tormented day and night forever and ever.' The Bible clearly states, then, that this punishment will last for all eternity!" End description]

....... so,, not the funnest thing to find in your yard??? but I joked with my brother about it and then set it to the side because I just had a weird feeling thinking about tossing it right then. from this point on, I felt really strongly like I was being watched. and this could definitely be me being paranoid but it was intense. I found a few other pages but I think they're all from the same book and I don't have the energy to transcribe what they say but I'll put in the pictures here:

so these ones definitely are not as unsettling as the first page, but it's just bizarre to me first of all, that my neighbors would have this book (they are definitely not religious to the best of my knowledge) and that these are just perfectly sitting in my yard?????

so anyways, I just left all the pages set off to the side next to my front porch and kept doing my yard work, still feeling really strongly that someone is watching me.

as I'm picking stuff up, I find a decapitated little bird head sitting like, a yard away from where I found that first page. we do have stray cats in my neighborhood so it could definitely be them but it really really freaked me out.

at that point, I really didn't want to be in that area since I was so unsettled so I went to a part of my yard behind my house because even though this is all creepy as shit I really have to get yard work done lol. I was still feeling like I was being watched which is literally impossible at this point bc of the placement of my house and stuff but I just kept truckin.

everything was fine for like half an hour then I find an entire dead mouse just laying out in the open, which again, could be bc of stray cats, but I checked it out (with gloves then I buried it) and there were no teeth marks or drool or blood or anything on this little guy, he looked perfectly healthy.

when I was burying it, I got a suuuuper intense feeling of sadness and literally just started bawling so after I was done, I tapped out and went back inside.

I was messaging my friend on Instagram about the whole thing bc I'm obnoxious and I was sending her voice memos since it's faster than typing. when I was waiting for her to message me back, I was just scrolling instagram (as you do) and I tapped thru my story from the day before. and obviously I posted that first picture of the book there too bc it was creepy. and out of NOWHERE as I'm still looking at my story, one of my voice messages that I had just sent my friend started playing on my phone. which shouldn't be possible since I was not in our chat???? I even just went to my Instagram feed and my voice message wouldn't stop playing??? i had to completely close out of the app to get it to stop.

so yeah, I don't have any sort of resolution, but this has been the weirdest shit and it could all totally be coincidental and I'm just paranoid but it's a bit much to all just have happened to happen on the same day.

#i just want to talk about this because what?????#and the timing of this happening at the end of a week where ive the worst luck is also not doing much for me lol #creepy

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ambivalentmarvel · 4 years

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so the story behind this is that @sreppub arrived in my dms saying “sitcom starring two uppity, former rich guys and a regular poor college kid who follow up an online ad and become roommates” and i said something along the lines of “your MIND” and here we are. she does the art, i do the fic, and we both yell a lot along the way. read it on here or ao3 and enjoy!!

The Sitcom Supreme

If Peter or Stephen were around to hear Tony tell the story of how they all ended up rooming together, they would have plenty of objections, to which he would call them both dirty liars, to which they would gang up on him because they’re terrible and like that, to which he would probably throw up his hands in exasperation and/or make the mistake of engaging them in a debate, to which they would grin like wolves because, once again, they’re terrible and like that, but Tony’s the asshole who put up the Craigslist ad, so he gets to start—because he’s terrible and like that.

It’s a common trait amongst the three of them, what can he say?

The beginning of the story does not involve either of the other two, however. It begins with Rhodey, who is only occasionally terrible and like that. Rhodey has been Tony’s best friend since the tender age of fifteen. Considering Tony at age fifteen was a greasy little douche bag with too much money and a whole bunch of daddy issues that were somehow more obvious then than they are in the present, this is an impressive feat.

Where things start, Rhodey and Tony are roommates at MIT, which is Howard’s school of choice to shove his problem child onto. Tony is supposed to get a single dorm room, but there’s a cockroach problem in that building. Administration has to get creative, which is how Rhodey, fresh out of boot for the fall semester, gets saddled with approximately one hundred and fifty pounds of neglected teenage boy who has only kind of gone through puberty.

The first words out of Tony’s mouth are blunt: “Any chance you have plans to drop out?”

And Rhodey looks at him with a raised brow, efficiently unpacked and totally unimpressed with the enormous stack of Tony’s things wavering in the doorway. “You have any plans to quit being annoying?” he retorts, which set the tone for their entire relationship.

Tony loves him to pieces.

He’s the older brother he never knew he needed, yanking him by his collar from frat parties on the weekends and to his house for holidays because getting swamped by Rhodey’s six younger siblings is infinitely better than having to wear a suit and tie for Christmas dinner with six CEOs and maybe some senators, depending on the year. In return, Tony sees him through every finals week of his collegiate career, during which Rhodey gets so nervous he usually pukes at least daily and pulls so many all-nighters Tony memorizes the exact shade of red his eyes are at the end.

So, it’s safe to say they get along well. They get along so well, as a matter of fact, that when they stare at each other after their graduation ceremony for their Masters—a two-year process for both of them, and Rhodey receives two degrees to Tony’s four—surrounded by Rhodey’s family and Jarvis, Tony’s lips curl in a smirk Rhodey knows spells the best kind of trouble. “What do you say we keep the roommate streak alive, yeah? Howard’s building an office in New York, and I’m thinking of doing a doctorate at NYU.”

Rhodey’s brows raise, but he’s grinning, so Tony already knows his answer. “Depends. Are you still gonna’ snore?”

“Are you still gonna’ have a stick up your a—”

Mama Rhodes shoots Tony a look from where she’s trying to corral the rest of her kids.

“—butt?” he finishes with a sheepish glance her way.

Rhodey does not even remotely have a stick up his ass, but of the two of them, he features in tabloids far, far less, which Tony somehow uses to his advantage.

“You know it,” Rhodey replies, and so they find a fancy penthouse that Tony mostly pays for, with the excuse of Rhodey satisfying his part of rent via generally covering Tony’s ass to the best of his ability. And he has a lot of ability, honed from years upon years of Tony self-destructing at the drop of a hat, but there’s only so much he can do, especially as his military career just keeps flying higher and Howard just keeps pushing Tony harder.

A few sex tapes, especially wild benders, and crashed cars later, when Howard cuts Tony off and tells him, quote, “I won’t speak to you until you learn to do something other than disappoint me”, Rhodey very gracefully still shacks up with him in their considerably less fancy apartment.

This is all important to know, contrary to what someone whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange might say about Tony’s “long-winded” and “overly-complicated” storytelling tendencies because it explains exactly why Rhodey is a traitor.

Is Carol a very cool lady who could kick Tony’s ass? Yes. Is she sickeningly cute with Rhodey and not just because a smile from her makes him melt into a pile of fucking goo on the floor? Also yes. Does it probably make more sense for Tony to find roommates who will actually be around to monitor his—allegedly—poor mental health and self-care habits? Okay, fine, yes, but the bottom line is, Rhodey is moving in with Carol and abandoning Tony, and nobody said he had to like it.

(This is not strictly true, what with the approximately ten conversations Rhodey and he have had about his happiness and how, if Tony needs him, all he has to do is say the word and he’ll be back, but Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic.)

The whole idea is that Tony will find someone gone less than Rhodey with all his military business to enjoy having around the apartment. It’s technically a three-bedroom, but he and Rhodey use the extra one for storage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that storage area has become a lot of junk they go through before Rhodey makes his grand exit, and Tony suddenly has the option of having two roommates.

The ad is a low point, he can admit that, but there is a flaw in what Tony loudly calls Rhodey’s master plan to leave him alone to wallow in misery: Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, nevermind people who he’d want to live with.

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Platypus.”

“The nicknames are old, and you need to stop using them around Carol. She called me Platypus last night during sex, and it ruined the whole mood.”

“You poor thing.”

“She thought it was hilarious.”

If Tony has to lose Rhodey to anybody, by God, Carol is his first choice by a long shot.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Sourpatch—”

“I hate you.”

“—how am I supposed to find someone else to live with?”

Tony is thirty-two and regularly speaks out with all of four people: Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, and Happy. Unfortunately, Happy works in Stark Industries’ California branch and has stated rather firmly that he’s not interested in transferring to the city, Pepper wouldn’t live with another person for love or money, and the other two are spoken for.

It’s a terrible situation to be in, honestly.

“Craigslist,” Rhodey deadpans, fighting with some packing tape.

Tony feels his heart stop beating in real time from his place folding some of Rhodey’s clothes into a plastic tub. His head snaps up, and his jaw drops, absolutely affronted. “You would suggest that I, even disowned and stripped of my former glory—” Tony has several million dollars in the stock market, but that’s neither here nor there and isn’t much compared to the fact that he was supposed to be a billionaire. “—would stoop to looking for live-in friends on Craigslist?”

Rhodey looks up to meet his eyes, unfazed. He’s used to Tony’s antics after nearly two decades of friendship. “Well, I’m not moving out until you have at least one person guaranteed to take my place, so unless you have any better ideas, yeah.” He shrugs—just shrugs, as if he isn’t advising Tony to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel in terms of reliable people to regularly fall asleep around.

It’s insulting.

“I’m not putting out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist,” he protests, shoving the next horribly colored polo into the tub with disdain.

That night, he tears up thinking about stopping Rhodey from being happy with Carol, and the post is up by the time Rhodey gets up—stupidly early, like normal—for his morning run. Along with his contact information and a few blurry pictures of the place, it includes a blurb about the circumstances.

Best friend moving out. Need a roommate or I will die of Sadness. His girlfriend is cool but hewas mind first. Carol, I am watching you. Two rooms open for business. But not sketchy business. You can just lve there. Current resident (me) is cool and very charming. I am a man. No dumb fuck offers. Thanks.

It could use some work, but Tony’s never been great with words, even less so when he’s crying to rock ballads at two in the morning. He edits it when he wakes up, and by noon that day, it’s looking better.

At seven o’clock that evening, he receives one of two messages that actually work out.

Enter the first offender: Peter Parker.

Peter, Tony will learn, is nineteen, attending NYU—like Tony did, which is a sign, really—for a double major in biochemistry and physics, and has the worst luck of anyone Tony’s ever met.

Rhodey’s moving out in a week—he’s been putting off finding a roommate for a while, alright—and Peter has to legally be out of his dorm in three days. That is quite the predicament, and Tony, by nature, is a curious creature. He is not, however, one for beating around the bush. That results in a text that reads exactly this.

Tony: What the hell did you do?

He could hack through the university files, but explanations are always more fun with a personal touch that’s lacking in, say, an incident report. Tony watches a bubble with three blinking dots for a long, long time, and the reply is surprisingly sparse—sparse enough, in fact, for Tony to have more questions than answers when he receives it.

Unknown Sender: theres been a few things but the kicker was the fire

Tony: The fire?

Unknown Sender: i tried to make popcorn and the microwave blew up

Now that is some problematic behavior Tony can get behind. He amends the kid’s previously non-existent contact information.

Tony: How can they kick you out for that? That’s not your fault.

Roommate (?) Peter: it blacked out the power on the entire first floor

Tony: And?

Roommate (?) Peter: last month i got the blame for contaminating half the campus water supply

Roommate (?) Peter: so i was already on thin ice

Tony: Accidentally?

Roommate (?) Peter: idk sometimes things just happen to me

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. If Rhodey knew, he’d never let him live it down. He can hear his annoying laugh in his ears like a premonition—“Hah—Tony, speechless?”—but then there are the dots again and a simple message to follow the last, a touch pathetic.

Roommate (?) Peter: please let me move in

Tony likes him.

Peter shows up on the stairs of the complex thirty-six hours after Tony posted the ad with a backpack and a meager total of six beat-to-shit boxes. The backpack holds nearly all of his school supplies, which makes Tony, in retrospect, genuinely fearful for the integrity of his spine, and the contents of the boxes are sorted, as Tony will learn, into three categories that each have two boxes in them. The categories are fairly simple—clothing, necessities, and whatever other shit he could fit from his dorm—and leave Peter with thrilling possessions such as an entire collection of truly atrocious shirts with science puns on them, a gallon of hand soap, and any food he had in his cupboards.

Thankfully, Rhodey is out furniture shopping with Carol when Tony goes out to meet him, which solves the problem of Rhodey going into overbearing caretaker mode at the sight of a beanpole of a kid failing to manage their life successfully. As someone who has been made many a you-haven’t-eaten-a-meal-in-two-days-and-I’m-secretly-a-panicking-mother-hen casserole, Tony counts his blessings.

Tony waves. “Peter?” he asks, reluctantly changed out of his pajamas for the day.

The kid nods. “That’s me. And you’re Tony?”

“Guilty as charged. Want a hand with those boxes?” he asks, watching Peter lift three at a time.

“No, I got it,” he insists, and then the box on top slides out of his grip and onto the sidewalk.

Peter stares at it for a second before he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe I could use some help,” he admits, and with much struggle, the two of them, each with three boxes, waddle inside. There is a moment and only one moment where Tony thinks that it might be nice to have some extra assistance, but with another thought of the things Rhodey would do at the sight of a woefully inept college kid, Tony decides it’s for the best.

Tony leads the operation, considering he has the key and also knows explicitly where they’re going, and he would have to say his biggest complaint about the ordeal is that Sam, who lives in the apartment below Tony and Rhodey with Steve and Bucky, happens to open his door as they walk by.

Being an asshole, he has something to say about it. “Need some help, shellhead?” he crows.

Tony wishes he had a free hand to flip him off.

“Watch your back, Wilson,” he growls in return, a continuation of the beef the five of them have maintained since they met approximately seven years ago, when they all moved in on the same day and kept knocking into each other’s shit in the halls.

When they reach the top of the next flight of stairs and Tony starts to fumble with the key, Peter asks about it. “So—uh—who was that?”

“That was Sam. Part of the deal with moving in is that you harass him and the other two idiots who live with him. He also responds to jackass, douchecanoe, or birdbrain.”

“Birdbrain?”

“It’s an old joke. He had a rather—” Tony grunts, forced to set down his load to unlock the door, “—spectacular run-in with some pigeons a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“They shat on him. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good nickname,” Tony assures him, throwing open the door with his arms flung wide for dramatic flair. “Welcome to Casa Stark. I mean, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker now, but if we’re hyphenating, my name goes first because I lived here first.” He holds up a finger as if to stall Peter, who has yet to speak from where his mouth is decidedly blocked by the aforementioned three boxes he is carrying. “And I know what you’re going to say—that Parker-Stark works better because it’s alphabetical—but that is where you are wrong because letters have no place in this house. Numbers are much preferred, and we play by seniority here, anyway.”

He gives Peter a meaningful look that he cannot see because, once again, boxes.

“More on that, by the way—”

“Hey, Tony?”

He cuts him off which is, objectively, rude, but Tony rarely gets along with people who aren’t a little curt with him from time to time. This is a positive sign, really, so he allows it.

“Yeah?”

“This can be Casa Stark-Parker, but can we get to somewhere I can set these down? My arms are, like, going to give out on me.”

Not even ten minutes in, and he’s already learned the art of bargaining. Tony’s proud, and he ushers him inside without any more monologues and a grin stretched across his face.

Peter, by virtue of moving in before Rhodey is out, ends up with the room that is no longer being used for storage. Tony has several questions for him, beginning with the fact that, despite the six packets of instant noodles he bothered to bring, he does not appear to have a mattress. Or a desk. Or a dresser. Or anything that’s supposed to go in a room.

His solutions for Tony’s concerns are as follows.

In place of a bed, he has two blankets, one to put on the floor and one to cover himself with. He was planning on sitting on the floor to do schoolwork instead of using a desk. And finally, he was going to leave his clothes in the boxes.

This is all relayed to Tony with an earnest gleam in his eyes and a smile.

Tony blinks in disbelief. Then, very eloquently, he says, “Kid, that is the saddest shit I have ever heard. Aren’t your parents helping you with the move to an apartment?”

The kid shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing to the side.

Tony’s eyes narrow. As someone who is extremely well-versed in avoidance tactics, he feels very confident in saying that is definitely a fucking avoidance tactic.

“About that,” he begins, “first of all, I’m an orphan.” Jesus Christ. “Second of all, my aunt doesn’t exactly—uh—know I got kicked out of the dorms.”

That is all interesting information, to say the least, but luckily, Tony thrives under pressure.

“Alright. I can respect that.”

It’s not like he never hid anything from his parents. Evading his aunt is Peter’s problem, not Tony’s. None of this is Tony’s problem, really, except then he looks around the room and wonders which of Peter’s boxes are holding his two blankets.

Tony was concerned about Rhodey, but he can’t stop himself.

“But I’m also gonna’ level with you—you’re not sleeping on the ground. You can take the couch.”

The until I get you a proper bed frame and mattress goes unsaid, but sometimes things like that are better as surprises. It’ll be a fun housewarming gift, Tony thinks, and by the time the shipment from IKEA arrives containing both of those things and the aforementioned missing dresser and desk, there will be a third roommate to help put it all together, not that either of them know it yet.

That night, Rhodey and Carol show up with enough ingredients for lasagna to serve four, and Tony delights in showing off Peter as they cook because now he has a “super cool roommate too! Take that, Platypus.”

Rhodey glances to Peter. “If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. He is a perfectly lovable roommate, thank you very much, and he’s so offended, he’s not even going to let Rhodey know about his mission to furnish Peter’s room.

God bless her, Carol just laughs.

The four of them get along with surprising ease, considering Peter’s only been around for a few hours. Peter even tries to help with the lasagna, but Tony has a near-photographic memory and has not remotely forgotten the popcorn incident, however vaguely it was described.

“You just sit there and be a nicer person than Rhodey,” he urges him, and Peter nods, hiding his grin behind his hand at the argument that starts.

Once everyone is done, he and Rhodey get suckered into dish duty while Carol spirits Peter off to the living room, claiming she has to warn him about what he’s getting into. Tony doesn’t care enough to complain, and when her back is turned, he splashes a plate of suds onto Rhodey’s front.

Rather than rise to the bait, however, he raises his brows, slipping into what Tony affectionately calls his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode. “You have to be a good example for him, Tones.”

Tony blinks. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“I’m serious!” They keep their voices mostly down, but Rhodey’s rises a bit with the declaration.

“He’s nineteen—an adult, in case you forgot. He signed the lease all on his own and everything,” he hisses back incredulously.

He thought he dodged the bullet by not disclosing just how underprepared Peter is to live in an apartment, but Rhodey’s head dips. Tony braces himself for the part of his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode where he tells Tony he’s making a bullshit excuse and needs to get it together. “Don’t give me that. He’s a baby adult at best, and you know it.”

Yep, there it is.

“That’s still an adult!”

It is! Tony was on his own way earlier than nineteen. This is not a big deal, no matter how outlandish Peter’s circumstances are for moving out of NYU’s dorms.

“Watch his back.”

Tony scoffs. “It’s not like I was going to feed him to the wolves. I’m barely thirty—I’m not his dad.”

“Tony.”

Ah, the final, crushing blow of this version of Rhodey: his name—but with emphasis.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I solemnly swear I will not let him get up to no good.”

A beat. Rhodey squints at him, slowly lowering the plate he’s holding into the sink. “You told me you refused to read Harry Potter.”

Shit.

Back when the books were first coming out, Rhodey was insufferably obsessed with them, and Tony loves him, but emotionally, he couldn’t handle having Rhodey think he was willing to discuss anything having to do with the series for longer than thirty seconds. Thus, he read the books—everyone in the world was doing the same, okay, and he cannot stand being out of the loop—but lied to Rhodey about it.

And now, he’s been made.

Rhodey and he launch into a very spirited discussion that draws Carol and Peter back to the kitchen, and despite the vein throbbing dangerously in Rhodey’s forehead, the promise has been made.

The day after Rhodey moves out, he and Peter manage to flood the bathroom.

In Tony’s defense, he only promised to look out for Peter. He said nothing about curbing his own dumbass tendencies, and it’s not like Bucky’s bedroom is all that damaged by the leak that Tony fixes before it’s really even a problem.

He and Peter settle into a nice sense of camaraderie, and Tony, content with his situation, forgets to take down his Craiglist ad that, logically speaking, someone would have to dig to find at this point, over a week after initially posting it.

Then, he receives a text that is as simple as it is effective: Is there still an available room in the apartment?

Enter the second offender: Stephen Strange.

Ahem, Doctor Stephen Strange, technically, but Tony has six PhDs. Nobody sees him going around making people call him Doctor Stark, and that’s because it makes him sound pretentious and stuffy, both things Tony prides himself on not being. However, Tony likes to push buttons, and very little gets Stephen worked up as fast as someone ignoring his credentials.

It’s a fun set-up, really, but annoying the piss out of Stephen is something that comes a little later—Tony’s not there yet in the story.

He humors the text, and after getting a read on things, he bursts into the living room, startling Peter nearly off the couch. He’s been doing his homework there and on the coffee table in front of it because the Swedish have many things but fast shipping is, apparently, not one of them, not that Peter knows there’s anything to be waiting on, but he’s getting off-topic.

Peter lets out a short yelp and presses a hand over his heart, both things that Tony ignores.

“We have a situation,” he announces.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Peter defends pleadingly.

Tony is trying to teach him that messing things up is expected and, especially in particularly magnificent cases, admired in Casa Stark-Parker, but it’s a work in progress.

“I know you didn’t—don’t be ridiculous,” he waves his concerns off. “We are talking bigger than setting things on fire by accident. I bring you, my young protege, the proposition of—” A pause for dramatic effect. “—another roommate.”

“Ooh,” Peter says appropriately, setting his textbook down to examine the texts Tony brandishes. He begins to scroll, but while he does, Tony figures he can go ahead and fill him in on the essentials. It’s a very juicy situation, after all, and he can’t help himself.

“His name is Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon, but he got into a pretty bad car wreck that messed up his hands. He’s trying to save money while he goes to physical therapy—he apparently has a chance of recovery, but it’s a ways off—and that includes downsizing on where he lives.”

“I mean, yikes, but that’s an oddly specific backstory.”

“I’m glad you think that too, but I am intrigued. I looked him up, and he’s a real person—has a basically flawless reputation, or at least he did before his accident. Thoughts?”

Please say yes, please say yes, Tony thinks. The chance of a competent human—not including Rhodey, who looks more put together than he really is next to the chaos Tony perpetually dwells in—choosing to live with him is too fascinating to pass up, and he needs Peter to see that too.

Peter shrugs. “I’m down if you are. How old is he?”

Victory!

Satisfaction floods Tony, but he tries to maintain his cool.

“Thirty.”

Peter blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I didn’t anticipate moving into a nursing home,” he remarks dryly.

What a little shit.

It’s worth noting half the reason Rhodey left so easily is because he said he trusted Peter to keep Tony on his toes. Then again, that Tony likes being snarked at is a large part of why they get along so well despite only knowing each other for a matter of days.

“You’re the worst, Parker. I’m going to feed you to the hooligans downstairs. Steve has a monster appetite, you know.”

Peter hums, picking his textbook back up. “Not if I feed you to them first. And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Only old people say hooligans.”

Tony thinks about that one book, Give a Mouse a Cookie or whatever. Except in his case, it’s Rent a Teenager an Apartment, and Tony doesn’t have to adhere to the literary equivalent of a G-rating.

His response to the dig is creative and colorful, and Peter laughs.

Four days and a brief conversation at a coffee shop later—a formality he and Peter did not do and probably something Tony should’ve thought of as the older adult before giving him the address—Stephen’s team of movers invade the apartment.

The man himself stands like a drill sergeant at the last flights of stairs it takes to get to the apartment, arms crossed, beard wild, conducting activity.

Peter and Tony share their evaluations, peeking their head out from the doorway when it’s unoccupied by movers and Stephen isn’t looking their way. This involves quite a bit of ducking, but they are very careful not to be caught.

(Someone’s whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange later informs that “they were not at all subtle” and “were, in fact, very embarrassing”, but that’s how things with the three of them generally are, so Tony figures it was a good crash course to how life together goes.)

“He’s kind of scraggly,” Peter whispers, his head under Tony’s because he’s the shorter of the two of them, something Tony delights in refuting Peter’s quips about his age with.

“Kind of? He looks like a hobo.”

It’s true, okay? Facially, at least, the guy is a wreck. He’s not quite to Einstein levels of bad hair day, but he’s getting there.

“Be nice,” Peter chastises him. He’s gentler than Rhodey when he does it, but considering neither of them ever shut the hell up and they have thus bonded very easily over the course of their short relationship, it’s gotten to feel as natural as most of their interactions.

“All I’m saying is that I am happy to retain my place as the most attractive person in the apartment, okay?”

They’re forced to retreat from the entryway as another load comes through, and Peter looks at him disbelievingly. “Dream on,” he replies bluntly.

Tony gasps in offense.

Peter shrugs. “Look, I’m just gonna’ say it—you knew Rhodey before me, and now that I’m here—” he trails off, looking at Tony in faux-sympathy that doesn’t match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

While it is true that Rhodey is a fine specimen of a man—yet another reason Tony can’t, in good conscience, be truly angry Carol mooched him away from the bachelor lifestyle—Tony can’t cede that easily for the sake of his pride, and he scowls. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They’re still bickering as the movers finish up and Stephen enters the apartment, dressed in what Tony recognizes as the latest from Armani and Tom Ford.

He may not get invited to fashion week anymore, but he still has taste, alright, even if Rhodey limits him to one designer purchase a month.

(Rhodey isn’t around to see what packages he orders now, Tony thinks but shelves the thought for later.)

Tony and Stephen met over coffee, and all three of them said hi to one another before the moving business officially began. However, there is a little stiffness in the air, make no mistake. It’s not Stephen’s fault, exactly, because he’s just kind of a foreboding guy, but still.

It figures that Peter would break the ice. As Tony’s found and will continue to discover, Peter is just as talkative as him. Granted, that trait usually appears in the form of rambling about something from class, but it’s not surprising that his natural passion for life comes through with someone about to be very, very involved in it.

“Hi!” he begins. “Are all of the movers gone now?”

Stephen raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes.”

His reply is seriously lacking enthusiasm, but Tony isn’t allowed the opportunity to jump on that as Peter keeps going.

“Sweet! Okay, so welcome to Casa Stark-Parker.”

Woah, woah, woah—timeout.

Tony frowns, raising a hand in a motion for Peter to stop. “I thought that was my thing?” he interjects.

“Well, it has my name in it, so it gets to be both of our things,” Peter replies, then furrows his brow, looking to Stephen. “Actually, since you’re here now, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker-Strange. Order’s based on who got here first, sorry,” he explains with a smile that Tony, now familiar with the fact that Peter has more to him than meets the eye, notes is a touch impish.

Tony is pleased to see, despite his generally wholesome appearance, the kid has at least picked up on the power of staking a claim.

Stephen blinks. His hands, Tony has noticed, don’t stop shaking, not even when he folds his arm across his chest, like a physical barrier between him and Peter’s excitement. “Okay?” he drawls slowly, confusedly.

“Tony’s rules, not mine,” Peter assures him as if he doesn’t just want the satisfaction of having his name not be the last in the line-up.

Tony scoffs. “Oh okay, so now we’re throwing me under the bus?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, Tony.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he replies, tone betraying that he does not, in fact, think any responsibility is at all necessary. He looks to Stephen, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? And it’s barely been a week.”

Stephen blinks again. “I see it’s a lot,” he says measuredly.

Peter gasps, unaffected. “Oh my God, we should make a sign for it,” he enthuses. “We can put it up on the door, and we’d be so much cooler than Sam and them.”

To say that Peter rose to the challenge of bothering their downstairs neighbors with zeal is something of an understatement.

Tony is, honestly, a fan of the sign idea, especially if it were to light up, but that is where Stephen cuts in, his hands still trembling as he gestures. “Can we slow down for a moment?” He looks carefully from Tony and Peter and back again, bearing the appearance of a man in the throes of realizing he has made a bad decision.

Tony knows that look well. It usually shows up when Rhodey agrees to one of Tony’s ideas and doesn’t realize just how badly constructed it is until it’s too late.

“First of all, I am fairly certain my car is parked illegally, and before we get too far, I need to fix it before I get towed. And secondly,” Tony watches Stephen’s lips curl in a self-satisfied, I-totally-think-I’m-better-than-you-even-if-I’m-not-technically-saying-it smile, “I am not here to be part of any Casa. I am waiting for physical therapy to work for me, and then I will be out of your hair. I appreciate being able to live here, but—”

Yeah, Tony’s had enough of that. Personally, he would like to thank Rhodey, who, in a way, begins and ends the story, and truly is the greatest best friend a man could have for teaching him how to properly deal with pompous rich people.

“Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re living here, you’re a part of Casa Stark-Parker-Strange whether you like it or not.”

Stephen looks downright appalled that someone would dare to interrupt him, which, Tony knows from experience, is exactly the kind of shock rich people need to go through. He splutters for a second before he manages to get out a reply, “That was not in the lease.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say what can you do? “And you didn’t mention in your texts that you were going to try to be a bump on a log, but here we are.”

Perhaps sensing the mounting animosity in the room or maybe just as excited as Tony to have someone to bother, Peter takes advantage of Stephen’s overwhelmed and bewildered state.

“First day with all three of us!” he shouts. “Picture!”

And before anyone can protest—including Tony, who would prefer to be documented in something other than a Black Sabbath tee and his work pants—Peter leans in with the camera on his phone ready to capture the moment.

In the resulting photo, Tony looks vaguely alarmed, Stephen looks pissed as hell, and Peter wears a grin that stretches across his whole face. The whole thing is blurry, and they eventually get it framed.

It’s a beautiful and fitting start to their time as roommates, and in the humble eyes of the asshole who posted the Craigslist ad, that is how the story of how they came to live together went.

#tony stark #stephen strange #peter parker #supreme family #iron dad #spider son #fic #tss #ambivalentmarvel #if you tag this st*rker you die by our blade

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seokiloquy · 4 years

Text

Stick Figures - Kozume Kenma

AU: Writing soulmate (kind of….) (it’s more like drawing….) Whatever is drawn or written on your body appears on your soulmate's

Word Count: 1.6K +

Kenma tended to wear long sleeves. Most people questioned him about it, why would he wear long sleeves when his soulmate wouldn’t be able to see the drawings or writings on his skin? Almost everyone around him, or people he saw walking on the street, wore short sleeves in hope to catch a glimpse of an arm or hand with ink that would match theirs.

At 16, the inked drawings would start appearing on your soulmate’s skin. If you had one, then the first thing that you drew would glow a light gold against the skin. If you didn’t have one, then it would turn red, but that was rare. It only happened if your soulmate had already died or if there were other individual circumstances.

He only answered when his mom asked.

“I only want them to see what I draw. I think that I will just know when I see them regardless of the drawings on their arms.”

He would meet them when the time was right. He didn’t need to rush things and he didn’t mind waiting.

Kenma was only nervous the first few weeks of his soulmate-ness. He would draw almost anything that he saw, books sitting on his desk, trees through the window of his classroom, everything and get nothing in return. That was the only time he really worried about it.

He kept drawing, until one day a small happy face appeared on the corner of his wrist. His soulmate was seeing his drawings and that was the only thing that mattered. However, they wouldn’t draw much or often. Sometimes broken words or sentences would stay on his skin, but he couldn’t make out the messages the person was trying to say.

The process was odd and convoluted. Most drawings appear on your soulmate's skin unless it was faces or something to give your location. Some words would go through, again nothing that could give yourself away. Sentences would get broken and mixed and only words of emotion would break through to the other side.

Kenma would get messages like: sun — blossom— every — sad— place.

He guessed the universe wanted everyone to struggle a bit before they found their soulmate.

He could tell that his soulmate was more of a writer than a drawer. However, that only made the times when his soulmate drew something more special. He would wake up to stick figures with empty speech bubbles and half drawn butterflies on his arm. Those were the days where he started the day off with a smile.

He took pictures of all of them, everything drawn onto his skin.

The biggest surprise was when he woke up with a beautiful drawing on his left arm. Fully bloomed cherry blossoms wrapped around his forearm, drawn with sketchy lines, almost covering it up entirely with it. It started small at the wrist with the first flower and then the blossoms progressive got bigger as it curved down to his elbow. A branch held them all together and spiralled up to his shoulder, fading out just past it.

He stared at it intently, it almost looked like a professional tattoo, but it couldn’t have been one. Drawings would only show up if they were hand drawn by someone.

His mom knocked on his door. “You’re going to be late for school.”

She looked down at his arm and walked closer towards him. “Yours?”

Kenma shook his head. “No.”

His mom took his arm carefully and turned it around. “It looks kind of familiar? Doesn’t it?”

He could see his mom’s permanent mark below her wrist. It was small and he could never make out what it was supposed to be. Another side effect to soulmates, when you finally meet them, whatever was drawn or written on your arm would stay there.

“Not really,” he said, looking at it more closely himself. “I see cherry blossoms every day when I walk to school. It could be those or they could have been copied from a picture.”

“You know people draw really amazing things like this so that it could stand out.” His mom said, dropping his arm. “Maybe you should wear short sleeves today.”

“I like wearing long sleeves.”

His mom sighed. “Kenma, have you ever thought that your soulmate might want to find out who you are?”

He shrugged and then heard the door close behind him.

It would be a waste to wear short sleeves. He was only going to school and no one at school was his soulmate. The first week that he discovered that he had one, he purposely drew big things on his arms and tried to see if anyone would notice and come up to him, but no one did. Since then, he stopped looking at school.

He ran his thumb over his forearm and smiled. Grabbing his phone, he took a quick photo of it before it washed off naturally.

Somewhere out there was his soulmate.

Sometimes Kenma despised Kuroo. In the middle of his video game, Kuroo barged into his room and dragged him outside. He was meeting his own soulmate at an art gallery that was showing work of local artists, including his soulmate and Kuroo wanted to go and support them.

“I’ll buy you lunch and pay for the ticket! Come on.” Kuroo said, pulling on Kenma’s shirt, tugging it where the drawing was. “I don’t wanna go alone!”

Kenma pulled away and glared. “Fine. Just don’t ditch me when we get there.”

Kuroo nodded and smirked. “Promise.”

Kuroo did not keep his promise. He left as soon as he spotted his soulmate. Kenma decided to not waste the ticket that Kuroo brought him, so he walked around the gallery. Not to mention that Kuroo offered him lunch and he wasn’t going to pass that up.

He enjoyed looking at art even if some of the pieces were questionable. He took his time looking around. Maybe he could take some inspiration from some of the pieces to hint that he was at an art gallery to his soulmate. Most of his attention was on the paintings that had more detail and definition until he moved to a more quiet section of the local artwork and stumbled upon drawings.

They weren’t the original drawings. They were photos of the artwork printed on large pieces of paper and put into frames to be hung on the wall. There were fewer people here and he could hear Kuroo a little bit away.

Some of the drawings were better than the art pieces outside in the main gallery. He could tell that the drawings had a lot of care and thought put into them with every line, stroke and shading meticulously chosen.

“They are really good right?”

Kenma turned around. A person was standing behind him, their hands behind their back and was looking at the drawings behind him.

“Yes. I’m surprised that they aren’t closer to the main gallery.”

They smiled. “I know! If I didn’t know where I was going I probably wouldn’t have seen anything else. They are really amazing.”

Kenma smiled. “I was trying to find my friend. I’m kind of glad I didn’t find him yet though.”

The person took a step closer. “I’m (Y/N). Is your friend a part of the galley?”

Kenma nodded. “I’m Kenma and no, he isn’t, but his soulmate is. Are you part of the gallery?”

(Y/N) laughed and shook their head. “God no. I can’t draw to save my life. My brother has his corner over there. I’m here as a supporter.”

They pointed behind them. Their left sleeve curled into their arm showing a small part of their wrist.

Kenma blinked. “What’s on your arm?”

(Y/N) raised their eyebrows, but rolled up their sleeve anyway. Inch by inch, the drawing that Kenma had stared at on his own arm relieved itself on (Y/N)’s. They smiled and started talking again even though Kenma could barely do anything but look at their arm. “My brother usually does more tattoos and he wanted to try something on a real person that wasn’t himself.”

After a moment of silence, (Y/N) chuckled nervously. “ Kenma? Are you okay?”

He looked up and rolled up his own sleeve. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as their arm dropped to the side, staring at Kenma’s arm that displayed their brother’s drawing. He held back a small laugh forming in his chest, did he look like this in those moments of silence?

“We didn’t know whether or not it would show up on my soul —on your arm,” (Y/N) whispered, still in awe. They threw up a hand to cover their eyes, a smile spreading across their lips. “Holy shit, you suffered through my stick fingers while you drew me amazing trees and flowers.”

Kenma smiled and walked up to (Y/N). He pulled their hand away and gently held the arm that canvased the drawing. He took out his own arm again and held them together, they glowed a faint gold, marking its permanence.

“I really liked your stick drawings,” Kenma said softly.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he said.

His hand slowly fell into (Y/N)’s hand and held it tightly. “I would love anything you drew.”

Hello!! This is the first time in a bit at I 1) finished the one shot on time and 2) wrote something fluffy. I feel like I lost my touch with fluffiness though...As you could see if you're an advised reader/follower of this one shot book that I usually write more seriously? Sad? Ansty? Stuff So it’s kind of weird to not write those things….

Hopefully it’s okay? Maybe I’ll try writing more fluffy stuff to keep the skill!

Also, this isn’t Ready. Aim. Fire? Part 3.. That’s going to be the week after next!!!

Thank you for reading! - Kiwi

Posted: 11/07/2020

#haikyuu x reader #Kozume Kenma #kenma x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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spiffyspuffy · 4 years

Text

My Mystic Messenger Opinions

(That no one asked for)

Zen

Character: 8/10 I know a lot of people think Zens annoying but I find him endearing. One of the best things about this game is the complexity of the characters and I love that Zen’s cockiness is actually how he hides his insecurities. Even though he’s egotistical about himself, he’s never shallow with MC. He says multiple times that he doesn’t care about MC’s looks. He loves her for who she is and shows this in how he makes an effort to get to know her and be her cheerleader everyday. An underrated thing about Zen is how emotionally intelligent he is. He’s great at helping the RFA members when they need emotional support (Yoosung’s grief over loosing Rika, Jaehee crying from the stress of her job and MC’s shock at almost being kidnapped).

Route: 2/10 Zen is a great character and he deserves a better route. The false rape accusation plot is horrible and offensive. Also, his route functions as an introduction to the game’s plot, so it’s exposition heavy and lacks action. The creators said that the lesson of his route is that when our insecurities are handled in a healthy way, they can push us to be better people. I love this message and I wish it had been highlighted more in his route.

Romantic Potential: 9/10 Zen is arguably the most dateable of all the characters. He’s a bad boy without being sketchy. He’s protective without being possessive. He’s kind without being a pushover and he’s smart without being pretentious. His biggest drawbacks are his overconfidence and and how busy he is with working. There aren’t any glaring red flags.

~ More under the cut ~

Jeahee

Character: 7/10 I love this adorable theater nerd! She comes across as formal and stuffy at first, but reveals herself to be passionate and funny the more you get to know her. I gave her a lower score because she does have a strong personality that rubs me the wrong way sometimes (her jealousy of MC in Zen’s route, her lack of sympathy towards Jumin in her own route and her general rudeness towards Yoosung). She is the most mature of the RFA though, so her exasperation is warranted. Being mature and grounded also makes Jaehee the least complex Mysme character. I’ve got a lot of respect for her though!

Route: 5/10 Getting to engage in discourse about capitalism and the patriarchy? Amazing and hands down the best part of her route. It’s really inspiring to see Jaehee stand up for herself and choose to follow her dreams. I think it’s important for every young person to hear that they should have a positive work/life balance and demand that their employer supports that. Other highlights are Seven helping Jaehee by making the Power Point presentation for Jumin’s cat project, getting to fangirl with Jaehee over Zen and the creepy stalker plot. I thoroughly enjoy her route and the only reason the score is so low is because some of the other routes are seriously incredible.

Romantic Potential: 8/10 Jeahee doesn’t have any red flags either. I think she’s perfectly capable of having a healthy, romantic relationship with MC. The biggest issue standing in their way is Korea’s bias against lesbian relationships. As a fellow coffee lover and theater enthusiast though, I could definitely see myself or someone similar having a happy life with her, even if it might have to be in secret.

Yoosung

Character: 6/10 I can’t stand people who aren’t competent. Yoosung is a terrible cook, he barely cleans and he doesn’t pay attention to his studies. On top of that, 80% of his personality is that he’s a gamer AND he’s in love with his “dead” adopted cousin. Yuck. ~ But ~ I understand that he’s depressed and depression can seriously effect someone’s executive functioning. Taking all of those negatives away, we’re left with a young man who’s trying to his best to be taken seriously, which is something I can relate to. It’s nice to see imposter syndrome represented and I admire his loyalty to his friends.

Route: 8/10 This route is sooo good! Who can forget the night when the RFA starts being aggressively stalked by Minty Eye? And the pic Zen takes of a believer looking at him through his apartment window...chills. His route only gets better from there when he infiltrates Mint Eye with Seven. This is the first time we get to see the twins interact and damn, is it confusing. But in a good way!! The biggest drawback is that MC is stuck in Rika’s apartment and doesn’t play much of an active role in the story.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 Despite all the negatives I listed about Yoosung, I do think he’s capable of have a healthy, romantic relationship with MC. Yoosung is also the only true sub of the RFA men, which is a definite plus for some players. Yoosung’s yandere side is a huge red flag though. MC better watch out if she doesn’t dote on him as much as he wants. Once he falls for her, he’s all in.

Jumin

Character: 5/10 Unpopular opinion, but I hate Jumin. I understand that he’s some people’s guilty pleasure though. Jumin’s good aspects are that he’s intensely loyal, an animal lover and has a dry sense of humor. I appreciate how devoted he is to the RFA and it’s members. He offers to help Zen multiple times (albeit rejected), sends everyone body guards in his route and pays the hospital in the SE to keep Saeran’s identity top secret. What I’m not a fan of is the way he obsesses over MC and traps her in his house. This isn’t the first time he’s shown obsessive tendencies either. Seven explicitly states that Jumin acted this way with Rika in the past. Huuuge red flag.

Route: 3/10 His entire route is fraught with rich people problems. I’m supposed to sympathize with him for an arranged marriage? All he had to do was say no. His father couldn’t force him. He’s possessive of MC because women have only ever wanted to be with him for his money? Not an excuse. Elizabeth going missing was a vaguely interesting story line, but Jumin’s relationship with his cat was cringey enough to overshadow the drama of it for me.

Romantic Potential: 3/10 Jumin has some serious issues. He’s never had a good female role model which has given him a deep seeded hatred of women. Remember when he tells MC that respecting women goes against his core beliefs? Yikes. Then, after meeting a woman who respects him and he actually likes, he locks her up and tries to change everything about her (cutting her hair, buying her a new wardrobe, teaching her the ‘proper’ way to walk, etc). We’re supposed to believe Jumin learns to be better by the end of his route, but he still proposes to MC after only a week of knowing her! I’m having a hard time picturing Jumin in a healthy relationship.

Saeyoung

Character: 10/10 I’m not saying Saeyoung is a good person. Far from it actually. But he IS very well written and extremely interesting. In the other routes, Saeyoung is energetic and funny, bringing much needed humor to heavy moments. It’s always a joy being in a chatroom with him. Then you have the reveal that he actually hates his job and that he was faking his personality, all to a sad and slowed down version of his theme song. This plot twist shook me to my core. What makes him so well written is that the devs did a good job dropping hints to his real personality in the other routes that players might not notice during their first play through.

Route: 9/10 This route is a wild ride from start to finish. This is when the plot threads from the other routes come together and start make sense. This route has secret agents, assassins, a deadly bomb, kidnapping, an evil twin, a powerful cult... It’s action heavy while still carrying enough emotional weight to make me cry every time. Saeyoung’s route is heavy and emotional and sooo worth playing.

Romantic Potential: 6/10 Saeyoung has a shady job and a complicated past. Choosing to be with him means putting your life in danger every day. If you’re okay with that, he’d be a decent romantic partner. He’s a little rough around the edges, but I do think he has potential to become more like his ideal self (God Seven) after reading his AE. He’ll always have that mean and serious side to him, but I don’t think he’s hopeless.

Character: 4/10 He’s low-key the worst. I sympathize with his trauma from being abused by Rika, but I don’t understand why he feels the need to fix everything by himself. Rika might be the source of most problems in this game, but V is partially responsible for standing by and letting her get away with everything.

My first issue with him comes from encouraging Saeyoung to join the agency. I know Saeyoung didn’t have many options, but how was encouraging him to train to become a hacker and assassin the best option?! On top of that, he stalked Zen per Rika’s request and took creeper photos of him, failed miserably at protecting Saeran and don’t get me started on how he loves Rika unconditionally. V has some good characteristics but I really don’t care about those when he’s so terrible otherwise.

Route: 10/10 This route is *chef’s kiss* the BEST. I wouldn’t call it a romance since Vs barely in it but damn is it riveting. Saeran is the perfect amount of loving and unhinged, MC get’s to know Rika on a personal level and V finally gets to be active instead of just reactive like he is in all the other routes. It’s also satisfying to find out how much V has been keeping secret and to get a glimpse into Rika’s psyche. But what really makes V’s route stand out among the rest is that there are spy action scenes like in Saeyoung’s route, but the player also gets to spend time in Mint Eye.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 I’ll be honest. I don’t think V will ever be able to move on from Rika. He’ll always love her, as evidence in his AE. Besides that drawback, I do think he’d be a good romantic partner for MC. V was never the issue in his past relationship with Rika. She was the abusive one and he was 100% the victim. I think he would treat MC just as well in their relationship as he treated Rika.

Saeran

Character: 7/10 I know I’m not the only one who loved the suave and cunning Saeran of the main routes who, after getting the therapy he needed, became an adorably shy and awkward man. Sadly, that’s not the character we got in AS. Instead, we met Ray, the split personality of Saeran’s psyche. Ray is charming and sweet as well as possessive and manipulative...which is something I’m into. But it’s not for everyone. Saeran’s real personality in AS is revealed to be angry and abusive and not at all similar to who he was in the main routes. I’ll give Cheritz props for writing a fairly accurate portrayal of disassociative identity disorder, but I think Saeran’s characterization is inconsistent. I get the impression Ray was an afterthought when creating AS.

Route: 7/10 A mixed bag for me. I really enjoy any chatroom/scene with Ray. He’s undeniably creepy, but those scenes were entertaining in a dark romance kind of way. On the other hand, the Saeran scenes had a lot of unrealized potential. Abuse is never cool. All his route needed to fix this was a scene where Saeran explained to MC that he was pretending to hate her to appease Rika and the other believers. While this fake hatred is implied, I think it needed to be outright stated. It’s also hard to believe that Saeran overcame his DID in the course of one night. I know all routes are limited to 11 days, but this one needed more. Highlights of this route are Saeyoung being kidnapped by his father and of course, dark Yoosung with Elizabun.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 I truly do believe that Saeran could go on and live a happy life in any of the endings where he escapes Mint Eye and receives therapy. While we only get a glimpse of what an emotionally stable Searan looks like, we know that he was kind and attentive with MC. Saeran is a giver and would do anything to make MC happy. Red flags are that Searan is still clingy at the end of his route. Yoosung makes a comment that he’s always holding MC’s hand when he sees them together. Also, his DID is something that will occasionally return and that’s something MC has to go into their relationship knowing.

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