#every day should not feel this hard to get through without something catastrophic happening

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : non!idol Joshua Hong x F!Reader TW : apocalypse au ; gentleman joshua does not exist in this universe ; plot twist at the end ; it's just angsty ; Word Count : 2.0k Request : nope

How in the hell did you manage to get stuck with someone like him during a time like this? The world was ending pretty much, and you managed to be stuck in the fucking apocalypse with the biggest asshole that might have been left on the face of the earth. You shouldn’t be complaining, if it weren’t for him you’d be dead… At least that’s what he told you literally every single time the tiniest complaint left your lips. 

You felt like you had the right to complain though, considering the fact that you wanted what could possibly be the last few hours of your life to not be being told that you were slowing him down and that he wished he had gotten stuck with someone who wasn’t “up to speed” on survival tactics. The fuck did he do while the world was still running? Watch Youtube videos on how to survive in the wild with a stick and dirt? 

Of course, during a catastrophic event such as the one that you found yourselves in, there were times when maybe a little bit too much liquor was consumed when assumed to be in a safe place, and maybe you both were desperate to feel the touch of another person after having gone without it for so long. Mistakes were made, but you had watched enough apocalyptic movies to know that you surely weren’t the first and only person to be making those mistakes. 

The regret and disgust would kick in as soon as you woke up the next morning underneath the sheets with him right beside you, the feeling of the hard floor against your bare body was enough for you to know that what had happened the night before wasn’t something that you would have done with someone like him on a normal night. That didn’t keep those mistakes from happening multiple times though because, again… You were lonely, and you were desperate, and you had every damn right to be needy. It’s not like he was trying to stop you either. 

Sadly those mistakes led to you at some point, the timing unbeknownst to you, catching feelings for him. What a shame. You found yourself trying to move faster, work harder, prove to him that you were worthy of being beside him during this time, and maybe, if things got better, you’d maybe be worthy of staying beside him once everything was fixed. You were much more needy than usual, and maybe that was you subconsciously just trying to get your fill of him before he got tired of you. You knew that day would come, you knew deep down that he wouldn’t actually want you… But that didn’t stop you from hopelessly hoping that he would. 

“Josh!” You called out his name as you burst through the door of the safe house that you had crashed in the night before. You were breathless, bags of stolen food stashed under your arms as you stared at him. He quickly whipped around on his heel, rushing over to you and grabbing the food away from you, his own breathing heavy and you could hear the agitation in it. 

“Where the fuck were you? I woke up and you were gone, what the fuck is that?” He ranted, dropping the bags to the floor and then crouching down to look through them. “If one of us leaves, we tell each other. You know that. We don’t leave alone anyway, it’s not safe.” He mumbled, and now wasn’t exactly the time to get flustered by his words, but for a moment it actually sounded like he cared. 

“I saw guards… They had people with them… They were following them and… We have to go now…” You rambled, your hands planted on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You shouldn’t have expected him to give you much time to actually recuperate from running back to the safe house, as soon as he heard about the guards and the potential to actually be saved, he was picking up the bags and pushing you out the door. 

“Which way did they go? You should have called them over! Fuck! I refuse to be out here forever, this is shit.” He kept pushing you forward, and while in the beginning you would have usually tripped over your own feet with all of his shoving, your balance has gotten much better, mostly in part to you wanting to impress him, to show him that you were worthy of his time and of his presence. 

“There!” You shouted, pointing out the moving forms of people that were just slightly in the distance, picking up the pace to try to catch up to them. “Hey! Over here!” You shouted, hoping that you’d get their attention, and now Joshua was grabbing your hand, completely forgetting about the stolen groceries that he had dropped to the ground just so he could run with you. 

Your heart was racing, but the heavy hammering in your chest wasn’t due to the physical exertion of running. He was holding your hand, his fingers intertwined so tightly with your own, it felt like he was never going to let go, and part of you… well, actually, a majority of you wished that he wouldn’t. “Stop! Please!” He shouted, and the guards finally turned to face the both of you, their guns drawn in your direction causing you both to freeze and throw your hands up. 

The two of you were quickly inspected before being thrown in with the group of others that had managed to survive, and the entire time you both walked, his hand was wrapped firmly around your wrist, pulling you closer to him whenever you got tossed around by disgruntled survivors. “I think we’re safe now…” You murmured, glancing quickly up at him, but dropping your gaze when you realized he was looking down at you. 

“Why did you come back to get me?” He asked, and you thought that it would have been obvious, the answer was as clear as the sun in the sky, at least to you it was. “You should have just saved yourself. What if we didn’t find them? What if you had lost the guards? We would have been stuck there even longer… Having to fight for food… It would have been awful.” 

“Because I wanted you to be safe too… I wanted to make sure you were saved… Because I know you would have done the same for me.” Of course, you didn’t actually know that… It was simply wishful thinking on your behalf. You hoped that by now he would have cared enough about you to come get you… But the way he stared at you with no expression at all just proved that your thought was completely wrong. 

“Seems like you don’t know me then.” He said flatly, letting your arm drop as he let go of your wrist. “I wouldn’t have come back for you at all… I would have saved myself first. I would have let them know you were back there… But I wouldn’t have risked my chance of being safe just to save you.” 

You didn’t need the full explanation, you knew damn well what he had meant in the first half, but as if to rub salt in the wound, he felt the need to draw a bigger picture, and the bigger picture for him was simply a picture of himself. “You don’t care about me… at all? You wouldn’t have cared if I had gotten saved or not?” You asked the questions, but you weren’t sure whether you actually wanted to hear the answers. 

“I’ve spent the better half of this past year making sure you stayed alive… I feel like I’ve saved you enough.” He retorted and you knew that he would be like this, you knew how he was, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. 

“After everything… We-” 

“You were there. You were practically throwing yourself at me… why would I use my hand when you were making it so easy?” It was another solid blow, and while on the outside you were standing up straight, on the inside you were doubled over, sobbing and on the verge of throwing up. The end of the world had made you pretty good at suppressing your emotions, and you’d be damned if you showed them now in front of him. “I mean, what did you expect? This isn’t some k-drama where we fall in love at the end. I don’t like you, and to be quite honest, you were the worst part of this entire apocalypse. I hated having to deal with you.” 

“Then why did you help me? What was the point?” He had already hurt you enough, asking that final question wasn’t going to do any more damage. 

“I guess I just wanted some good karma, just in case I didn’t make it. Like… Yeah, I’m an asshole… But I helped the most annoying person survive through the end of the world so that’s gotta be good for something.” He let out a chuckle, and that’s when you lost it. You were humiliated and he just… he thought it was funny, he thought it was a big joke now that he was on his way to somewhere safe. 

“If it weren’t for me you still would have been in that run down fucking shack. But you’re right, you are an asshole… But you didn’t help me survive. If anything, you made me wish that I hadn’t because I had to put up with your shit.” You snapped back, and he rolled his eyes, but at least he was listening to you. “I didn’t need you… I still don’t need you. I don’t need anything or anyone.” 

He scoffed, his lips turned up into the most arrogant looking smile you had ever seen a person wear. “Sure you don’t. You’re helpless.” He snarkily stated, and it almost seemed like he was saying it loud on purpose, as if the other people that were around you would give a single shit about what he had to say. 

“No. I’m not.” Was the last thing you said, pushing your way through the crowd, going the opposite way and breaking through them. It was stupid, sure… But you were hell bent on proving yourself, and even if you didn’t… Even if you were to die in the process of trying to prove your point… It’s not like he would know, and he probably wouldn’t even give a shit. 

He watched as you pushed your way back, and for a second he thought that maybe you were just fucking with him, trying to get him worked up, but when he looked back and didn’t see you still in the crowd as he had expected, he started to panic. “What the fuck…” He mumbled, pushing himself up on his toes to see past the people behind him. They pushed past him, grumbling curses at him and shoving him aside as they moved around him, but he was too focused on trying to find you, and that’s when he spotted you walking away from the crowd… Back towards the shack… “W-Wait! We have to go back! Go back!” He shouted, trying to push past the guards that you had somehow managed to make it around. 

“Move forward!” The guards shouted, pushing against him as he continued to try to go around them. What the fuck were you doing?! Why? Was it so important for you to prove this to yourself… Were you trying to prove something to him? 

“Please! Sh-She got out! You have to-” The sound of a gunshot rang out from where you had been headed, and while everything around him became chaotic as the guards tried to move everyone somewhere safe, he couldn’t help but wonder where the bullet had gone, what it had struck… Who it had stuck. All of the words he had said… Why? Why was he so scared of letting you stay in his life when he had already let you in? What was he expecting when it was done? He wasn’t sure before, and while at the time that he was stuck with you, he couldn’t wait for you to be gone… Now he didn’t know if he’d be able to manage the world without you. 

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

.

[bemylord]

↠ toji with a virgin s/o ↞

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader.

warnings: nsfw, aged up, size kink [?], oral [fem!receiving], virgin reader, first time, lost of virginity, praising, toji calls himself daddy, grammar errors.

word counter: 3.2k

rq: I would like to request a oneshot? a hc would be appreciated too though. Toji with a virgin gf who can’t even make herself cum? Just how he would like to destroy her :)

butler's remark: (◕‿◕) hello lord, i'm back with an oneshot with toji being tremendously tender with his lover for the first time. in addition, reader is a citizen. sorry, i did it soft, bc i think toji will super-extra-super soft for the first time with his s/o, only for the first. i hope you'll like that, thanks for the request ;)

disclaimer: everything you read is purely my opinion - any detail, sketch, or event is a figment of my imagination.

you've been an ordinary citizen and had never planned to date a sorcerer or someone close to this specialty. you ain't cowardly, merely as you were thinking you'll marry a simple man and will have kids with him, and die in one day like lovebirds.

you had never considered yourself being stuck in a relationship with a sorcerer killer.

you were overworked, virtually sleeping as were walking in the empty street, dreaming to get home as soon as possible, to feel the silk sheets against your back. the area where your office was located had little street lighting, although, you hadn't felt the anxiety of being robbed or something worse. the day went lingeringly and horrible due to the boss who declared you as a temporary deputy, piled you up with a stack of papers.

but, this is life, anything might happen. all of a sudden, you overheard something behind you but as you looked back - there was nobody, as soon as you turn your head to the starting position, you saw a young, skinny man who is holding a knife in his hand.

'hmm~ look who's here, a young, gorgeous lady..' he said with his disgusting, lewd voice, coming closer to you. 'would you mind playing with me? don't be shy or els-'

you have a perky personality, no doubt, but because of how hard the day was, you had one option - run for the hills. before you could do any movements as if hit the man or run away, something prompt hit him, like a swift meteorite that you couldn't see. a cloud of dust grew around you and the man, so you hide your face in the elbow curve, covering your mouth with another hand.

as soon as the dust had settled, in front of you opened up on the view of an adult man. he was high, had an athletic, broad-shouldered, pretty impressive figure. your savior held the blade in one hand, flopped on his back.

'he ran away like a coward. don't worry, girl, you saved, thanks to me' he laughed, he stroked himself on the shoulder, as were about to leave the dead body.

'no i'm not! i'd have protected myself on my own'

you refuted his smugness, watching as he slowly moves his torso in your way, flaunting his outlining muscles through the fabric of the black t-shirt. his complacent eyes and the sharp scar over the right side of the mouth on the edge of his lips. you took a deep breath, continuing on your path as he isn't standing there, not hadn't protected you.

'you're too weak to beat even him, if not me, you'd be-'

'i am stronger as i may look'

he giggled, in a flash stood in front of you, bending over to your face, by finger tugs your face up to look at him directly in eyes, smirked.

'are you sure, girl?'

those green, almost emerald, but cold eyes looked directly into yours as two faces were as closed as you could kiss his lips.

'i'll walk you home'

'i don't want to, and anyway, maybe you're his partner in crime, leave me alon-'

previous to you had finished your phrase, he threw your tiny body on his shoulder, leisurely walking, better say, carrying you home. you beat his back, softly reminiscent of a parody of the word 'let me go, moron, i can walk by myself'

'tch, fine, idiot,' he deliberately shrugged his shoulder to close your mouth as heard the name you had given him. 'by the way, what's your name or you prefer the name idiot?' you said sarcastically.

'for you it's toji'

well.

as a result of your crawl and also being talkative when clearly you shouldn't be, you ended up being in a relationship with a man, who'd obviously fuck you on the first date, as it may count as a 'date', anywhere-anytime, by the way.

although you wouldn't ever say he isn't hot or sexy, conversely, you willingly allow him to breed, precisely you'd beg toji to breed you on the straightaway on the cervix, but for one thing.

you're a virgin.

hilariously - it's true. nothing bad to be in your age a virgin, but if you weren't dating toji it'd fine: his dirty jokes and lustful eyes which are maddening you insane, also his fucking athletic body which is outlining through the t-shirt or white cotton shirt [he wear it once] you thought he did it purposely: he knew your secret, undoubtedly could sniff your chaste nature as if you can emit fragrance.

on the second date, it had been nine days since you got acquainted with him, as you moved in with him. toji was exceedingly obsessed with every step of yours - he followed you from the work, in the mall or market, for your security and control every guy who'd be close to you.

although, you couldn't hide your addiction - he's a drug you should be careful with or you might be addicted as if you ain't. he isn't wearing pants in home, walking in front of you solely in underwear. he could walk from the shower in a terry towel wrapped around his torso as he buries his hands in his dark hair mess it up.

'what are you looking at, girl?'

you couldn't take your eyes off his bulging..

'you. just you. i'm gonna cook dinner, something.. special?'

'eggs, baby'

fushiguro put hands above the door frame, exhale and tensed every muscle, narrowing predatory eyes as you were the extraction he was target for. you're laying on his king size bed [lol i'm sorry i'm out], wondering is everything he has gotten measured in king size as he interupted your reflection by putting the knee on the edge of the bed.

'mine. in your pussy'

as if you're bewitched - you couldn't talk, just contemplate as he leisurely moves towards you. you couldn't contravene as he tugs your face to ogle in your absentminded eyes as you're avoiding his gaze, looking at the ceiling or door or even window. not. at. his. bulge.

your heart had stuck in your throat when toji ran his hand under his shirt, certainly, he has a kink of dominion, when he suddenly stopped. despite of your uncertainty and timid of subsequent play, you looked at his emerald eyes as he licks his lips with a tongue.

'are you sure, baby girl? i mean, it's your first time after all'

you quell your forthcoming question staring deeply into lascivious eyes, put hands on his massive shoulders. as you anticipated, his cock twitched as toji letting out a low groan in your ear, kissing your temple. you're absentmindedly running finger pads on his back, not knowing the proximity of bodies that are readiness wanted to intertwine together. not knowing how much it turns him on.

'stop me if i go crazy over your body, okay?'

as if. as if you dare would rip out his tongue off your crotch as he makes you his woman. toji left on your red cheeks quick kisses, took off the towel. you shut your eyes tight, still holding his shoulders barely squeeze them, letting out a hushed moan.

after you quelled your moan, toji touched your lips against his one, running fingers on your lower stomach to the cup of the breast without touching the hard nipple. light movements mixed with his muted groans. his pads deftly touched one areola as you emitted a sharp purr, arching your back a little as a dulcet sign for toji.

you dug your fingers into toji's back, as he put a finger on your hard nipple, holding himself as to grab your tits and clench it in his large hand.

you gasp for the air as if there was a catastrophic shortage of it due to the pressed body of toji. you responded at his deep kiss, wrapping hands around his neck, apparently begging for something more.

he pulled away from the kiss just to take off the shirt he has given you, baring your untouched by no one but him tits, leading palms onto breasts, skipping nipples between the gaps through fingers. he reached down to your lips to give a bit of warning kiss as he slightly bit your lip, kissing all the way down to your collarbone, finally leaving there manifestations of hickeys.

for how long toji has been stopped from leaving on your stunning skin his marks? it seems it has been absolutely not many days but toji, as you may see, clearly has to leave labels on your neck.

he dug his teeth into your neck, frantically wants your area to be dotted by him as a token for everyone meaning: she's taken, dude, don't mess up with her.

for how long toji has been stopped from touching your sensitive area as having been feel warmth and tenderness is emitted from your body?

toji squeezes your nipple imponderable, to make you feel some kind of power over you becoming submitted by toji fushiguro, a sorcerer killer, a man who owned you, spinning the pea between pads, making you let out whimpers.

'you drive me insane, little one,' he approached his face close to the breasts, touched your pea with his tongue cautiously, as not to frighten you away. 'i'm gonna make your pussy drool beneath me, completely own you as my little girl'

you feel yourself gush beneath him, burying hands in his messy hair as your breath has stuck in the throat as toji snuggles his lips on your tits, sucking your hard and probably swollen from teasing. fushiguro has made you became wet in your panties as he's moistening your breast, hearing your precipitous whimpers.

'toj-toji, i don't know-'

'tch, little girl, relax your body and let daddy do the rest'

as he pronounced, he moves down, leaving the trace of wet kisses on your stomach, massaging your hips, stopping his action to look at your red face. your chest heaves heavily every time you feel toji's silky lips on your belly as his finger pads caressing your thighs. as if something weighty is resting on your chest you take deep breathes, breathlessly exhaling.

'spread your legs'

you obediently did what he said, hesitating a bit as the only fabric holding him back to bury his mouth against your pussy, assembling all juices, tasting your cum as if it's his meal. he rested kisses on the fabric of panties, couldn't sate with tender kisses he spreads on your body.

deliberately run tongue on your labia through the thin fabric as you were about to push his hand from your crotch as toji grab you by the hips, pulling you closer. he slackens his teasing actions by kissing your inner thighs. as your cunt was lack of attention from toji, you let out a pliant whimper, approximately woefully have purred.

toji's self-restraint thinning as you're silently begging with your eyes and your hands immeasurably are burying in his dark hair. the tip of his tongue deftly sideline panties, flicked it, as he discovered a divine view on your drooling hole.

'stop me now, because i won't be able to hold back later'

teasufully kissing your labia and area around the place he should be playing with as anticipating for some pliant whimpers of you, deliberately showing you he'll lick that swollen clit, pressing a soft kiss on the skin instead. fushi's shattering your hopes of being eating every time he kissed literally everything and lick everywhere besides your hole and clit. he acts like an inexperienced teenager, notwithstanding, you know that toji'd ruin or demolish your holes like a monster.

't-toji..'

'yes, my little girl' he pressed the tip of his tongue on your clit, hearing those moans he's willing to listen for the rest of his life, then take away as you were about to press his mouth back again, digging his tongue deep inside you, although he obviously couldn't reach to your cervix, barely permeate in your hole.

'you want me to eat your little pussy?'

as if you can't talk, you nodded. scarcely reached up to take off the last thing, leisurely pulling down the panties, staring at you as a predator. toji is standing on his knee on the bed, threw your ankles on his shoulders, smooching ankles watching as to how your cheeks are becoming pinky, as you try not to look at his dick. still, you're a timid one, despite your words.

he reached to your face to give you a voluptuous kiss, returning to the starting position.

'look at your pretty pussy'

he kissed your clit in a flash replace into the tongue, making a circles on swollen and needy spot, decisively giving you what've been begging for. running the tip of the tongue on your virgin hole, leaving it for the dessert, returning to your clit.

you'd swear to god you can see stars in the ceiling as toji squeezing your nipples while moistening you. the proximity of his face in your pussy is driving you insane, for the days of cohabitation you understood he isn't a tender one, vice versa, he'd fuck you whenever his dick gets erect. maybe it's a rush of tenderness, maybe it's the fear of hurting his girl. nevertheless, you not scared to give toji full control of your body and bring you to your first orgasm by ripping the hymen. if that's i may call the way he's licking you, it'd be make-out with your pussy, due to his relentless movements by flicking his tongue on the clit.

'baby,' he pulled away from it, as you squeeze a sheet, making your knuckles become whiten as you spread legs wider, watching his mocking grin appeared on the face. 'i'll be gentle' he pressed his lips on your forehead, taking from the bedside table lubrication to low the friction. although, the thought of his dick ripped the hymen, putting all his tenderness in your first time, make your knees get shaken.

he put a soft kiss on your lips, smearing lubrication on his dick, substitute cock on the entrance. abrupt and penetrating pain wavily covered your body as you feel soft lips covered your mouth, blunting the pain with one hand being dug in your hip, painting illegible traces. another hand he put on your cheek, drawing circles with his thumb, waiting till getting used to the pain.

toji will find lots of red stripes from your nails on his back, smirked, as reminiscing about that special night when he made you his woman. his broad back was made merely for you to leave thousand and thousand fingernail impressions every night. toji had let a low groan as he feels as you move fingertips to the neck, exhaling in his chest.

he entered all his dick inside you feeling as your walls compressing the base, getting used to being full with his thick cock. you're indulging at the new, mind-blowing feeling, give him sheepish kisses as you're scared to be rejected. he moves his palm from the cheek to the ear, running fingers through your tangled but soft to the touch. you nudged your hips up, intermittently letting your breath out.

'tch, if you're not feeling well, i can come-'

'more, toji, more'

without breaking up kiss, he pulled out cock to the tip as pulling it again slowly, stretching your walls, touching with the tip your cervix as his balls touching your ass, groaning in the kiss, softly caress your thigh. you moved your palms to the shoulder, touching the musculature, going down to the biceps wrapping his arm as another hand attempting to draw patterns on the back as if it a canvas for you.

you can feel every vein, curve, and the way his tip is expanding gummy walls, as toji diligently coming in, adjusting inside you then pulling out. you're focusing on how full you're with his cock inside, your clarity gradually getting mushed as the sharp pain turning into a pleasurable and delightful feeling. sating to the new feeling might get addiction, but you're far beyond to accept that, surrendering to your lover as he gets addicted to it. you grasp for his shoulders, as he nudged in you, leaving whimpers from your mouth.

'like that, huh?' he pulled his cock out to contemplate as your facial expression have changed: you furrowed eyebrows as felt your hole being empty without thick toji's cock, practically purring like a march cat. 'beg me for it, baby'

what an insatiable man you've got. he licked his lips, looking down on it. your hymen has left blood, as he glanced at you to see his future wife your reaction.

'i-i toji, it's..'

he hummed, returning to your lips, slowly giving back the missing part.

'you okay?' you nodded as a response; he's perceiving fullness as wants to fill you up, but desperately be tempered himself, blaming he didn't wear a condom to do it. a dozen of half-moons will be littering your hips as toji's digging nails, scrambled your mind with squelches pushes in your hole. 'relax, baby girl, i'm here' he thrusts inside the spongy spot, ripping another moan out of you, voluptuous to his ears. 'baby~ you tease me with those moans of yours'

his cock was aimed at a place inside your vagina, with a slow but deep thrust skillfully reaching your cervix, massaging with the tip of his cock that spot. toji's staring at your pleased, satisfied face as he found that needy place of yours.

holding on to the headboard in the bed as support, clutching the sheet with his other hand like the composure he was rapidly losing with each thrust into your hole, formerly virgin cunt, letting out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back.

wiggling the pelvis backward and forwards as heard beneath his body your whimpers, feeling replenishment on his skin to his previous strips, losing remains self-control as your walls have been clenching his cock, as your body gets shaking as his, preparing the body for the coming ecstasy.

'toji, mh~' you tilted the head back on the pillow, wrapping legs around his pelvis, quelling moans while arching back against his chest. you're milked [? correct if i'm wrong] his cock, shuddering. you felt his lips on your cheeks, as he's covering your wet face in kisses, pulling cock out.

'damn, baby, probably-' he stroke his hard cock a couple of times before releasing his cum onto your belly. fushiguro ran fingers from the hairline, wiping beads of sweat from the hairline through hair. 'are you good?'

as you're still catching your breath you rested on your face a slight smile, closing eyes. he giggled, getting out of bed.

'almost made a baby' it took him a second or two, to lift you up in my arms, leading into the bathroom. 'i'm gonna clean you up, my baby. but you could fall asleep in my arms, you did such a good job by taking my cock' he kissed your forehead, wiping your drops of sweat.

'i love you, toji'

he put you on the washing machine, turning away from you to fill the tub. what went unnoticed was his relaxed smile after your phrase.

'i love you more, little one'

(◕‿◕)

↳ back to the main master list.

i feel i made lots of mistakes, like, idk. correct me if smth i did wrong.

i remember my promise to do one more work with toji, so lately i'll write hdc + drabble with him.

[daebraeksan]

Feeling afraid, guilty about relapse, Ushijima helps

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, establish relationship, domestic 

Contents: fear episode, mentioned food-related shame, mentioned eating dinner, unmentioned/unspecific “negative” coping mechanism that reader has been working towards not using anymore (relapse), anxiety mention, depression mention, unspecific crisis mentioned, crisis feelings mentioned, cognitive distortion: black and white thinking, cognitive distortion: scarcity mindset, perfectionism, childhood rules, childhood, trauma, basic needs: food, water, socialization, advocating for needs, reparenting, healing, expressing needs, self judgement, being hard on self, crying, mentioned childhood abandonment/neglect, mentioned emotional needs unmet as a child, expressing grief, expressing emotions, expressing/stating needs, self-abandonment through “negative” coping skills/dissociation from feelings, guilt/shame, trauma/ptsd, one swear (half-assing), emotional recovery,

Wc: 2897

The word anxiety might have been downplayed in many ways throughout your life. The word depression too, reduced to feeling really sad sometimes. Even the symptoms of depression that you felt, hating yourself every day and not wanting to get out of bed, were seen as laziness, a character defect, something to overcome with discipline, strictness, and hard work. 

Going through a fear episode makes it seem like it’s not a downplayable thing.

There’s nothing you can do to take your mind away from what is happening right now. 

Things are wrong and bad right now, and you are waiting for things to be wrong and bad in the future. It’s agony to wait. In the middle of a crisis, your senses are tuned on and tuned in, united in solving a single problem. You are never more in the moment than you are in a crisis. And when you are not in crisis, you are scared for the next crisis, because the previous crisis was stressful and difficult to get through.

As the situations progress throughout your life, you feel that maybe it is not the situation that is the problem but it is you. You are wrong and bad, and you are waiting to abandon yourself. 

You’ve dealt with a lot of fear episodes in the past without the use of your addictive coping skill, but today it doesn’t seem possible. In the past, a relapse felt like shredding up your record, like none of the self-work you had been pushing yourself through, disciplining yourself through, day in and day out, none of the new emotional coping skills you have been learning, meant anything. Where were they now? It felt like you had failed yourself and failed everyone else who had believed in you. It felt like the successes you had were all for nothing, were all lies. 

The black and white thinking was not easy to break away from in that moment. The way out was not clear in that moment. The ability to act instead of react was out of reach. You felt like you were waiting for yourself to behave “better.” You felt like you had waited out the fear episode long enough, and it “should” be gone by now. You were approaching the point in time where you would not be able to wait it out any longer and it was going to become too painful.  

It was not budging, it was not going away. 

The perfectionist thinking was the kind of thinking you were trying to run away from. The rules you had grown up with, that you had to be perfect to be loveable, that you had to do things a one certain way, otherwise things would fall apart and catastrophize—those were the rules that were suffocating you, that you needed to get away from. Those were the rules that made it seem like there was no way out and that you needed to get away, use anything to cope. 

You judged yourself every time you thought about old coping strategies. You felt like you weren’t serious about your recovery, which was hurtful—it was hurtful to think that someone could think you were half-assing your attempts this whole time, and it was hurtful to even accuse yourself of that in the first place. 

The decision to use an old coping skill has been on your mind for days now—maybe a signal that this “breakdown” was a long time coming. Maybe later, there would be time to reflect on little things that you had been neglecting about yourself that in the future you can do differently. 

It always feels like you’re doing the best you can and it’s still not enough. 

Which is disheartening and hard to cope through. 

The decision to use an old coping skill is exciting, relieving, and certain. You would think the shame of using a coping strategy like that when Ushijima will be coming home soon would be a deterrent. Instead, you know that Ushijima is not judgmental like that anyway. He is way kinder to you than you are to yourself (which you are working on.) But more importantly than that, you know this coping strategy will work. You know you can wait for it to settle in, for it to work in your system like you know it has in the past. 

You can wait that long.

You can feel the sensations. You can be in your body, and have no desire to scare yourself with catastrophizing. You can feel the sensations, let time pass over your skin. You can breathe through time, and eventually it will be over. And eventually things will be okay. 

And the nap you took after was exquisite.

 ****

That is how Ushijima finds you when he arrives home. 

He approaches you on your bed. You prop yourself up a little on the pillows. He stands beside you.  You look up at him, head surprisingly clear, and chest notably void of any painful bursts of crisis feelings. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” you say. 

“Are you okay?”

You want to say yes immediately because you are used to pushing away people's concerns. You don't want to be a burden and you don’t want to complain.  You look inside yourself, you check internally if you are okay. You honestly don’t really know. You know that you are okay right now but what doesn’t feel okay is the uncertainty of not being okay in the future. And the guilt of the past. You decide to keep your reply simple. “Yes.”

“Are you safe?”

You have to check in again, double check the information you received a moment ago. It’s hard to trust your own judgment. It feels like everyone else should know what is going on with you. It feels like your perceptions are flaws and wrong and never good enough and never accurate.  You weren’t believed as a child when you said things. Your perceptions were not validated at all. But you try to keep it simple. “...Yes. Mostly.”

“Is there anything I can do to help the situation be or feel safer?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just feel unsafe with the fear of this happening again and I don’t want to be that afraid again.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I am here for you now, if there’s anything I can do. Can I sit?”

You nod. The bed lowers as he sits in front of you.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

He presses his hand on your leg above the blanket. 

You sigh. You don’t know what you want from him right now. Actually, you know—you want a hug, you want a kiss, and you want to cuddle. You want to know that things are okay and that he is not mad at you or disappointed in you.

And you and Ushijima have both agreed that he cannot enable you in continuing to feel uncomfortable in asking for your needs. 

“I don’t know,” you lie.

You think Ushijima knows that you know. He also knows what he would like to do in this situation, which is remarkably similar to what you wanted too, but he would probably also ask you to accompany him to the kitchen to get a glass of water, or he would bring you one, if you didn’t want to get up. “Okay. If you think of anything, you can let me know. How can I make you feel safe expressing those needs to me?”

He already makes you feel extra safe, extremely safe, but the rules from your childhood make you feel unsafe. It was unsafe to express your needs. Even if you expressed your needs, they were not met, or even ridiculed. 

You take a deep breath. If you can have just twenty seconds of courage, you can express your needs, and your inner child will be happy. You will also be happy. 

“Can you stay?”

Ushijima sinks down and puts his head above the blanket on your tummy. “Yes, of course.” He wraps his arms around you.

You don’t want this to end. 

The scarcity mindset kicks in and you feel that you must stay here in this moment until he is ready to get up because you might not get this ever again. 

This kind of panic is so endemic that it’s not always a bright burst of pain. It’s a threat that you’re hypervigilant about always, in the back of your mind, monitoring levels to make sure the threat of abandonment is low. 

Except you would never say this out loud because you know other people wouldn’t feel that it is true. You feel that it is true. It is a reflection from your childhood. Physical affection was scarce and you grew up feeling like an idiot for wanting and needing it. You thought you should just figure out life without it. You thought it was optional, a fun perk you weren’t allowed to have.

You remind yourself that if you voiced this concern, Ushijima would reassure you that he has no desire or need to withhold affection from you. You want to say it out loud just to see what he would say. But you are so embarrassed because it feels like you should be “passed this” or “over it” by now. You should “get it” already and be ready to move on to the next thing. 

“I want to cuddle,” you say.

He looks up at you like “what do you think we are doing right now???” But still he scoots up further on the bed and presses his face against you and sinks down.

“Thank you,” you say.

“You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome. I need this, too.”

It’s always a shock to hear, no matter how many times you hear it, that you aren’t a parasite and that you are contributing equally and Ushijima is grateful for you.

You’re hungry. You should eat. You are ashamed to say these things out loud. But you know that Ushijima is here for you, and you are here for yourself, too. You have to be brave. 

“Have you—” You stop yourself. You are about to phrase your need like it’s Ushijima’s need. You take another deep breath. “I have not eaten yet and I need to eat. Could you eat with me?”

“Yes, of course.” Ushijima looks up at you. “Are you ready now?”

You are not ready now because you want to keep cuddling but you are ready now because you are hungry. And you are proud of yourself for listening to your hunger cues and you want to act on this while you feel it. You nod.

Ushijima gets up, and holds your hand while you get up from the bed. You follow him into the kitchen and you fix something to eat together.

****

After you eat and put dishes away, you and Ushijima move to sit on the couch. He wraps his arms around you and his hands rest in yours in your lap.

Ushijima kisses the top of your head. “Is there anything you want to do now?”

You’ve been wanting to talk about it. But mostly you’ve been wanting to absolve any guilt you have. And you don't know if it’s your job to lean on Ushijima and make it his job to help you with that. Learning to be responsible for yourself is essential and difficult, but it’s a process, and you know that you and Ushijima are there for each other while you both figure it out. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry I did that.”

Ushijima turns towards you and waits until you meet his gaze. “Do you mean [coping strategy]?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like that. And I felt shame.”

Ushijima squeezes your hands. “I love you no matter what. I am happy that you are safe. I am happy that you are here with me.”

You nod and feel tears prickling in your eyes. 

Ushijima sighs, weighing the situation, assessing, waiting. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“What else are you feeling?”

“Scared.”

Ushijima waits for you to elaborate. You are grateful for his patience.

You wait and wait. 

“Take your time, and I am here for you,” Ushijima says. 

“I don’t want it to happen again.”

“What?” “Being scared.”

Ushijima rubs his thumbs over your fists. “Fear is a natural part of life. And you are being there for yourself, and I am so proud of you.”

“I did a bad job,” you say, and the choked sob surges out. 

“You don’t have to be ashamed of how you used to cope and you don’t need to be ashamed of how you continue to cope,” Ushijima says.

You shake next to him. Your sobs are more shakes than noise. They come out as whispery bursts, wavering and repressed. 

“It’s most important that you are here right now, and you want to take care of yourself,” Ushijima says. “The intention is important.”

“I didn’t want to be scared, and I didn’t want to feel my emotions.” The words crack open in the air, scratching your insides. “I didn’t want to be there for myself. I abandoned myself.”

“You were there for yourself in the way you knew how to be. And you came back. You’re here now.”

You don’t want to have to keep apologizing to yourself and to your inner child. You don't want to keep making mistakes. You want to do things perfectly and you don’t want to be wrong. You wish you could figure it out already and move on and stop suffering all the time. 

Every time you think you’ve learned how to handle fear, a different kind of fear emerges and it’s easy to reach for your previous skills, your previous coping skills. You feel shame about the way you coped, to numb out. 

“Your skill worked until a certain point, and that’s why you used it. That’s okay. That’s good.”

“It’s not good to hurt myself,” you cry. 

“You feel sorry and you’re trying.”

“I don’t want to try. I don’t want to do better.”

You cry louder. Ushijima sits with you and listens. He pats your hair slowly, then rubs your back.

“It’s okay to feel how you’re feeling. You’re doing a great job.”

You don’t know what’s next. Probably resting and being gentle with yourself. 

You wipe your face with a tissue and blow your nose. You get up to throw it away.

“Can we go to bed?” you ask.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Ushijima follows you and you both do your nighttime bathroom routines. 

You get into bed with Ushijima. 

There’s a lot to be proud of today. You felt your emotions. You ate when you were hungry.

There are lots of baby steps to be proud of today. 

You and Ushijima cuddle into each other. You take deep breaths and find a safe place in yourself, and between you and Ushijima.

New things are always getting scary. Even some old things are scary over and over. Being scared is not wrong and bad. Also, being scared can change over time as threats change. Events or people can get scary, they can become not scary. You can feel brave, and you can feel scared. It’s always changing, it’s always going up and down. It’s crazy that you have to live the rest of your life with these changing emotions. Emotions are always changing, situations are always changing.

And all of that is okay. All of that is okay and you are learning to be there for yourself always. You are learning to let your emotions arise, and validate yourself. You can let yourself feel your emotions. You do not have to be afraid of them. They are yours, they are valid. You are allowed to have them. 

The only way to get through fear is to slowly expand your comfort zone over time. Even though you’re tired of dealing with the same fears over and over, you have hope that you are building experience, and one day you can trust yourself and your own experience. 

You’re building a relationship with yourself, and building trust with yourself.  

You haven’t been trustworthy with yourself in the past. There’s some trust missing there. There’s a lot of validation missing there. Dissociating was necessary and you can’t hold that against yourself. You don't want to hold it against yourself. You had to do what you had to do to survive.

But you can take  some time to be proud of yourself for going out of your comfort zone and getting new experiences. You can be proud of yourself for living life and having normal experiences that include all manners of emotions. Putting yourself out there brings your rewards and good feelings and sometimes it can bring challenging feelings. But you’re here to experience all of them. You want to experience all of them, all the life you  missed out on because you were afraid, because you were trying to survive. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Ushijima shifts on the bed. “You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome. I love you and I’m always here for you. And I am so proud of you.”

“I love you, too.”

[sevlgi]

oh, for you

requested: yes

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: handong x fem!reader

genre: ANGST HA

contents: established relationship, handong has a terminal disease, reader has mind manipulation powers, i’m crying in the club

warnings: terminal disease, also just like... angst

synopsis: You and Handong don’t have much time left. Even if it kills you, you’ll make what you have the best time of your lives.

a/n: THIS IS SO SAD HUH

word count: 1.2k

The air smelled deeply of roses.

The sky was an impossibly bright blue, the pure color of sapphires, only broken by the pale clouds that floated peacefully about the warm golden sun.

The ground was absolutely covered in roses of every color, every size, every type-- and yet, none of it could compare to the girl standing in the center of it all.

“Do you like it?”

Beaming, Han Dong spun to you. She was dressed in the finest, softest silk possible, and jewels glittered all over her like fat beads of rain. “I love it, Y/N.”

You smiled, and reached down to pluck a rose off of the ground. The pink bud looked beautiful tucked just above the girl’s ear, and her blush matched it in a way that could only make you smile. “I’m glad.”

“I think this is the most real one yet,” your girlfriend continued. She bent down and stuck her hands into the pool of flowers, laughing in amazement when not a single one glitched or disappeared. “Really. You’re getting so much better at this,” she gasped.

“Do you want anything else? Some animals, something to eat?”

Han Dong shrugged. “I don’t know. This is... it’s beautiful already. I don’t think I need anything else, but... here. Come sit with me.”

You obeyed. Flower petals crunched under your weight, releasing even heavier of the sweet smell into the air; as soon as you turned your face to Han Dong, she smiled mischievously and cast a handful of petals into your face.

Sputtering, you reached for her, and pushed her down into the flowers by her shoulders. Han Dong giggled when she found your nose brushing up against hers; your hands sunk into the soft bed beneath you gradually, until your lips met and your eyes fluttered closer.

It was blissful. Just the two of you, the feeling of her hands scrunching into the back of your shirt and the taste of her smile against yours; you couldn’t imagine any moment that had felt better.

But when you pulled apart, Han Dong let out a sigh, disappointment creasing her brow as she reached up for your face. “It’s happening again.”

Reaching your hand up, you sighed out in exasperation as you felt the sticky warmth to your nose. You scrunched your face up in concentration, putting all of your energy into sustaining the blissful world that you wanted nothing more than to remain in-- but to no avail.

You opened your eyes again to find your girlfriend in the hospital bed, her hand on your arm just like in your dream world. Only here, she was hooked up to a machine that beeped steadily, and her silken gown was replaced with the cotton one from the hospital.

“It’s okay,” she said immediately, sensing your apologies. Han Dong handed you a tissue to hold to your nose, offering you as sweet of a smile as she could. “It was beautiful.”

“It wasn’t enough,” you muttered, springing up from your chair. It had been morning when you started to conjure up the world, to imagine every little detail of it as Han Dong watched-- it was already nearly night, stars twinkling between the window’s blinds.

“It is, Y/N. You only started using your gift these two months, you can’t expect yourself to hold it for weeks,” Han Dong assured you, reaching out for your hands. You allowed yourself to be pulled closer to the bed, to the love of your life.

“We don’t have that much time left, Dongie.” You bit down on your lip, hard, and said again, “We don’t have much time. I need to make it perfect before you before you...”

“Before I go?”

You shook your head immediately, reaching up to wipe yet another droplet of blood from your face. “Before I can’t anymore,” you clarified.

As if simply talking about it had brought it on, you scrunched up your face at the pain that jolted through your head, like a lightning bolt contained inside your skull. The pains were getting worse, and according to your doctor, if you kept using your powers for hours on end each day, they would create something catastrophic.

Han Dong brushed a kiss across your knuckles and squeezed your hand. She promised, “You’ve made me so happy already. I don’t want you to do this to yourself, I might still have a few months left.”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted, sinking into your chair. The pain that wracked your heart was honestly worse than the aches in your head; you couldn’t bear the thought of only having a few months left with the only person you’d ever loved. “Please.”

“You said it yourself, Y/N. We don’t have much time.” Han Dong smiled weakly; she was wan in the weak light of her hospital room, despite all the rich blankets you had piled onto her bed. The disease was sucking the very life out of her, even though the brightness in her eyes had never dulled.

“I didn’t... I didn’t mean it.” You shook your head rapidly, squeezing tightly onto her hands. “I swear. Look, you should... you should go to sleep. The doctor said that rest might make it better, right?”

“I’m not in pain. You are. Because of me.”

You only came to a stop when she grabbed onto your face, one hand on either side of your neck, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be okay,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay too, as long as you stop.”

Exhaling, you kissed her again, as hard as you could without making it painful. “One more time,” you promised fiercely. “But you’ll make it. I know you will.”

It wasn’t the answer Han Dong wanted, but she must have sensed that you wouldn’t let it go. She nodded, and gathered her knees up to her chest as you closed your eyes again. “Okay. This time... how about a mountain top? High enough that we’re above the clouds.”

The clouds formed first, bubbly round forms of white that started to dapple pink and gold when you commanded them to. 

“And... it’s sunset.”

The sky brightened to a deep orange.

“There are comets everywhere.”

“That’s not realistic,” you muttered even as you saw the blue and pink lights streak across your dream world.

Han Dong laughed, but continued with her descriptions. “We can see the city below us, getting ready for the night time. Busy, but we’re peaceful.”

And that was enough. When you felt a squeeze on your hand, you woke to find the exact scene your girlfriend had pictured, and the girl herself with a sad smile beside you.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered before you even asked, bending over to brush the softest of kisses to your lips.

You accepted it, even as you could feel the tears starting to sting at your eyes. The comets blurred in your vision, but you could see that Han Dong was crying too, crystal-like tears slipping down her face onto your shirt.

“It won’t be the last time,” you promised her, sucking in a shaky breath. “I promise.”

“I love you so much, Y/N,” she answered, her body wracked with her sobs. “I always will.”

[spasmsofthought]

flashes. (dick grayson x reader)

I’m not really well-versed in DC, at all, but I wanted to give this a shot. let me know what you think! It’s a bit of a mess, so please take this with a grain of salt and some grace. sorry if he feels ooc; I tried my best but I am by no means an expert or even an amateur. please be kind. idk if i’ll write anymore for him, but i wanted to try. it might be trash but it’s out there now xo

-- 

It’s not like Gotham is known for being a walk in the park. The city is all alleys in the middle of the night, dark vapors rising from sewers, and secrets in the shadows. At least, in your experience. 

There were no gated communities or fences to keep the darkness out in the apartment complex you lived in with your family. Only survival and common sense keeps you returning to your bed and food on the table.

So, when your younger (genius) brother is offered a scholarship to Gotham Academy on what feels like a whim, the world shifts. 

When your mother still works, though, it means you are the de-facto adult during the day. Your job keeps your busy in the mornings, hers during the afternoon and night. You’re just getting into learning what it’s like to handle a job and bills of your own, even though you’re still living with your family (part of it is to save money, part of it is because you just don’t want to leave). Your family is the only real home you have ever known. Why leave to only find inadequate housing where you have to worry about your safety and theirs separately?

So, like every month, you swap out of your work clothes, put on your newest (at least 2 years old) pair of jeans on, the only blouse you own that hasn’t faded or stretched or shrunk from countless wash cycles, and grab the bag you’ve stored in its own special place in the cabinet by your family’s loud, old, run-down fridge. 

You chance a ride on the bus, hopeful for no public catastrophes today. You listen to your small, but loved, playlist through the one earbud that works during the ride and you almost want to leap with joy when you step back down on concrete like this is what it is like everyday.

The architecture is a thing to behold. There is no wonder why this is acclaimed as the most prestigious private school in Gotham. Light is everywhere, and it’s like the outside world doesn’t exist. Every month you step on this campus it’s like you’ve never seen it before.

The grounds are meticulously groomed, everything in lines and straight edges. Concrete and nineteenth century buildings both cast heavy, sharp shadows in the late afternoon sun. There are some students lingering about, all grouped up and chattering in their similar uniforms. Compared to public art, haphazard graffiti, and buildings of all shapes and sizes, this place feels foreign. Different. It makes you feel strange and unwelcome; like entering a different world altogether. 

When you enter the pristine, elegant office, the entrance door propped open, there’s two figures you immediately spot: the secretary and the man standing in front of her. Your brother is yet to be found. He’s running late again. 

“Hi, hun, take a seat,” Grace’s sweet voice soothes from her position behind the desk. “He should be here any minute.” The man standing in front and a little to the right of her glances behind for second, casually swiping a look at you, before he turns forward again. 

“Thanks, Grace,” You exhale as you sit down. 

The chairs are nice, soft fabric and cushioned, but small. You so desire to bring up a leg to draw close to you, but it’s impossible without making yourself a human pretzel. And you don’t want to dirty it with your less than perfect shoes so, instead, you chose to bring the bag onto your lap and you pick at your cuticles, resisting to bring your nail to your mouth and chew on it anxiously. 

There’s never been anyone else in here when you’ve come before. Grace can make polite chatter, but then she leaves you in relative silence. It makes you feel anonymous. The man uttering sweet words to the secretary and then glancing at you again before sitting down next to you does not. You stop fidgeting with your hands and intertwine them together instead. 

A flash of the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting on glass against your eyes is what you first get a taste of, then all polish and silver, or something like it, cradling a wrist. The watch looks heavy, expensive. It looks like it could buy your family a newer, safer, apartment in a suburbia far away from here. 

“Hey,” Smooth as honey it drips out, and you are drawn to blue eyes and ebony hair. There’s a softness to his face and his eyes are warm. It would only take an hour, you think before you stop the thought from going any further. An hour to do what? You’re not sure, but the list expands the longer you take him in.

The first thing you ever learned on the streets when you walked by yourself to work was how to be aware, vigilant; on guard. Men were unpredictable creatures who were driven by greed or lust or power, and any of the good ones were swooped up and carried away to better things or dead before any second glances could take place. Or carrying on just fine behind their high fences and impenetrable walls. Just because this one introduces himself first does not mean he has proven otherwise. 

“Hi,” is all you can offer, a quirk of lips to his gesture of kindness.

You glance towards to door before your eyes make their way back to him. The gesture doesn’t offend him. There’s a familiarity to his face, but you decide to not spend time right now trying to figure it out. It already only tells you one thing: this guy is way out of your league. 

Grace gets up from her seat, rounds her desk, and makes her way out of the office, leaving you two alone. You watch her the entire time. 

“You waiting for someone?” 

“Yeah,” You nod even as the word comes out, “My brother.” 

He leans back like he’s got all the time in the world, and there’s a perusal that makes you taste butterflies and gulp down caution at the same time. You wonder if he saw the scuff marks and stains on your worn-out sneakers, or if he notices that you still haven’t had the chance to wash your three-day old hair and that’s why it’s up and back, and that your blouse is definitely from the clearance rack at Goodwill.

“Your favorite one?” 

Out of self-preservation, you try to hide the reaction to the humor you feel, “My only one.”

“I think that’s the same thing.” You almost want to roll your eyes. But there’s a genuineness in his conversation, like he means the words he’s saying to you. Like this isn’t a game. 

“Sure,” You shrug, “You’re allowed to be wrong.” 

“My name’s Richard.” It’s old-fashioned. It’s something you don’t really hear rolled off of tongues in your neck of the woods, that’s for sure. A hand comes out and rests halfway between you and him, and it’s one of the most graceful things you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You smile. Your hands stay clasped in your lap. 

“You gotta earn a handshake from my sister,” A voice pops up from the open door way. You swing your head around and watch for a moment as your brother makes his way towards you.

“Hi, J,” Your stand, open your arms wide, bag moved from your lap into one of your hands. His solid presence allows a brief hug before he steps back again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude--” 

The man sitting next to you has chosen to rise as well and you’re closer than you thought you would be when you turn back to him. You notice now that your height means your eyes literally meet his lips straight on. There’s a curve of a smirk there for a flash of a second before it straightens back out into the smile you saw at first. The rest of your sentence is forgotten. He takes one, two, three steps back.

“You got them all?” The question saves you. Your brother pulls you back to him as you hand him the brown plastic bag. In it? His favorite snacks from the liquor store on the corner (the nearly sold-out, hard-to-come-by ones). 

“Every last one,” Your hands come to his cheeks, turning his face to each side.

You have to reach up now and it strikes you just how much he’s grown even in the past month. You both spend much of your time on the phone with one another. These monthly meetings set-up frequently enough for deliveries and some quick face-to-face time and seldom enough to avoid embarrassment (that’s what he says anyway). 

He brings the chip bag out and holds it up, “You even got these.” 

“Geraldo got them special order just for you.” 

“Tell the old man I said thanks,” He smiles like he’s seven again, spoiled and self-indulgent. “Richard” is still standing behind you and to the side, silent. You can feel his eyes flipping back and forth between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Your hands smooth over his shoulders and brush away imaginary dust. “Mom sends her love and says she’ll try and call you on her lunch in a few hours.” 

“Yeah, I know. I’ll make sure I answer.” 

“Thank you.” You exhale an affectionate sigh. 

Avoidant loner that your brother can be, there’s a reason you both want him here. He’ll be able to do the things you only dreamed of when you were his age. And one day, hopefully, you’ll all be out of this hellhole, onto better things. 

“I gotta go, but thanks for these. Even though you should be saving every penny,” He chides, holding up a finger like his words are somehow a threat. 

“Okay,” You chortle like you wouldn’t give everything up for your brother in a heartbeat. There’s another quick hug before he’s looking back at the man behind you, who is still standing there like some sort of stealth ninja. 

“Like I said man,” He nods and there’s something in his face that changes as he looks at “Richard”, “You gotta earn it.” 

It’s with those parting words that he begins to walk out. You stay stock still for a second before you leap after him, “I wanna hear all about what happened last week with Cara tomorrow on the phone!” 

Your brother, a mile away already on longs legs, shouts something indistinguishable back at you from down the hallway, his figure turning a corner.  

“Who’s Cara?” The voice brings your back to reality. 

You sweep your palms against your jeans and turn back to face the man with a three-piece suit and a watch that probably costs more than 20 years of your salary. Oh God. 

“This girl my brother asked out the other week. I bribed him with some of his favorites so he would tell me what went down.” You shrug your shoulders, not worried about spilling the tea about your brother’s romantic life. 

“Does he know that?” His arms seem to relax a little more and you think you could stare at him all day. 

“Eh,” You say, creeping back towards the open door. Your small crossbody bag is already on you and there’s no reason to sit back down. Richard follows you as you, apparently, both start to make your exit from the office. Nothing about it feels unnatural. “Sometimes you got to persuade instead of demand.” 

“Ha,” There seems to be something you are missing based on the way his mouth curves and his eyes spark, “That’s the truest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” 

“You’re welcome. That’s the only one that comes for free!” Your arms swing back and forth. “Anything else is gonna cost you.” 

The hallways usually feel like a labyrinth here, but you don’t feel lost this time. 

“What forms of payment do you accept?” You pretend to be thinking, but really you’re just glancing between the different features of his face. You’re not sure you’ve ever met someone like him. You’re not sure you ever will again.  

“The bank’s closed right now, actually,” The wariness is back. This guy walks like he’s used to treading on perfectly paved gold streets in his shoes. All you’ve ever known is cracked cement and rusted pipes that burst underground. “But I think it’ll be back up and running soon.” 

He doesn’t falter and there’s no anger or hurt in his expression at the metaphorical rejection. Instead, it looks something like silent patience. Maybe even acceptance. This guy could totally not be interested and you could just be being (too) ambitious. The door to the open courtyard, and your way home, is already before you both. 

“It was nice meeting you Richard,” You say as you begin to take steps forward. Your hands nervously hold the strap across your torso. You take a few more steps before his words turn your head back to him. 

“You can call me Dick,” He says with ease. The tone makes you feel like he’s speaking a language you don’t really understand. His blue eyes seem like they’re on fire; a contradiction, you know. There’s something about him that almost makes you catch your breath. You’ve never been been winded by just looking before. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You offer, hands squeezing your bag strap. 

“I look forward to earning that handshake next time!” He calls out when you’re several feet away. 

I think you’ll earn a lot more than that, you almost say, but refrain. 

Instead, you wave back to him once before making your way out of the courtyard, caught between staring at your shoes and looking ahead to make sure you’re going to right way. You smile and daydream the entire bus ride home. Blue becomes your favorite color. 

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Pull the Blinds - Part Three

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4k

Tags: Established Relationship, Journalist reader, no Y/N, Established relationship, Dom!Javi, female reader, unprotected p in v sex (don’t do that), fingering (female receiving), oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, name calling, aftercare

Summary: A failed raid sends Javi spinning, desperate to take the edge off. Luckily for both of you, you’re also in need of something to take your mind off work. This is the third in a series, but they can be read individually.

Huge thank you to @keeper0fthestars​ for the encouragement, brainstorming/co-thirsting, and beta’ing when I couldn’t look at this anymore. Love you babe! 😘

Part One - Part Two - My Masterlist

Read on Ao3

“God damn it,” you slam your folder shut and tear your glasses off to pinch the bridge of your nose. You’ve hit a dead end on this assignment and even taking the day to work from home, all your papers spread out on the kitchen table before you, hasn’t helped. Tension is radiating down your neck and shoulders, lines of stress and pain only worsening the harder you try to force yourself to think through the problem. Pressing a thumb between your brows eases that tension somewhat, and you’re just standing up to take a well-earned break when you hear someone pounding at your door.

You freeze. You’re not expecting anyone. Normally you wouldn’t be so concerned (it’s the middle of the afternoon, after all, and you live in a decent neighborhood), but between your career as an investigative journalist and the drug war tearing Colombia apart at the seams, it never hurts to be cautious. Reaching behind the sofa, you pull out a baseball bat before inching towards the door. The door rattles on its hinges, the knocking louder and more insistent than before. This is no casual visit. 

“Who is it?” Your voice is level, even as your knuckles tighten around the aluminum and you take a deep breath in, out. Your mind is already spinning through potential scenarios- has someone clocked your undercover work, tracked you to your home? Adrenaline surges through you, your body screaming at you to be ready for anything, and you only relax a fraction when you hear a familiar, muffled, “It’s me.”

“Javi?” A glance through the peephole confirms that it is Javi, palms braced against your door jam, his dark brown hair slick with sweat and his green, DEA-issued tactical vest wrapped around his chest. His gun is holstered, hanging from the leather belt slung low around his narrow waist. No immediate danger, then. 

Setting the bat down you open the door, eyes wide with concern. “Everything okay?” You look behind him, expecting to see the street lined with official vehicles and men bristling with guns, but there’s just his Bronco, parked rushed and crooked against the curb. 

Javi’s already brushing past you so you shut the door and follow him. None of this is like him, not the disheveled state of his hair or the sweat-drenched pink shirt clinging to him, and certainly not him barging in, looking like he’s just come from a raid. You get in front of him, taking in his wild eyes, the way he can’t seem to keep still. It’s unnerving, and not doing a damn thing to reassure you that he’s remotely okay or to calm your own racing heart, but you adopt your calmest tone and say “Javier. Talk to me.”

Finally seeming to actually see you, Javi stops pacing for a moment to answer you. “We had them, we fucking had them!” 

You’ve never seen Javi like this. It’s not that he never brings the work home with him- how could he not? You’ve seen him exhausted, worn out from lack of sleep and endless hours spent chasing leads that go nowhere. You know what it’s like when the seeming futility and endless bureaucracy wear him down, seen him stressed and frustrated and devastated by loss. But you’ve never seen him like this- electrified, explosive. It’s all you can do to meet his raw, frayed energy with your own carefully constructed calm. “Slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Javi gives you the gist. Nothing confidential, nothing that would put either of your professional ethics in jealousy, but enough to see the shape of the thing. A raid, weeks in the planning, turned up nothing but an empty warehouse. Someone must have tipped the targets off, warning them before the DEA could spring their trap.

You wince. You know the effort that had gone into it, the countless hours of sifting through transcripts, painstakingly confirming scraps of rumors whispered through hushed calls. Weeks of work, wasted, all gone to ashes in mere moments. No arrests to show for it and worse, a potential leak. Javi’s desperation makes sense to you now. If one of your investigations had imploded this catastrophically you’d be out for blood, too. 

But of course, there’s nothing he can do about it. Not yet. Not until the dust has settled and the analysts can come up with new leads. Until then, Javi just has to sit with the knowledge that his last several weeks of work have been utterly wasted, that the cartel has slipped from their grasp yet again, and are likely laughing their heads off about it from a safe distance, all while plotting their next devastating move. It’s eating him alive.

His story finished, Javi heaves a sigh and scrubs his hands over his face, still coated in a sheen of sweat. Belatedly, he takes in your scattered papers, the chair shoved away from the table where you were working when he burst in. “Shit, you were in the middle of something, sorry. I shouldn’t have burst in on you like this, I just-” he shrugs vaguely, still looking bewildered and only half present.

“Hush.” You lay a hand on his chest, can feel it rising with every heaving breath beneath the solid tac vest, and tip his face up so his eyes meet yours. “What do you need?” 

You’re assuming it’ll be something like ice water or, more likely, a shot of whiskey. Maybe a shower to cool off. He’s got some clothes in a drawer in your bedroom, maybe he’ll feel better if he changes…?

While you’re brainstorming potential solutions, Javi is staring at you with all the intensity of a panther sizing up its next meal. Before the thought can properly register, he surges toward you, so suddenly your back hits the counter, its edge digging into your lower back as his arms surround you. His broad hands clutch at the fabric of your dress, making the skirt ride dangerously high up your thighs. His lips crash against yours, slanting and molding to you as he grabs the back of your head. When you gasp he deepens the kiss, his hand clenching in your hair as he tips your head back, plundering your mouth so aggressively you feel teeth. It’s only after those teeth nip sharply at your bottom lip that he pulls back, his breathing ragged. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not- I should go.” He hunches his shoulders like he’s ashamed to be seen like this and makes for the door. 

Oh. So that’s what he needs. You can picture it now- him bending you over the counter and taking you, hard, right then and there, using you to work the sharp edge off his temper. Just the idea of it, Javi pouring that frustration into fucking you, is thrilling. Besides, turning your brain off for a bit, giving yourself over to all that fury is exactly what you need right now, and he thinks he needs to shield you from that impulse? Hell, no.

You stop him with one touch of your hand. “Don’t go.” Javi’s head jerks up and he stands rigid as you press yourself against him, your hips touching, your hands moving over the taut lines of his arms. “You clearly need to take the edge off.” He hisses as your lips close on his trapezius, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “And I could use a distraction,” you croon. 

“I’m too worked up- I don’t want to hurt you, cariño,” he bites out, even as he looks at you like he could eat you alive and spit out your bones, still hungry for more. 

Javi knows you like it rough. Hell, he’s fucked you through gritted teeth and snarls enough times to know you love it that way. This is different. This is burning rage and rough hands, the difference between training rounds and live fire. 

You want all of it.

Your lips curl in a knowing smile and you straddle his thigh, denim-clad muscle taut against the scrap of cotton separating your bodies beneath your skirt. You grind down on him and meet his burning gaze. “Not even a little?” 

He growls at your challenge, a caged jungle cat, all sleek, bunched muscle and barely checked savagery. He eyes you up and down, assessing, his knuckles tightening against the counter. He runs a thumb over his lower lip and that’s when you know he’s genuinely considering it. You clench and shudder in anticipation, eyes locked on him as he demands “give me your safeword.”

“Javi, you know what it is.” The two of you had chosen it months ago, a reminder of the vacation you’re always meaning to take but never quite get around to.

He leans closer, eyes dark and grin darker. “Remind me,” he rumbles, clutching the edge of the counter he’s got your back up against. 

Your throat bobs as you swallow. He’s so close. You can see the sweat sliding down the planes of his neck, feel the edge of his tac vest digging into you, practically taste the bitter tang of unspent adrenaline. The thrill of the hunt rolls off of him in waves, the livewire burn of his need sparking an answering flare in your blood. You have to lick your lips before answering in a whisper “It’s Aruba.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice the inescapable rumble of an impending landslide. His nose drags against your cheek, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “And you’ll use it if you need to.” He’s no longer asking. He’s telling. 

 “Yes, Javi.”

His teeth close on your earlobe sharply. “Yes, what?”

Another shiver runs through you. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s fucking right.” Without further warning, Javi grabs you by your upper arm and shoves you towards the bedroom. 

Your heart rate spikes, blood thrumming in time with Javi’s heavy tread marching you down the hallway. His grip is fierce, his expression fiercer, and you suddenly wonder what it’s like to go toe to toe with this man, Agent Peña, in the field. For all his honor and dedication to justice, there’s a streak of ruthlessness running through the heart of him, a need to see the mission through to the end, no matter the cost. Javier is a good man, better than he’ll admit to himself, but that darkness is there. Not a flaw, not really. A smoky occlusion in the ruby heart of him, one more facet in the complex matrix of his inner self.

This knowledge isn’t new to you, but Javi letting you see it firsthand is. It doesn’t scare you. Nothing about him ever could. You trust him, know him, too well for that. No, you’re honored that Javi is willing to show you the jagged edges of himself, to trust you to handle these broken pieces without either of you winding up bloodied.

As you step through the doorway to your bedroom, Javi pushes you towards the bed. “Strip.” His eyes rake over you hungrily, devouring every new bit of skin you reveal as you obey, dropping one garment after another on the floor of your bedroom. He watches, arms folded, still fully clothed, still wearing that tac vest that shorts your brain out. In no time you’re completely naked before him, your body on full display in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, but he makes no move to undress. He sits in the middle of your bed, leaning his back against the headboard like he owns the place and crooks his finger at you. You crawl to him on hands and knees, letting him pull you into his lap.

“Tell me what you want, querida.” His voice is low and sweet, amber honey dripping into your ear while he noses at your cheek, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through you. Fuck if that voice doesn’t go straight your cunt.

You squirm in his lap, shifting to straddle his waist, your naked sex molded to the bulge swelling beneath his tight jeans. “I want you to fuck me, Javi. Let me help you get rid of all that tension.” You reach up, start kneading his shoulders, but he tsks and pushes your hands aside.

“Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You jut out your lip in a mock pout. He’s the one who pounded on your door, amped up and aching, so it hardly seems fair that he’s turned the tables on you this easily, and yet... 

You’d expected him to take you quickly, to burn through you wildfire fast, but now that he’s got you where he wants you he’s intent on breaking you down slowly. 

Your fingers curl over the edge of his vest, clinging to him while he kisses you breathless. He’s in complete control, every gasp and jut of your hips unfolding at his urging. He tastes every part of you, his teeth closing over pulse points, tongue flicking over every dip and hollow of your body. You lose all sense of time when he reaches your breasts, drowning in sensation, only pulled back to the present when he pinches a nipple or bites down on the full moon swell of your breast. 

He leaves marks as he goes, livid reminders of his claiming every inch of you. You submit to all of it, your fingers scrabbling for purchase over the expanse of that heavy vest as Javi bears down on you. Heat is building in you with every bite and suck and caress, but your body is screaming out for more, more, more. It’s then that it finally hits you- the bastard is doing this deliberately. He wants you as keyed up as he is. That realization pitches you headlong into the blaze he’s been stoking all along and you moan, desperate for more. 

He indulges you, still painfully slowly, more fuel for the fire raging in both of you. Reaching down between you, he drags his fingers over your thighs, already slick with the desire dripping from you. “Christ, you’re so wet from just this. You like letting me do this, don’t you? Getting so worked up being my good little slut.” 

You gasp and nod, whimpering now that he’s so close to where you need him but still not quite there. He rewards you by finally pressing those thick, clever trigger fingers against your weeping cunt. He moves in slow, torturous circles, and you reach for him, try to kiss him, to beg wordlessly for more. He pulls away, chuckling at your eagerness. “No. Let me do this for you.” 

He knows damn well what he’s doing, pushing you to see when you’ll get impatient. You try to wait him out but forget yourself when he slips one finger into the molten clutch of your sex. It’s so good but you need more. “Please,” you murmur, moving to kiss him once more, your hand dropping between you, needing to feel him. Besides, a wicked, wanton part of you wonders what he’ll do if you disobey him like this. 

Your answer comes swiftly. Javi flips you onto your back with a snarl, one hand behind your head to cushion the sudden move. Grabbing your wrists in one hand, he hauls them above your head, pinning you in place. “What did I tell you? Hold still!” He slaps your pussy once, twice, three times in rapid fire succession, each hit harder than the last, leaving you stinging and aching for more. You moan and writhe in his hold, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some kind of release. 

Javi watches you mercilessly. “Yeah, you like that? Filthy thing. Want me to do it again?” Your toes curl and he takes that as your answer, delivering one more slap to your cunt. He leaves his hand there, tracing slow, deliberate circles around your clit. The sudden tenderness, the tantalizing possibility of finally gaining some relief has you practically sobbing.  

“You gonna be a good girl and keep those hands to yourself?”

“Y-yes, Javi.” 

He pulls his hand away at once and you whimper, realizing your mistake as his expression darkens. “I know I didn’t just hear you forget your manners.”

“Sir,” you correct yourself quickly. “I meant, yes sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You know from experience that he loves this, temporarily reducing you to a pleading, pliant mess. He knows the trust this requires, and the way it frees you to give yourself over to pleasure completely. It’s a responsibility he never takes lightly. He always knows just how far to push, what boundaries to test or limits to prod, knowing that’s half the fun. As for the other half...

He works you open, one thumb on your clit, his fingers probing deeper and deeper inside you. Your breath hitches when he’s knuckle-deep, massaging that spot that makes you clench and shudder. He gets you off like this more times than you can count, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you from your curled toes to your tingling scalp. He strokes you and finger fucks you for what feels like an eternity, all the whole whispering sweet filth into your ear. Dark promises of how he intends to take you, to use you, all without filling you the way he knows you crave.

“Please, please fuck me. I need you so bad baby, I don’t think I have another one in me like this.” He’s made you cum so many times you’ve lost count, worked your clit until you’re completely over stimulated and begging for mercy. 

He has none. Instead of giving in, he delivers another harsh smack to your abused cunt. “Tell me who owns this pretty pussy.” 

“You do, Javi, please...” 

“Then give me one more.” He spits and you feel it land, slipping over your swollen folds. It’s lewd and obscene and forgotten the instant Javi lowers his head and licks the sting of the latest slap away. His broad tongue works you mercilessly, ripping another shuddering cry of his name from your lips as he brings you to the edge and shoves you over it once again.

“Get on your knees.” He makes you wait, arms trembling, pussy drenched and waiting while he gets up to undress. He misses nothing, clocking the instant when you clench, your throat bobbing, as he unbuckles his leather belt. Javi quirks an eyebrow and, folding it in half, he swats it once, hard enough to be loud but not enough to truly hurt, against your ass. An experiment more than anything else. You let slip a filthy moan, confirming his suspicion that you truly are this comfortable with rougher treatment. 

“Maybe next time, querida,” Javi chuckles. He tosses the belt aside, along with those tight jeans and every other bit of clothing, rejoining you on the bed. He takes his place behind you, hands clutching your hips as he teases your entrance with the fat head of his cock. You can feel how hard he is, the length of him like steel as he pushes himself lazily against your folds. It’s more agonizing buildup, and even when he finally, finally starts to fuck you, he does it with just the tip of his cock, thrusting shallowly, enough to make you clench without being filled. It’s torture. You try to push your hips back to take him deeper, but his firm grip holds you motionless.

“Something the matter, baby?”

You grit your teeth. If he doesn’t fuck you properly right the fuck now you might actually combust. “I need more Javi, please,” you beg. 

“Yeah, think you can take it?” 

Your only response is a desperate whine, met with a harsh chuckle. “You asked for it.” 

He shoves himself inside you in one savage thrust. Even with all of his teasing, the orgasms he’s already pulled from you, and the slick practically dripping from your swollen pussy, it’s a shock. You gasp, his thick cock plunging into you with a filthy squelch, and the sudden overwhelming fullness forces another climax from you without warning. You clamp around him and cry out, barely even registering the flood of wetness practically squirting from you, soaking the rough curls at the base of Javi’s cock. 

“Fuck that’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good - fucking - girl.” He thrusts into you in time with his words, working you through the sudden orgasm. As if your release was some sort of signal, this is the moment when Javi finally lets the leash of his control slip, fucking you like a man possessed. His hands grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise, he pulls you onto him as his hips slap against you, setting a brutal, punishing pace. 

You’re dimly aware that the harder the fucks you, the more your body slips against the sheets and away from him. Frustrated, Javi shifts his grip, pulling you up, your back flush against his chest and his arms bands of steel around your breasts. His breath is ragged in your ear and even when his teeth close on your shoulder, it does little to muffle his harsh grunts. 

Time slips away again and all you know is the bone-rattling ferocity of Javi fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure you hardly know when one orgasm rolls into the next, all you know is that Javi has you in a death grip and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Finally, through a haze of sweat and bliss, you feel him stiffen behind you, his hips stuttering and a strangled groan escaping him as he drops his head to your shoulder, his cock spitting deep inside you. You bury your hand in his hair, mutter soothing nonsense as he spills himself into you. When he finally stills, the two of you collapse into a heap on the bed, his body a comforting weight on yours.

You lay there, in a sweaty, blissed out tangle for several minutes, both trying to catch your breath. Javi recovers first, rolling off of you and gathering you into his arms. He pushes the hair from your eyes, his own going concerned when you’re still too boneless to respond to him calling your name.

Giving you some time to recover, he gets the arnica gel from your nightstand and is already smoothing it over the livid marks on your hips when you come back to yourself enough to speak.

“Mm, feels good,” you slur, rolling onto your side to give him better access. You’d introduced him to this particular remedy when he’d shown up with bruises after a particularly difficult arrest, and it had quickly become a favorite aftercare ritual whenever things turned rough in bed. Javi’s thick fingers glide soothingly over every ache and sting, though you catch his wrist when he moves to smooth the gel over the bite marks he left on your breasts. 

“Oh, baby, was I too rough here?” His eyes are soft with concern and the beginnings of apology, so you’re quick to shake your head no. You roll closer and brush away the sweat-slick curls threatening to hide his face. 

“It’s not that, Javi. I just… kind of like seeing the marks. The gel makes them heal faster, so leave a few for me, would you?” 

He kisses you. “Ok, wild thing,” he says affectionately. “Give me your wrists though, unless you want everyone at your office seeing what I did to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you tease, but offer him your wrists nonetheless. He’s so gentle, cradling the back of your hand in his own massive palm, his fingers rubbing the gel into your wrist in slow, circular strokes. When he’s finished, he raises your hands to kiss your palms, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes you melt. 

“C’mere, baby.” Javi pulls you to lay on top of him, running his hands over your hair and pressing kisses to your face. “You good?”

It’s sweet, the way he fusses like this after having just taken you entirely apart, soothing you with the same single-minded determination he brings to every other part of his life, and you bask in the glow of his care. “Yeah Javi, I’m perfect.”

Javi huffs out a laugh at that. “I'll say.”

You shift in his arms to get a better look at him. He seems more like himself now, less agitated, more present. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He drops a kiss to the crown of your head and breathes out. You can feel his body relaxing as he does it, proof that he’s telling the truth. 

“Sleep then, I’m sure you need it.” He nods, his breathing already turning slow and even as he drifts towards rest. You close your eyes, about to join him when the solution to your work problem flashes through your mind, clear as day. As soon as you’re sure Javi has drifted off, you slip out of bed and back to work. 

Maybe you both could use that vacation after all…

[fanmoose12]

When I saw this https://twitter.com/tenyawanyad/status/1401561345539993600?s=19 , I thought of Hange in your fic who works as undercover to get closer to Levi but ends up being asked by Levi to bring him to Erwin. Will read all your other works until you update that one!

the second part (kinda?) to this!

God, Hange hated waiting.

Always had, ever since she was but a small child with skinned knees and mismatched pigtails. She didn't wear pigtails anymore, opting for a more practical ponytail, and her knees were only occasionally skinned, but that feeling, that sense of powerlessness when all you can do is watch the minutes trickle by, not knowing what to expect, having no way to prevent the possible catastrophe... It always led to a lump in her throat that was too big to swallow.

And now, after that gaze Erwin gave her, the one that said we'll talk about it later, she felt her insides twist themselves in a tight, painful knot.

It's been almost an hour, a full fucking hour since Erwin had thrown the door to his office shut, inviting the damn thief inside with him.

An hour and they were yet to come out. Was Erwin still alive?

Was the thief still alive?

Hange listened carefully, but she didn't hear any signs of fighting or struggle. She knew Erwin, though. He could kill a man in ten different ways without creating a single sound.

And that thief. Hange witnessed firsthand how skillful he was.

How deft his fingers were, how firm yet soft was his touch, how-

No. Wrong train of thought, Hange.

Distraction, distraction, she had to find a distraction. Thankfully, she didn't have to look for too long. Distraction came in a face of Mike, who leaned against the wall next to her.

"The big man is still in here?" he asked, pointing his chin at the door of Erwin's office.

"Yep," Hange replied, boring holes in that damned door. What was going behind it? And what was going to happen when it opens?

"Had fun?" Mike murmured, looking at her beneath his long blonde hair.

Did she have fun? With that awful thief? With terrible, foul-mouthed thief who had no manners and with the most beautiful eyes Hange had ever seen? And strong, muscular arms she wanted to be buried in? And that toned, chiseled chest that-

No. Wrong thought again.

"Not particularly," Hange gritted, huffing in annoyance. The thief was an enemy, he humiliated her and could have even killed her. She shouldn't find that attractive. Her stomach shouldn't feel so warm, her heart shouldn't speed up just at the thought of that short jerk. And yet...

"Sucks to be interrupted, huh?" Mike hummed.

Hange's eyes widened. What the, how did he-

"Erwin wired you," Mike shamelessly explained.

His shin was kicked right after that.

"Bastards!" Hange shouted, hitting his arm, she was aiming for the head, but that damned tall jerk... "You two-"

"It was Erwin's idea!"

"Awful, old-"

"I'm only a year older than you!"

"Perverted assholes with no sense of shame!"

Hange finally reached his head, giving it a smack.

"No sense of shame?" Mike lifted an eyebrow, grinning despite Hange's vicious assault. "You are the one who tried to sleep with a target."

"I didn't-" Hange scoffed, pointedly ignoring the blush she felt spreading through her cheeks. "I didn't try to sleep with him. It was just a part of elaborate plan."

"Sure," Mike, the ever asshole patted her shoulder. "Whatever makes you sleep at night, Hans."

God, what an ass-

Mike was saved from another onslaught of punches by the deep rumble of Erwin's voice.

"Come inside, Hange," he said, and, oh god, did he always sound so ominous?

Hange gulped and nodded, obediently trailing after Erwin like a naughty high schooler.

The inside of Erwin's office was dark, a lone lamp on his desk being the only source of light. It made Hange feel just a little more nervous, just a little more reluctant to hear what Erwin got to say.

The shadows that danced across the walls and the deep crease between his eyebrows gave Hange yet another hint that this conversation wouldn't be overly pleasant.

That feeling increased, mixing with spiky, hot anger, when Hange's eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness and she saw that she and Erwin weren't alone in the room.

The damned thief, Levi as he had called himself, was here with them.

He was leaning against the wall with his hands crossed on his chest, looking extremely broody, a little mysterious and unbelievably, unfairly attractive.

Hange wanted to kick him. She wanted to grab his soft black hair, bring his sexy body closer to her and then kick him as hard as she could manage.

And when all was said and done, when she finished paying him back for the insult and offense, she'd kiss him. Until there was no breath left in either of them.

Then, she'd kick him once more.

"Hange, sit down, please," Erwin spoke up, his eyes boring into Hange like he knew exactly what was going on inside her head.

Now, Hange - Hange obviously wasn't dumb. She was a little careless at times, sometimes she could be hot-headed and reckless, but she wasn't dumb. She knew that causing a scene in front of their enemy wouldn't end well.

But, by gods, she wanted to cause that scene so much, she was dying to do it.

Erwin's piercing gaze was making her reconsider, though.

It was as they say - the annoying, sexy thiefs come and go, but her strict bosses are forever.

After making sure that she sent the thief the meanest and darkest of her looks, Hange managed to somewhat quell her anger. It wasn't enough to make her forget about it completely - especially when thief had no reaction to her whatsoever - but it was enough to let Hange listen to what Erwin was going to say.

She'd deal with the thief later, when he was out of the safety of Erwin's office.

Sitting behind his large, mahogany desk, Erwin cleared his throat.

"I asked you both to come here to discuss something," he began, putting chin on his hands. "Your last mission yielded unexpected, but largely satisfying results, so..."

Your last mission? Did Erwin mean her mission, or did he...?

Hange felt a little dizzy as she gave it all some thought.

Erwin couldn't do such a thing, could he? He would never do this to her, of all people, he wasn't capable of-

Hange wanted to laugh. Wanted to slap herself for being so naive and then laugh at her stupidity.

What was she even thinking about? Erwin, the sly, manipulative bastard, was more than capable. He could, he would and he did do this to her.

What a wicked, brilliant man. Hange was so fortunate that he was on her side.

The thief, however... Was Erwin really ready to give him his trust? What did the thief do to deserve it?

"I have a new mission for you," Erwin's voice broke Hange out of her reverie, made her jump and gawk at him. "For both of you," he clarified, forcing Hange's eyes to widen even more. "Levi here already knows about one Nicholas Lovof..." the thief visibly tensed at the mention of that name, his jaw tightening and the scowl on his face growing even darker. Obviously, there was some possibly juicy story with the thief and that Lovof involved. Hange longed to know it, she Erwin wouldn't budge, but Mike... especially drunk Mike... there a chance it could work out. "He knows something about us, something that made him send an assasin after me."

His expression didn't change, Erwin didn't even look at Levi, but oh... the tone of his voice, the slight, barely noticable irritation told Hange everything she needed.

Not just a thief then, eh?

"I need you to infiltrate his office, find everything he has on us. And do it discreetly, of course."

"And how should we go about doing it?" Hange asked. Usually Erwin had a plan she had to regiliously follow, where every possible complication was accounted for. Wasn't he going to give her one this time? Why?

A ghost of a smirk appeared on Erwin's stoic features. "Today I witnessed just how creative you can get, Hange. I'm sure you can manage on your own this time. Besides," the smirk became just a little more apparent, his complecency more and more infuriating. "You'll have Levi with you. I trust him to watch your back."

What an insolent, cocky fucker.

"You may go now," Erwin hurried to say, before the volcano called Hange erupted. "Your mission starts in two days. Until then... you have time to get to know each better."

God, Hange wanted to kick him too. She wanted to wipe that smug grin from his face, wanted to ruin that immaculate haircut and tear his eyebrows one hair at a time.

But the thief... Hange wanted to get her hands on him first. So she could simply kick him, obviously.

Hange swiftly rose to her feet, following the thief out. Naturally, she completely ignored the hearty laugh that came from Erwin's lips.

The thief walked fast, faster than Hange thought he would, considering his height, but her legs were longer and she still managed to catch up with him, even with her stilettos on.

Once she did, she looked around, making sure that the hallway was empty. It was, which was perfect for what Hange had planned.

Of course, there were still security cameras all around them, but Hange didn't care about them. Mike and Erwin had already heard enough. Well, now, Hange was going to make him see something too.

Perhaps, it would even teach the old geezers a thing or two.

"Erwin said we have to know each other better..." Hange spoke with a sly grin. It grew wider, more wicked when she saw Levi draw a sharp breath. "How about we start right now?"

The thief froze for no more than a moment.

It was all Hange needed to seize his shoulders and press him against the wall. She invaded his personal space instantly, not giving him a chance to retaliate or throw her off.

She started with his cheek, cupping it gently before moving lower, tracing her long fingers across his sharp jaw, then equally sharp clavicle.

The thief's breathing increased as she did so. He didn't attempt to break free, didn't try to get away or overpower Hange. He didn't even move, just stood there, staring at Hange with wide eyes.

Hange met his gaze, smiling when she saw that his pupils were already wide. She almost laughed from delight when her hand traveled down his chest, just a touch away from his pants, and Levi visibly shivered.

"It's late already," she purred, putting her hands on his waist. She started to slowly sink to her knees, lowering her hands to his thighs.

Something that very much resembled a moan escaped from his lips, as he stared down at Hange.

She moved closer still, just a breath away from where she knew Levi wanted.

Her grin slowly turned from seductive to victorious, as his fingers found their way into her hair.

"It's late," she repeated, one hand leaving his side to grasp at her own ankle. She fiddled with a strap of her left stiletto, feigning great interest in it. "That's why we should get some sleep."

She threw Lev's hands off her, standing up to her feet and stepping out of his arms. "We have a training tomorrow morning."

The thief's face was priceless - the incomprehension, the shock, the annoyance - Hange delighted in it all.

And that quiet sound - the angry groan, god, Hange wanted to set it as her ringtone.

She evened their score, and, damn, was she ecstatic that she did.

Even as she walked away, Hange felt the burning gaze that followed after her. She couldn't stop giggling all the way to her place, still high on her victory.

Erwin wanted Levi to watch her back, and while Hange wasn't yet ready to trust him to do that, she had a feeling, well... she had a feeling she'd enjoy it like blazes.

[fakecrfan]

POV: You wake up in the TMA universe at the start of season 1.

You find yourself on the streets of London, cold and confused.

You try to figure out what happened and get home. You discover the place you lived no longer exists. The place you worked no longer exists.

You try to call the numbers of family, friends, anyone you knew. Baffled voices that you don’t recognize answer you, and then hang up.

As you're wandering around the streets getting increasingly terrified, you pass by the Magnus Institute. Then, everything makes sense.

You hurry in and blurt out: "I would like to make a statement"

Rosie smiles politely.

“Alright, let’s get you the proper forms then.”

She tells you that the Archivist, Jonathan Sims, will see you in a moment. As you are waiting for him, you recall what happens to people who give statements to Jonathan Sims. Unceasing bad dreams. Unrelenting panic attacks. Enough that Jess Tyrell stopped being able to go out in public.

"Ah," you think. "I will not do that then."

You leave in a hurry. Outside, you realize:

oh, I'm the only one who can stop the apocalypse now, aren't i

You shiver. That thought can wait, you think. For now you need to find... somewhere to stay. You are effectively homeless. No, not effectively. You are straight up homeless.

You pull out your wallet to pay for food. Your card is declined. You try to use cash, only to be told it’s counterfeit. Everything is just a little too much to the left of your reality for you to navigate.

Finally you find social services of some kind. They ask for your information, including your NIN. you aren't surprised when they say the info they have on file for that number is.... not you. You are disappointed though.

They help you to a homeless shelter. You sit on your cot and cry self-pityingly for a bit, and then that pressure comes back to your mind:

The world is going to end. You know the world is going to end. You're the only one who can do anything about it.

You turn over and decide that's something you can deal with in the morning.

----

The next day, you think about it again.

"That's something I can deal with when I have an apartment," is what you think then.

So that becomes your next project. Finding your footing as a displaced person. Social services helps but it's... sporadic. It takes months for you to get more stable housing.

When you lie down on the couch of the new, well, new associate you've made, you once again remember that the world is going to end. That you are the only one who can do anything about it.

"I'll think about that when I get a job"

-----

Time continues to pass. As you are trying to get on your feet, you make feeble attempts to... start something.

You go to the Magnus Institute a few times. But it's hard. You've always had terrible social anxiety,. And everyone there seems so cold. You can feel eyes on your back: staring, watching your every move. Normally that alone is enough to make you quit for the day.

A lot of times, the main cast you remember is out doing research. When they are there, you are about to walk up and speak to them when the anxiety hits you again.

What if Elias sees you talking to them? What if he kills you?

You decide to retreat for a little while, then. Just to think of a better plan.

You spend the next month getting your first job in this new world. You start a timeline of when you think the apocalypse is going to happen, but remembering the canon dates is hard. It's not a very helpful timeline, and so you give it up.

Eventually you think the best thing to do is to wait until Elias has been arrested and then talk to the others. When Elias is in prison, he can't murder you for revealing your plans.

This means Sasha and Tim will die. But--they might have died anyway, even with your intervention. Who’s to say? Anyway, you’re not the one who will kill them. It’s not your fault.

You scan the news every day for things about the Magnus Institute, particularly the head of it getting arrested.

During this time, you do a little better. You have a nice apartment now, you think. Nice by your own standards, at least. You decorate the place a little. Get some video games that you like--or well, they aren't the same ones as in your world, but close enough you think?

Months pass.

One day it hits you that maybe the papers would never actually report on Elias being arrested.

Oh shit, you think.

You go back to the Magnus Institute then. By this point, Rosie recognizes you. She grants you the same expression one grants a wayward alley cat. You ask who the current head is. You are told "Peter Lukas."

Shit.

"Can I make a statement?"

Rosie looks nervous. "Um, the Archivist is on medical leave."

"Okay can I talk to one of his assistants?"

Rosie gets this very tired look in her eyes.

"I'll... ask."

Rosie phones the archives extension

it rings

it rings

it rings

"They've all really been through it recently," Rosie tells you. "They don't--like to talk to anyone else, now."

"I have to talk to them," you say. "Um, can you--can you tell Martin Blackwood specifically that I need to talk to him? That it's about Jon?"

Martin is--you like Martin. Martin will be nice and safe. He'll be easier to talk to than Melanie at this point, or Basira. Still, Rosie looks tired again.

"I'll have a chat with him," Rosie says. "How about you go home for now, and I'll call you when I've talked to him."

"But--"

You're bad at this. You were always bad at this. You can barely sign up for anything on your own. Your mother has done so many calls and filled out so many forms for you.

You never cultivated the skill of standing in a lobby and insisting to talk to someone. Maybe you'll just irritate Rosie and she'll blacklist you if you dig in your heels now. Anyway, you're already so tired from this. You think about going home, and playing some Medal of Honour IV.

"Fine," you say.

You go home. You play the game. You sleep.

You're not giving up, you say to yourself. You're just--biding your time.

Rosie does not call you.

It pains you, but you realize you have to go back in and ask to speak to someone again. You'll go today after work, you decide.

No, wait, you're too tired from work today. You'll go tomorrow.

Maybe on the weekend.

----

You finally go back

Rosie tells you she just--hasn't been able to get a hold of Martin.

"Fine," you say. "Any of the other assistants."

Rosie actually looks a bit worried for you. "Um, they're not--they don't take well to unexpected visitors. Let me wait and chat them up about it."

You do not listen this time.

You march down into the basement level where the archives are. The door is--well. Shit. It's barricaded? You knock. You keep knocking.

"Melanie! Basira!" you say. "I have to talk!"

The door opens too quickly. You barely get a glimpse of Melanie's snarl before she strikes and your vision goes white.

She hits you a few times. No knives, just fists. You hear Basira in the backround, barking for Melanie to stand down. Once there is an opening and you can blearily see again, you run away in terror.

It's not--you didn't intend to run. You were just afraid.

----

You go home, and realize that Melanie didn't even really hit you in a super serious way. Nothing that would warrant a hospital trip, at least. Nothing that has left you with a lot of pain, outside of the immediate terror of physical violence.

You probably could have stuck it out there. You should have.

You think about all the months--no, years now--that have passed without you making any progress.

"But that’s not my fault,” you say.

"I was having a really hard time. I was homeless. I've been struggling with my mental health. I still have to keep the rent paid and feed myself."

"It's not my fault. It's not."

"I will do something. Just--I need some more time."

You sleep.

You decide to wait a bit for your bruises to heal up before going back.

When you do drag yourself back to the Institute, now there is a PTSD reaction to going into the Institute on top of the social anxiety.

You leave quickly. Rosie looks so sad for you.

You do try to go back. You do try to get back in contact with the Archives, or go back when Jon is back up. But there's always something. Not something directly stopping you. Just--

Tiredness. Work. Illness. Doctor's appointments. Panic attacks. The Archives staff being unreachable.

The world is going to end. You're the only one who can stop it.

"That's not true though," you think. "I mean, technically anyone could. I just have a little more information that could help."

"It's never one person's fault," you tell yourself as you crawl into bed after another flight of anxiety struck you as you were about to cross the street to the Institute. "It's everything. It's--a whole system. It's Jonah's fault really. If I don't--I'm not to blame."

“I’m not to blame.”

----

You are playing Medal of Honour V when your phone lights up with a notification that there was an outburst of violence at a place known as the Magnus Institute, and billionaire Peter Lukas has disappeared in the confusion.

You should get up. It’s going to happen, and happen soon. You hand twitches on the controller.

You remember a quote you saw before you ended up here, on Facebook of all things.

"Don't wonder what you'd be doing in Nazi Germany. Whatever you're doing now, is what you would have been doing then."

Because bad things were happening in the world all the time, your preachy Facebook aunt said. There is always genocide, and famine, and war. It’s not some movie fantasy from the past.

You think about that. About the horrors in your world. Those movements that you retweeted support for and occasionally donated $5 to. The protests you awkwardly passed by on your way to work.

You quietly realize what kind of person you are. What you would have been doing in Nazi Germany, or the civil rights era in the U.S., or during the catastrophes in your own world, or right now.

It's what you were always going to do.

And so you get back to Medal of Honour V.

----

You're still dreading the apocalypse of course. It won’t be easy.  It will be around six months to a year of full on torture, specifically designed to be the worst you have ever felt. Something about that soothes you. Something about knowing you are a victim too, or maybe knowing that you’ll be punished.

But--it will end, and then you'll be alright. Everything will return to normal, and you can go back to your apartment and your job and your games. It’s not all that bad.

You feel a twinge of guilt for Martin and Jon, who you could ave intervened for. You feel more than a twinge for the worlds the Entities will infect after. But--maybe it will all work out okay. Maybe the universe is a kind place. Maybe other worlds will be able to handle the fears better.

Who knows! There is always hope!

----

[When the sky turns red and the great Eye opens, when you start to hear the howls of your apartment neighbors through the wall--

Nothing happens to you. You are fine. It does not touch you.

Oh.]

[imaginethathaikyuu]

tis the damn season

atsumu miya x fem reader 

the first fic in a series i like to call “Me Writing Whatever The Hell I Want” (a working title) hope u like it or dont idk im not ur boss!!!!!!!!!!

synopsis: Running away was easy when you were chasing hazy dreams of a big city that was destined to be yours, when your rear-view mirror showed nothing but your hole in the wall hometown. But now it’s all waiting tables and failing auditions. You were still running, but somehow, these winding roads always lead you back to Miya Atsumu - a man you’ve loved and left, until you return home for the holidays. 

tags: friends to lovers, exes to lovers, angst without a happy ending, established pre-relationship, friends with benefits, reader lives in Undisclosed Big City lmao who has celebrity dreams, atsumu is ur good ole southern boy (sort of), canon divergent, not edited, light nsfw, beginnings of sex but isn’t very detailed 

word count: 4220

song inspo  (tis the damn season by taylor swift)

-

i won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay… 

. . . 

The soundtrack of this early morning replayed in your head as you made a hazy drive to the neighborhood’s hardware store, cutting left onto the correct street and forcing the car’s back tire over the curb you couldn’t miss. 

The replay of events looping in your mind? A whirring, then a splashing, then your father’s booming voice shouting curse words at anyone who could hear them. Your name was laced in there somewhere with demands for you to get to the kitchen, and you couldn’t tumble down the stairs fast enough to see what in the hell was going on. 

It was your first day home for the holidays, and already it was a catastrophe. 

Somehow your dad had busted a pipe underneath the kitchen sink and a strong stream of water was spraying halfway across the room because of it - your feet landed in a shallow pool when you finally reached the first floor. You didn’t have time to think of any questions before the man at fault, who was on his knees with his head hidden under the sink relentlessly trying to turn the water off, sent you out the door with more shouts, telling you to go to Miya’s Hardware and buy… something. 

“A connector?” You were talking to yourself, thinking out loud as you finally parked, but it didn’t help you remember. All you could do was walk inside the store and hope someone knew what you needed. 

It’d been years since you had been in this shop, but it looked just the same as when you were following your dad through its isles. You didn’t even bother browsing now, though - you went straight to the back of the store to the counter, expecting to see a familiar, perhaps older, face eager to help you. 

That isn’t what you found. 

“Well, hey stranger.” 

That voice rang in your ears like you’d just heard it through a megaphone pointed directly at you. Something about it was so warm, but it left you with a shiver down your spine and goosebump ridden skin. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up, and you hadn’t even turned in the direction the words came from. 

But you didn’t have to look in order to know just who it was. “Atsumu.” 

“What in the hell are you doing back in town?” His voice rang with excited confusion; it carried the same inflection as anyone who’s happy to see you. Like nearly forgotten family members at a reunion before it all goes to hell, or the way the tone of your father’s voice changes when you tell him you’re doing well and mean it. People don’t speak that way often. 

He pulled you in for a hug and you gladly reciprocated, already forgetting that you were supposed to be in a hurry. 

“Home for the holidays. How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” he replied. “I’ve missed you.” 

His voice felt more like home than your four bedroom walls did, the charming drawl and depth in his words immediately reeling you in. It was familiar. You had spent a long time trying to forget about that familiarity; too long learning how to straighten out your words and lose any hint of the small town you came from. But Atsumu - he sounded like the epitome of this place. 

He didn’t give you time to reply, for one reason or another; instead he decided to push you back by your shoulders and get a good look at you. Up and down and up again, likely noticing every change you had made to your appearance in your time away. 

“Are you still wearing your pajamas, or is this a new… trend?” 

You looked down at yourself, “Shit,” and closed your jacket tight over the old graphic t-shirt you wore, but nothing could cover your pink polka-dotted pants. And you’d have been hit in the face with embarrassment if the image of your dad and the broken sink and a flooded kitchen didn’t smack you first. “Shit, no, um… I need something to fix a broken sink. Are you… do you work here now?” 

“I do - and you’re gonna need to be more specific.” 

“I don’t know, Atsumu,” you laughed, slowly realizing the bizarreness of what you were about to tell him. “I woke up to my dad shouting and water shooting out from under the sink, literally flooding the kitchen. He told me to get a part for the pipe… a connector, or a couple, or something - I don’t know.” 

“...A coupler?” 

“Yes!” 

“...He didn’t happen to tell you what size to get, did he?” 

The look on your face must have been a good enough answer for him, because he took off into a random aisle and left you wondering just how many sizes of couplers there could be. 

“This one will probably do the job,” he said as his path rounded the counter. “If it doesn’t, then, I can ignore the return policy for you. Just this once, though.” 

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu.” You made your payment and he slid your product over the counter as his elbows landed on it, leaning down to make himself comfortable. Like he thought he’d be there awhile. 

“How long are you gonna be in town?” 

“Two weeks. Why do you ask?” You knew why - you just wanted to hear him say it. 

“We should catch up.” 

He was grinning and shrugging and fidgeting with his fingers, just like he always did, and you would never turn down any offer he made you. 

“We should. I’ve got to get home, but are you free tonight?” 

“We close at six,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, meaning every word. You wondered if he knew that. 

“So will I,” he replied, and then you made your way out before you convinced yourself to stay. 

It’d been three years since you last spoke to Atsumu. In that time, you had done a lot that felt like nothing, living in a different city that felt worlds bigger than this town - that city was a place you had once convinced yourself was all yours. You had pulled off running away effortlessly. 

But it didn’t matter how much time goes by between your meetings with Atsumu. There was something there that you could never shake, the hold you had on each other was anchor tight. Ten years could pass and you would speak to each other like it had only been one day. You’d have world ending fights and one of you would always come crawling back, letting the other win as long as it meant things would go back to normal. 

You couldn’t describe it. You never tried, you didn’t need to. The unspoken acts between the two of you didn’t need to be explained. It was something akin to a best friend with all the benefits included and most of the strings attached - confusing and nerve wracking but still so comforting. 

Atsumu was the closest thing to home you had in this town, and somehow every road always leads back to him. With a few detours on your part, of course, because you just couldn’t stay away too long. Even moving across the country didn’t change that - not like you thought it would. 

You just barely missed the turn into your driveway, being so distracted by your thoughts. So much was rushing back, so much that shouldn’t be - it isn’t a big deal, it’s just Atsumu, but it felt grand, like this was some massive reunion. 

But it wasn’t. You were only here to celebrate Christmas with your family. You weren’t even planning on seeing Atsumu, let alone meeting up with him or rekindling any kind of flame that was once there. 

And it was such a rush that you couldn’t even question why he was working at his father’s store - or why he was even in this town at all. What happened to the dreams he was chasing? 

For what felt like the first time in your life, you had questions for him. But you’d have to wait all day to ask them. 

. . .

You were thankful to come home to a dry floor and a calmer father - he finally figured out how to turn the water off and decided to fix the pipe later. You knew he’d inevitably be paying someone more qualified to repair it, but your mind had no space for that problem. 

You were still trying to figure out how you’d meander the night with Atsumu by the time he was picking you up, and when the two of you arrived at his home you still hadn’t found your answer. 

Easing into this would be best, and once alcohol was introduced to the equation it would turn into a slippery slope. 

Nothing was hard with Atsumu. You knew that - that’s why you couldn’t figure out why you were having such a hard time talking to him. 

A lot had changed. Not between the two of you, not exactly. You were right back where you were three years ago: on his couch, sitting too close to him, laughing at something he had said that was only funny because he said it. 

But your lives had changed. Your worlds had changed. His mind had very obviously changed, and because of it all, you couldn’t keep pretending that the two of you were teenagers again. 

You had to bite the bullet and ask the question that was on your mind, completely knowing that he could throw a hard hitting question back at you.

It came out more effortlessly and lighthearted than you expected. “So… what happened to playing volleyball?”

Atsumu scoffed. “You still remember that pipe dream? Nothing happened, it was just childish.” 

You didn’t like his answer, so you pressed him. You worked up the courage to start this conversation, so you were going to get to the bottom of things. “You said you wanted to catch up - I know you, Atsumu. You get what you want and you wanted to play volleyball. You were going to be a pro, you were good.” 

“I know you know me,” he said, and the smirk on his lips didn’t go unnoticed by you. “I wanted to get drunk and chat, not start up a fucking therapy session.” 

You sat patient and waiting, eyes on him, refusing to go without the answer to your question. You were teasing, really, eyeing him up and grinning as you watched him struggle. The problem was: you didn’t expect the answer you’d get. 

“I - I had the chance.” There was a scratch in his throat that wasn’t caused by the whiskey he’d just swallowed. “I was being scouted and playing my ass off and there were talks of being on an Olympic team one day, but… shit happens, and that’s it.” 

“What shit, Atsumu? You didn’t just give up, did you? Were you scared or something?” 

You didn’t realize how close you were to him until his hand came down to rest on your knee, and both of you focused on that touch as his next thoughts became words. “Dad got sick. And ‘Samu had just opened the restaurant, and… there were bills to pay and the store to run. Even though I wasn’t his preference, Dad had no choice and left the legacy of Miya’s Hardware to me, so - that’s where I am.” 

“Oh. I… I had no idea - I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine. You were already long gone by then - don’t say sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you hugged him without thinking, but he hugged you back all the same. “I’m sorry, ‘Tsumu.” 

“It’s okay,” he told you, but you didn’t feel okay. You were sure he didn’t, either. “It’s not your fault.” 

You pulled away from him just enough to look at his face, and you hadn’t noticed the distance in his eyes until just then. As you looked at him, you realized it was only familiar to now. It wasn’t there years ago, when you got to look into those eyes every day. 

“I should’ve been there for you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, but his words were dangling on an edge. He didn’t quite mean them. “You were off in your own dream. I got through it.” 

You only nodded. You weren’t sure what else to say after that. 

As Atsumu sat back against the couch, he brought you with him, tucking you under his arm against his chest. His lips on your forehead made you close your eyes and for a second, it was like you were both nineteen again. You could’ve been, if time would only slow down or freeze or go back - what wouldn’t you give for that? 

“I’m done talking about me,” he mumbled. “I wanna hear about your life now.” 

You laughed, but quiet, “My life’s been fine.”

“Only fine?” 

“You don’t see me on the big screen, do you?” 

He laughed this time. “Not yet. One day, though. Have you gotten used to the city yet?” 

“Oh… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but… it does feel like home now. It’s so different from living here.” 

“I bet.” 

“I try not to romanticize it, but - I don’t know. It feels good, even if it’s not what I thought it’d be. The lights are pretty bright. Blinding compared to here.” 

His response was a nod, and that was it. If he had any questions or comments, he held them back. 

A break in the silence came soon, though. “You know,” he said, quiet, with a small laugh that was humorless, “I’m not as good at getting what I want as you think I am.” 

“That’s not true,” you replied, and you were setting up an argument you weren’t ready to make. “You got me.” 

“Did I?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Silence lingered, and after too long you sat up and looked at him, and that got him to talk. 

“Nothing,” he insisted. He pulled you closer with two fingers holding your chin, and you didn’t resist. “Nothing, baby. Let’s just… just be quiet for a while.” 

There wasn’t time for you to say anything else. His lips were on yours the moment he got his last word out. And even though you expected him to kiss you, it still made you gasp. 

You couldn’t describe how much you missed kissing someone you wanted to, and Astumu’s kiss was like finding home. His lips were like candy, sweeter than sugar; his bite was a freezing shock that always pulled a giggle and a whisper of his name out of you. He knew how to kiss you, slow and deep with a hand on your jaw to keep you there, never leaving you wanting more because he gave everything you could ever need. 

It didn’t take long for his kisses to trail down your neck, or for his shirt to come off, or for your back to land on the couch. You had already reached euphoria just seeing him hovering over you, eyes soft and hair askew; you didn’t need anything but this. You’d never want anything but this. 

You did what you always did - trailed your hand down his torso, over his golden skin, stopping just after every freckle or scar or mark. This time, you were looking for something new. You didn’t find anything. You didn’t stop until your hand landed on his waist, and there, you squeezed - 

“Stop, you little shit,” and he laughed, right along with you. A real and genuine laugh - you hadn’t heard that song in a long time. “Why do you always do that?” 

Finally he moved down to press his chest against yours, his hips locking in place between your legs. A perfect combination. 

“Why do you always give me the chance?” You were still laughing, not able to get over the cute sight. Atsumu was always so ticklish there, right on his waist, and when you made that discovery you swore you’d never forget it. And he sure as hell wished you would have. “You’re so cute. I’ve missed that smile.” 

“I’ve missed you,” he replied. Somehow you just knew that he meant it. 

“Don’t. I’m here.” 

“You’re here,” he repeated. Like he was reassuring himself. 

You took the initiative to unbutton your shirt yourself, so that there was no way for him to think that you wanted this to stop there. It couldn’t, not when you had him this close. And his eyes followed the popping buttons like stalking prey. 

“And you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Fucking hell.” 

You cringed - you couldn’t help the feeling in your gut when he gave you those sweet words. You knew he meant them in some way; you knew Atsumu wouldn’t lie to you. He’s never told you anything just for the sake of it. But how many times, in the last three years, had someone done just that? Told you just what you wanted to hear so they could get inside you? It was vile the first time. The second, it made you ache. But now, you’re used to it. Nobody means what they say. You’re used to it. 

And Atsumu could snatch up any girl he wanted. A girl who’s used to blinding lights and expensive wine and lying - or a girl who would stay with him, who wouldn’t push his buttons, who would be effortless in her charm and wit and beauty. 

You couldn’t put yourself in either category. 

“You haven’t seen many, then.” 

“Why would I even need to when I’ve got you? You’re a fucking dream. All I ever think about.” 

You shook your head, not even noticing you were doing it. Atsumu wouldn’t have it. 

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Not when you know what you do to me. You’ve got my heart beating out of my chest, for fuck’s sake - it has been since you walked into the store.” 

You never knew him to be so open with his feelings, or maybe you had just gotten used to being lied to. You weren’t sure and you didn’t care - all you could think about was kissing him, so you pulled him in, and you were sure he would devour you. You’d have no problem with that. 

It was desperate when you said, “I need you.”

And reassuring when he replied, “I’m right here.” 

He wasn’t close enough. You didn’t think he ever could be. And it was right then, when you were swimming in desperation, that you realized you shouldn’t have been doing this. It would only make leaving even harder. Doing it the first time was hell, letting him watch you leave and be okay with it. You hated yourself for wishing he wasn’t. And you were drowning. 

You hated yourself for leaving. 

You hated yourself more for coming back. 

And you didn’t want to be there, all of a sudden, despite the ache in between your thighs and the addicting warmth he had you trapped in. You didn’t want to be there and you didn’t want to leave, either - you only wanted something easy, but you’d never have it. Not here, and not in the city, and not with Atsumu. 

You felt him freeze, felt things shift. You hadn’t even noticed the way your energy had completely dropped. 

“Something wrong?” He moved up to hold your face. He noticed the tears in your eyes before you did. 

It was hard to look at him but you held his gaze, and his touch hurt more than it healed but you yearned for it. The concern on his face was genuine, the gentle strokes of his thumb on your cheek weren’t forced, and it all was making your stomach turn. 

He cared for you - obviously he did - but not enough to ask you to stay. Not enough to find trouble in letting you leave him. So maybe you shouldn’t have a problem with it, either. 

“No,” you said through a sore throat and a locked jaw. “Sorry, just…” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he told you. “We can just talk - I want to talk. If it’s too much -” 

“It’s okay,” you said. You tried to mean it as much as, “I miss you, Atsumu. I want you - touch me, I miss you.” 

“I know,” and he was wiping the tears off of your cheeks as he kissed your lips, “I’ll take care of you, baby, just let me. Stop thinking so much. Let me take care of you like I always do, yeah? You want me to help you feel good?” 

You always had a problem with that - thinking too much. He never hesitated to call you out on it. You nodded your head, strong and fast, like you were trying to knock the thoughts right out of it. 

“Please, ‘Tsumu.” You were crying for him, pulling him closer. “Need you. Make it better, please.” 

“I’d do anything,” he said. “You gotta quit crying, baby. You’re acting like our first time again.” 

You laughed at that, wiping your own tears and knocking his hands away. “God, that was so embarrassing.” 

“It was cute.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“It was kinda hot, too.” 

“Atsumu!” 

It was his deep grin that made you relax again, and so did another blissful kiss that took your breath in a way that you enjoyed. 

“You can cry, baby,” he said, popping buttons on both of your pants, “as long as it’s because of how good I’m making you feel. That’s what you need, pretty girl. Let me show you how much I’ve been missing you - get these pants off, baby, let me see you.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to cry any more, at least not in an emotional sense. Your mind was stripped with your body, filled with nothing but him, no space between the two of you left for insecurities or questions. 

It wasn’t until he coaxed you into his bedroom that those things had the chance to creep back. 

Atsumu was out cold, cuddled into your chest and holding on tight to your waist, after smothering you in soft kisses and sweet sleepy words. You were comfortable there, warm and safe and content, but the pit in your stomach only grew. You watched him sleep, his mouth slightly open and eyes softly closed, and you wanted to reach down and kiss him but you resisted. 

It was late and you should be asleep but you couldn’t rest. You couldn’t stop loathing yourself long enough to close your eyes, and the more you thought, the harder it got to breathe. Your throat was sore again. Your eyes were watering again. And every word you wanted to say to Atsumu was tumbling out of your mouth and falling onto sleeping ears. 

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

He didn’t stir. It was still rumbling breaths and the whir of the air conditioner filling the silence. 

“Everyone else did. But you. Why… You of all people should know I’m just as worthless there as I am here - I’ll never make it - I’ve changed everything and still…” 

You sucked a hard breath into your lungs to stop a wracking sob, just barely holding it in. 

“I just ended up here again. With you. I’m so alone without you but I can’t - fuck.”

It didn’t even matter what you were trying to say anymore, because you had no clue. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stay with him regardless of his choice to let you go, but something in you made you run. Maybe it was worthless pride or a childish desire to be something more - you didn’t know. 

You didn’t belong in any industry you dreamed of working in. You weren’t born to be a star. You should know by now - should accept your failure and come back home for more than just one night. 

But you couldn’t. 

There was still a chance, wasn’t there? 

A chance to belong somewhere.

A chance to be led home.

A chance to make it. Would you die trying? 

You would leave in the morning. And you wouldn’t ask Atsumu to wait for you as he started getting ready for the day. And Atsumu wouldn’t ask you to ditch your own plotted destiny just to stay with him. 

But this would happen again. Every time you would swear it off and every time, you would travel roads that take you right back to this town, this bed, these arms. 

Running away would never get easier, but this is all it would ever be with him. He would never stop you leaving - and you would never ask him to.  

. . .

...so i’ll go back to LA

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Lostcauses Fic: Hindsight

I got fed up of waiting for Isayama to write this scene, so I wrote it myself. Levi and Pieck have a conversation about *that* day in Shiganshina.  

Levi leans against the rail and gazes out over the side of the ship. It’s breathtaking. Blue as far as the eye can see, the horizon little more than a faint smudge of grey in the distance. The sheer scale of the ocean astonishes him and he can’t help wondering what he would have made of it all. The salt air stings the wounds on his face where the dressings don’t quite cover them, and he’s still weak and unsteady on his feet, but at least he feels like he can breathe up here.

A white gull hangs in the air, keeping pace with the ship with no apparent effort. Another flies keening overhead, wheeling around the other, before skimming away over the waves.

The plume of dark smoke from the ship’s funnels billows in their wake and Levi can feel the dull throb of the engines reverberating through the deck beneath his feet. Hanji’s probably down there right now pestering the crew to explain every detail of the infernal machines.

“Captain?”

Pieck steps into his field of vision from the left hand side. He’s noticed that she only ever approaches him from the left, from where he can see her. She’s the only one apart from Hanji that seems to be aware of his limited vision.

“I’m not your captain,” he growls.

“Sorry,” she smiles, undeterred. “I’ve spent my whole life in the military. Old habits. I brought you this.” She holds out a mug of steaming tea.

Levi takes it grudgingly, unable to refuse, but hoping she won’t take it as an invitation to stay. She does. He wants to tell her to fuck off, her presence makes him deeply uncomfortable; she’s too smart by half. But there’s something about her, something about her boldness, and her obvious devotion to her comrades, that reminds him of someone else. She’s respectful, but she’s not intimidated by him, that’s for sure.

They stand by the rail drinking their tea in silence and watching the waves dance and foam along the side of the ship.

“I often think about Shiganshina,” she says eventually.

Levi stiffens. The familiar name sounds strange and foreign in her Marley accent.

“About that day,” she continues, “when I rescued Zeke from you.”

Levi doesn’t answer. He can still picture is so clearly. The catastrophic wave of horror that crashed over him as the Cart Titan snatched Zeke away from under his blades. The shattering realization that he had failed. That he had failed him. Levi doesn’t think about Shiganshina. Shiganshina is always with him. In some ways he never left. Or maybe it’s that he left a part of himself there. The only part that was worth anything.

Pieck is still talking.

“I can’t help thinking about what might have happened. If I hadn’t reached him in time. If I’d just let you kill him. If all this could have been prevented. I could never have imagined that our great War Chief would betray us. That it would come to this.” She sighs. “Hindsight really is a wonderful thing.”

“Those Yeagers played us all for fools.” Levi admits. What a joke.

“I watched you take down Zeke’s Titans you know. I wouldn’t have believed it was possible unless I’d seen it with my own eyes. Everything they told us about the Ackermans was true after all. We never really believed a word of it. We all thought it was just stories. Like you’d tell children to get them to behave.”

Levi is mildly curious about what they were told, but he doesn’t ask.

“I’d never seen anyone move with such speed. It shouldn't have been possible. You’re faster even than Poco and he’s the fastest Jaw we ever….” she tails off, falling silent for a moment.

“There’s one thing I’ve always wondered though. You hesitated. You could have killed Zeke, but you hesitated.”

It’s not a question but she looks at him shrewdly, expecting an answer.

“I thought…” Levi starts, unsure why he’s answering her. “I thought there was someone I could save.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.” Levi replies without hesitation.

“I’m glad. Life is precious. We seem to have forgotten that.”

“I know. That’s why I let him die.”

Pieck stares at him under hooded eyes.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Of course. Commander Erwin. I’ve heard a lot about him.”

Levi swallows hard and looks away.

Armin and Annie are sitting together on the far side of the deck, an awkward distance between them.

“She killed my squad.” Levi says, bitter and desperate to change the subject. “Crushed them like insects. You remind me of one of them. She was about your age.”

Pieck watches them placidly for a while.

“We thought you were devils,” she says, still gazing at Annie and Armin. “That’s what we were taught. It was drummed into us. ‘The devils of Paradis Island.’ We didn’t know what else to think.”

“And now?”

“Now?” Pieck’s gaze is piercing as she turns to face him. “Now I think we’re all devils.”

She’s not wrong.

“You should go below,” she says. “We’ll reach Odiha by noon tomorrow. Commander Zoe told me to tell you that you need to rest. And that if you don’t go back to your cabin they’ll drag you there themselves. I can take that back to the galley.” She holds out her hand for the empty cup. Levi peers down at it in surprise, he wasn’t aware that he’d finished it.

She takes the cup but before she turns away, she pauses.

“Captain," there's steel in her tone. "Next time, don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t.” Levi replies.

I promised him.

[Also on AO3]

[chicoriii]

Season 4, Episode 4 - Mr Pigeon 72

I have no idea where to start. This episode has some good things and some extremely stupid.

Marinette isn't still completely fine, but I prefer when she deals with it through being hyperactive than being a whining crybaby.

I know people don't agree with me, but personally I don't buy the whole revealing identity to Alya. It's not a problem with Alya herself, I would say the same about every single character who is not named Alix Kubdel at this point of the story. I haven't written anything in my post about Gang of Secrets, because I thought it would be undone in some way at the start of the next episode. The creators did nothing to explain why revealing identity of Ladybug to anyone was super dangerous and would result in a catastrophe in seasons 1-3 and the first two episodes of S4, but it's magically fine in episode 3. Only Alix made sense to me, as she will be the rabbit Miraculous holder, so she is destined to discover identities of everyone sooner or later and Marinette is aware of that. While it's not necessary to learn identity of anyone to other temporary Miraculous wielders, including Alya. Also that reveal hasn't been foreshadowed in season 3, while the show usually does it, especially if it's about something as important as that! More, in late S3, it's been shown that Alya still can't resist to not talking about Marinette's love life with Nino, despite she asked her to not do it. Now the girl, who is overly excited about superhero stuff, has no problems with even accidental revealing anything to Nino or someone else. She's even "stealing" Bunnix line that she's great at keeping secrets (sorry but you, the creators, haven't shown us that she's indeed is before!). This is why I think that reveal hasn't been planned before they started writing season 4.

But okay, I can deal with it, even if I don't buy it, but things these happened in Mr. Pigeon 72 are even more inconsistent with previous seasons. I have been worried about it, so it doesn't surprised me. For some reason Guardian related-things that have been kept in a secret before from everyone minus current Guardian and the future Guardian, are now fine being done in front of Kwamis (remember, they haven't been allowed to learn about making potions before!) and a civilian who is just a temporal Miraculous holder, not someone who is supposed to be trained to be a new Guardian. You can say - new Guardian, new rules, but why? Marinette has been portrayed as someone who respect authorities, she has never questioned any Fu's rules. It wasn't even said in the episode that she's going to change the rules. I hate that the writers don't even bother to explain us what's going on. Probably they don't bother about consistency, they think the audience is going to be too excited about Alya knowing Ladybug's identity and helping Marinette to question anything about it? How Alya could be allowed to learn the Guardian secrets? She is just best friend of the protagonist, she is not one of the main characters to get that special treatment. I makes zero sense to me. Especially since Su-Han will be introduced in episode 6 and he should help Marinette with understanding the Grimoire, Alya isn't necessary here for any other reason than fanservice.

In my opinion the way how they discovering how to make charms that protects from akumasitation was the most stupid thing that happened this season and one of the most in the whole show. Marinette who is the new Guardiand and portrayed as someone extreme intelligent and creative couldn't find the solution for days, but Alya with zero training magically discovered it in a few hours at worst. And when she told her the solution in not even very clear way, Ladybug did it immediately with no effort. That was so anticlimactic. At least the animation was fine, but other aspects of it was just a big disappointment, and I was looking forward for it. Thank goodness it's just the beginning of the season, I hope later important events of the season will be better written and portrayed.

Also I find it absurd that Rena Rough is walking with a page from the Grimoire like it's just an ordinary book and she's talking about it in front of a random civilian, like things that are written there are nothing special. She or Ladybug are not careful about Miraculous lore anymore. Not to mention that they are giving hints that Rena is very close to Ladybug in public, suspiciously close. And now with them being too careless, that's not hard to suspect that Rena Rouge is someone very close to Ladybug, maybe even as a civilian. Shadow Moth knows Rena Rouge's identity, and it's easy to him to learn who is Alya Cesaire's best friend if he doesn't know it yet, after all his son is in the class with her. Marinette has always been super careful and serious about her duties before, why that sudden change with zero explanation? It's just very out of character to her in my opinion.

I didn't like the akuma battle either, it's now the worst fight of the season in my opinion. It was so short and felt very lazy. I only liked that Plagg got some action and interaction with Ladybug (though it should be suspicious for her that he managed to reach to her that fast). He should be aware now that Alya knows Ladybug's identity but he acts like nothing happened. Not a word about it being unfair towards his kid or something, weird.

Thankfully the rest of the episode is generally more or less fun to me. It was nice to see Marinette and Kagami interacting again. I loved Kagami in the episode, although it was a bit weird to me that she isn't seemed to be affected by her breaking up with Adrien. Like her crush was very shallow, so she managed to recover herself from it very quickly. While it's been shown that Luka is hurt, despite Lukanette always seemed to be much more shallow than Adrigami in my opinion. But maybe it's because she's so down to earth, so being less emotional makes sense for her character. I liked how her attitude was opposite to Marinette's hyperactive: "No, I don't want to be in a relationship with Adrien again, he disappointed me, just let me live!!!". And she's another character who said that Marinette and Adrien are made for each other. I'm not surprised that Kagami sees it now when she tried to be with him and that didn't work. She's observant, sees more than many other characters. It seems she's an Adrienette shipper now. It's also good that her issue with Adrien wasn't resolved that easily and too fast. They need more time, but I'm sure they will be friends again.

So, we've gotten shirtless Adrien. I remember seeing a tweet of Thomas in which he answered to a question if there will be a beach episode and he said we will get something similar. I wonder if he meant this episode. Oh, they just remembered that Adrien is supposed to be allergic to feathers. It seems Adrien has allergic reactions only when it's somewhat related to the plot. When it's not, he's completely fine.

The reference to the famous Umbrella Scene™ out of nowhere in a random episode? It probably means something. I can see "reverse crush" supporters interpreting it as a proof to their theory, especially since this time Adrien did something clumsy and Marinette is laughing because of it (actually both of them). Or maybe because it's the first episode of season 4 with Marinette and Adrien interactions, they decided to be that much gracious for Adrienette fans, to compensate lack of it in the first three episodes. Oh wow, Marinette managed to propose spending more time together to Adrien without stuttering. Probably because she has done it spontaneously. Marinette is the most nervous when she's planning and thinking what could go wrong too much. This time she had no time to it, so it went more smoothly. It's like they building development of their relationship, but it didn't seem in Guiltrip (that's episode 11 chronologically) that something changed.

Seeing screenshot above, you can easily imagine how great friends they could be, being very comfortable around each other and laughing together, if not Marinette's anxiety. We need Adrienette development so much to get more moments like this.

Oh and I just realized that it's also one of the veeeeery few episodes with no real Ladynoir at all (the only other one I remember is Style Queen). So if there was no Adrienette it would be an episode without interactions of two main characters at all (although we almost got Ladrien). It could be another reason why this episode is that nice for Adrien and Marinette ship.

After seeing overly excited Marinette dancing in the rain, I can't believe she can manage completely give up on Adrien. It doesn't look like this at all.

Also we've seen three photos of Adrien wearing THAT scarf. It could not mean nothing different that foreshadowing that he's going to discover the truth about it somewhere this season. But I have no idea what Ladybug's mask with shining eyes could mean.

I don't know what to think about the episode. Despite absurd Guardian-related things, I still liked it much more than Gang of Secrets, but I have no idea if I generally enjoyed it more than other episodes of this season or not. At least it's an episode without stupid drama, which is amazing.

---------

I'm currently less active on social media, because my internet connection is very unstable, it often works very slowly to the point I'm not patient enough to visit Tumblr. Also I block spoiler tags again, because I don't want to see spoilers from the episodes those are going to be released very soon, as I feel that they reveal too much to me once more. We're currently in a marathon of the new episodes and since watching them is the more more enjoyable, the less I know about them, I decided to try avoid spoilers as much as I can. The only bad thing is that I can't be read discussions about the new episodes, reblog them and adding something from me until Optigami will be aired.

[egelantier]

Tian Guan Ci Fu

where is it and what is it

it’s a chinese webnovel by mxtx, the same author who did untamed; it exists as a webnovel, finished and kindly translated here, the manhwa, the donghua (animated adaptation) happening right now, and there’s a live action adaptation in plans, directed by the same guy who did untamed. the donghua is gorgeous, the adaptation i’m unsure about but prepared to be hopeful, the manhwa seems to be very pretty. but all the adaptations only cover the very beginning of the novel for now, so i went ahead and read the novel, and i have no regrets. it helps that the translation is very good - not without awkward translatorese, but it has consistent and engaging flow and style, and it’s also pretty good at conveying mxtx’s humor without awkwardness. it reads pretty well.

what’s it about?

the world is split into two parts: mortals and various ghosts and demons and entities share the land, while ‘heaven officials’, aka gods, live in the heavenly kingdom in the sky. pretty much anybody can become a god if they do something really heroic or memorable and/or cultivate (meditation, training, virtuous behavior) really hard. when above, the gods rule their domains and fulfill their believers’ wishes; they work sort of like pratchettian gods, dependent on their followers’ beliefs and getting influenced by them. heavens are strictly hierarchical, with their own economy and pecking order, and the gods aren’t particularly sinless or benevolent; mostly it’s a question of scale.

our hero, xie lian, is a prince of a prosperous kingdom who’s been on a fast track to ascension for most of his very short life; he’s talented, he’s virtuous, he’s kind, he’s strong, and his only peculiar flaw is (somehow naive, but well-meaning) obsession with equality and value of human lives and so on. he becomes a god, unexpectedly, at seventeen, after slaying one especially dangerous god, and rises in heaven at the peak of his faith, influence and happiness.

…and then he finds out about drought and incipient trouble in his own kingdom, and, being a young and righteous god too close to his mortality, eschews heavens and returns to save everybody. it, to put it lightly, does not go well. at all. in fact, it goes catastrophically wrong, and, having lost everything, xie lian ascends again, only to get into a fight with the heavenly emperor, and get banished again, this time for good. he roams the mortal lands for next eight hundred of very lonely, luckless and hard years, technically immortal but not invincible, with his powers and his luck stripped away, and leans to make do, eking out a living as a scrap collector. his temples are desecrated, his name is forgotten, his kingdom is long gone, and - well. so it goes.

so it goes! until one day, to everybody’s great surprise, he ascends once again: a humble, gentle, immune to embarrassment, unflappable man, an embarrassment to heavens, a 'laughingstock of three realms’ who just wants to be left well enough alone. he’s Tired.

instead of rest, he gets sent to investigate a dangerous ghost stealing brides who pass through its mountain, and there, during the course of the interrogation, has his first (he thinks) meeting with a terrifying, old-powerful and vengeful ghost king named hua cheng, who likes to terrorize heavens from time to time. but said ghost king seems to be very benevolent and very interested in helping xie lian, and xie lian is pretty instantly smitten… with knowing what’s the cause of such interest.

…and meanwhile, in the beginning, there'was an unlucky boy, born under the worst stars, whom xie lian saved from falling once, while still mortal, and promptly lost track of. a lot of things happened to this boy, who wanted to be the most devoted worshipper to xie lian the god of the sword and the flower. as one does, you know.

that’s the beginning! from there on: investigations, heavenly secrets, old friends and enemies and acquaintances, thematic parallels, old tragedies, more pining than you can shake a stick at, grand acts of love.

is it good?

it’s very, very good. it’s the first fantasy cnovel i read (aside from the hilarious one about a guy traveling back in his own timeline and becoming a sugar baby to a mafia boss, which was in a very different league), so i don’t know which things are baseline and which things are unique, but it had a very solid foundation: ambitious multilevel, multi-timeline plot coming together in the end both events- and emotions-wise, beautifully iddy main relationship, maybe multifaceted characters who change and grow and clash together in fun ways, a clear and heartfelt understanding of its own core themes.

it’s also, unexpectedly, very funny, in this visual, slapsticky, begs-to-be-adapted way - i found myself laughing out loud over it a lot of times, and it possesses this gift of swerve between understated but earnest emotions and all-out jokes that i associate with… a bit of prattchett and a bit of gintama, honestly. take it as you will.

(oh my god the mecha. i will laugh over this one until i die.)

it also made me cry several times; granted, it’s not like it’s this time, but those were very heartfelt tears.

and the main duo?

first let me say that xie lian was lifted out, wholesale, out of my deepest character preferences. he fell really, really far, and did some bad things, and some very horrible things were done to him, and by the time we meet him he went through everything and achieved this effortless kind of traumatized, humble, accepting, wryly self-deprecating, utterly competent chill that makes a character incredibly appealing to me. he’s kind, and he’s sweet, and he’s gotten any possible embarrassment at least a couple of centuries ago, and he kinda made peace with himself and kinda didn’t. i love him.

and, thankfully for me, hua cheng, the ghost king, loves him a whole damn lot, a ridiculous amount, an epic, over-the-lifetimes, life-shattering amount, and he’s a terrifying presence to everybody else and a shy, protective, sweet dork to xie lian, and every time they’re together on page my entire heart is just. it’s AMAZING. he’s a great combination of playing the obsessive protective yandere stalker-lover trope straight and putting it on its head, by making hua cheng not just revere but respect xie lian, in all his good and bad decisions.

they are just so - good for each other, holy shit. they get each other so well. they’re the best ever power team. i love them.

(the rest of canon is various character reenacting “really? in front of my salad?” meme at them. it’s hysterical, and it’s the best. everybody teams up to tell xie lian that his boyfriend is Problematic way, way before xie lian clues into the fact that he does have a boyfriend, and he’s having none of it. i love it.)

and the themes?

okay, so. roughly half of this novel is ridiculous iddy pining, and a fourth of it is various tropes (off the top of my head: soulbond, sex pollen, body switch, de-age, various shades of identity porn… crossdressing…) played very shamelessly. but it also really benefits from having an overarching set of ethical questions, and while it deals with them a bit shounen-style, it still deals with them, and it makes the whole text fresh, and sweet, and bold.

is it possible to save everybody? should you try to save everybody? if you lack the powers to back your convictions, does it make you complicit? when is it possible to stop the cycle of suffering, what can you do if you want to but can’t? if you tried and people you failed turned on you, whose fault it is, where does the blame stop?

Detailed spoilers begin from here, and i would REALLY advise to stay unspoiled, because the domino reveals are very fun

i loved the various ways the novel sets all those pieces up and then overturns them and then returns to them. xie lian wanted to save everybody and it was arrogant naivete of an untried, untested, privileged young man who never had a real challenge before; his presence made things escalate quicker, and yet everybody around him pretended it was his attempt to make things better that ruined everything, and not a combination of factors outside of his control. and yet he accepts the blame, because it dovetails with his shame at not having enough powers to back his intent up; and yet his triumph over bai wuxian is that he doesn’t, after all, renege on his initial drive to help people.

my most favorite part of this novel is that its turning point, the lynchpin of the whole novel, the moment that keeps xie lian’s soul and safety intact, is not his personal purity and drive; it’s not even hua cheng’s devotion and sacrificial love. it’s just a moment of little, grudging, human kindness from a little, petty, rude man whom the history will sweep away soon. the bamboo hat in the rain. the rest of the plot keeps twisting and turning and coming back to itself, but this? this was unquestionably, beautifully clear, and i loved it. it’s never about the gods, it’s all down to - fallen human is human, ascended human is human, and human is not some state, virtuous or sinful, you get stuck with - it’s a multitude of choices, and there’s never a final one.

and incoherent spoilery screaming for people who read it already

oh my god i had SO MUCH FUN. i’ve been flailing on meme for days, because somebody just finished reading there too, and i’m still bursting with ALL THE FEELS. ruoye origins oh my god! that hat! jin wu’s backstory and ultimate end! e-ming’s praise kink! pei ming’s little shippery 'hoho’! hua cheng’s horribly handwritten stick and poke tattoo of xie lian’s name! the lanteeeeeeeeeeeeerns. feng xin and mu qing on the bridge, making up with each other and with xie lian! hua cheng trying to explain to xie lian that his habit of using himself as bait and pincushion at any given moment is deeply emotionally upsetting to him, and succeeding! banyue’s learning from xie lian to be a truly horrible cook! the entire deal with shi qingxuan and he xuan and the wind fan in the end. THE CAVE. THE GIANT MECHA. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and i am beset, beset by feelings. come scream with me.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Not That Kind of Movie

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Summary: “They plan a romantic getaway but everything goes sideways and they end up in a dive motel eating cheap pizza but the water is hot and the mattress isn't the worst and...” (prompt courtesy of @fangirlxwritesx67​) 

Word Count: 2590

Warnings: Steve feels sorry for himself, Bucky gets sassy, and innuendo abounds, but there’s nothing particularly explicit happening. Zero adherence to any sort of canon timeline. It’s fluffy as hell. 

A/N: Blame @katwillrise​, who encouraged this nonsense and has been keeping me company in the Stucky hole. Please help us. We cannot get out. Major thanks to @itmighthavebeenintentional​, who a) reassured me that this was worth posting and b) came up with the whole pizza thing and let me write it because she is amazing. 

“I think—” Bucky starts, but he (wisely) stops when Steve lets out a wordless rage-grunt. 

“I got it,” Steve snaps, and seriously considers kicking the motel door in. 

He gets five more beeping red lights before Bucky points out that he’s trying to open the wrong door. 

Bucky opens the right door on the first try and ushers him through. He hasn’t said “I told you so,” but he is radiating it from every smug pore. He’s been pointedly not saying “I told you so” all damn day, about every damn thing. 

“Maybe Mercury’s in retrograde,” Steve mumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sets his bag down on the desk. Then he realizes what he just said and feels himself flush brick-red. 

Steve knows, without turning around, that Bucky is smirking. He can picture it way too clearly. Most people have trouble reading Bucky’s brand of deadpan, these days, but he has an array of specific smirks, and they’re all subtly different if you know what you’re looking for. This one, barely-quirked lips and sparkly laughing eyes, translates to you’re an idiot but you’re my idiot. It’s just a hair meaner than the you’re an idiot but I love you variant and its close cousin, I fucking love you, you idiot. Steve knows it well. 

This particular smirk has had the same effect on Steve for about a century now: he gets a brief, overwhelming urge to punch Bucky, followed by an equally overwhelming urge to kiss him senseless. 

It’s irritating. And after a day’s worth of wildly unfortunate events that could, technically, be described as “Steve’s fault,” he is already irritated enough. He pointedly keeps his back turned and tries some breathing exercises. 

“That’s really what you’re going with?” Bucky says, dry and amused. “We’re blaming this on planets?” 

Steve sighs. “Clint taught me about astrology last time he got drunk.” 

“You do know he’s fucking with you, right?” 

“Of course I do,” Steve says, hoping he sounds disdainful. “I’m going to shower off the dried alien goop now.” He makes a dignified retreat to the shower while Bucky laughs. 

They were supposed to be at a luxury mountain cabin with a hot tub. Instead, the first day of their anniversary trip has been one long series of unmitigated catastrophes, because somehow, Steve’s tactical skills — which have defeated actual evil Nazi masterminds — do not extend to dates. Or romance in general, really. 

Steve has realized, in the last year, that while he is a goddamn national hero and literal superhuman, he is a disaster of a boyfriend. And yeah, sure, “boyfriend” doesn’t seem like the right word, exactly, for everything they are, but they’ve officially been together for a year now, and Steve got it into his head to make an effort. 

So, yeah. Catastrophes. And now he’s trying to scrub off dried alien goop in a sputtering coffin-sized shower that was clearly not built with super soldier proportions in mind. 

The hot water lasts just long enough for Steve to deem himself clean enough, for certain values of enough, but it doesn’t do much for his mood, which is the sort of sulk that really requires a hot tub. He just wanted to plan something nice, for once. Romantic. He’s always so busy running around being Captain goddamn America that romance usually takes a backseat — admittedly, aliens take the front seat in this metaphor, which is fair, but the point stands. 

Bucky is sprawled out on the plasticky motel duvet. He changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn henley, and he is temporarily retired from combat and other violent activities his therapist has deemed unwise, so he isn’t covered in alien goop; in fact, he looks comfortable and somehow totally content. After this kind of day, it doesn’t seem fair that someone should be that kind of attractive. 

Bucky stops channel-surfing to give Steve and his very small towel a flirtatious once-over. 

“Can you just get it over with?” Steve sighs, looking up at the ugly water-stained ceiling in supplication. 

“Hell no. I want to hear you say it.” 

“You were right. About taking the time to shower, and bringing our phones, and checking the radiator a week ago, and… all of it. Happy now? Stop laughing at me, I swear to god, I will — oof.” 

Steve doesn’t bother to resist, because the way his luck is going, that’d end in broken bones. He winds up on his back, towel-less, with Bucky on top of him, but his weight and his heat and his smile are doing a lot for Steve’s mood. 

Then Bucky grins and says, “Told you so, punk.” 

Steve scoffs and scowls and rolls them over — more out of principle than any actual desire to fight back — and Bucky lets himself be pinned. The smirk is back, and this time Steve gives in to the urge to kiss him senseless. 

By the time he pulls away, Bucky’s mouth is red and his eyes are heavy-lidded, and he’s giving Steve a slow blink and a lazy curl of a smile. It’s just as effective now as it used to be on every girl in Brooklyn. 

“You should put on pants,” he says, but the husky tone of his voice is saying the exact opposite, and it takes a second for the words to register. 

“Huh?” 

“Pizza should be here in five minutes. We’re not in that kinda movie.” 

That surprises an actual huff of a laugh from Steve. He slides away and digs around for his sweatpants while Bucky gives a low whistle and ogles shamelessly. 

By the time he settles back on the bed, he’s feeling a little sheepish and he’s ready to apologize. Bucky’s got one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, just waiting — the laugh helped, and he knew it would, and now he knows exactly what’s coming. Damn him. 

“Sorry,” Steve sighs. “About everything. This is not what I had in mind.” 

“Not sure what you mean,” Bucky says glibly. “I can think of worse ways to spend a Friday night.” He wriggles closer, pressing their hips together and giving Steve’s ass a friendly grope. 

“Seriously. I’m sorry, this was —” 

“When’d you turn into such a princess, huh?” Bucky asks, soft and fond even if the words are teasing. 

“Excuse you? I’m not the one with an entire duffel’s worth of hair products.” 

“What I mean—” He punctuates the word with a kiss that’s all teeth and promise. “—is that I’ve seen you grin and bear it through some serious shit, Rogers. You didn’t even get this bitchy when we were trekking around the goddamn Western Front. So what’s with the whining?” 

Steve doesn’t know where to start. For a second he just looks. 

Bucky’s made up of dramatic angles and distinctive shadows, jawline and cheekbones set in a way that Steve’s been trying to capture on paper for as long as he can remember, but up close like this, the sharp delicate lines seem blurred and smoothed-over; all Steve can see is the softness of his mouth and the gentle swoop of his eyelashes. Everything else falls out of focus. 

Christ, he’s gone for this jerk. 

And that’s the problem, really, because of all the things in his extraordinarily strange life, Bucky has always been the most extraordinary, a living breathing wise-cracking miracle even before they both became world-famous scientific anomalies. He deserves fireworks and epic poems and goddamn parades, and instead — well. This is the sort of motel where you don’t look too closely at the stains on the carpet. 

Steve’s spent the better part of a century pining for the guy. You’d think he could manage one romantic weekend getaway. 

“Stop that,” Bucky interrupts, before he can spiral any further. “Jesus, stop with the big tragic eyes already. Just shut up and kiss me.” 

Steve would protest, but there’s a tongue in his mouth and a hand in his hair, tugging sharp enough to make his hips twitch forward and his rational mind switch off completely. There’s kiss after syrupy-slow, brain-liquefying kiss, and for a moment Steve lets himself get lost in it.

Then they’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and he’s so startled he jerks back and rolls off the bed into a crouch, instincts kicking in before he remembers: pizza. Right. 

Bucky is laughing — cackling, more like. 

“Wallet’s on the desk,” he says, and stretches extravagantly, unbothered, while Steve fumbles for some money and goes to open the door. 

“Your total is—” The guy stops, blinking rapidly up at Steve. “You’re…” 

Steve remembers abruptly that he’s shirtless and half-hard, with some major bed head and kiss-swollen lips. 

“Sorry, I’m not — this isn’t —” he blurts out. “Um.” 

Too late. The guy is already glancing behind him; Steve looks back just in time to catch Bucky’s outrageous wink and sly grin from where he’s lounging on his side like a goddamn pinup. 

The delivery guy looks up at Steve again, grinning, and says, “Nice. Get it, Cap.” 

“I — what? No!” Steve squawks. “Not what it looks like!” 

“Totally what it looks like,” Bucky calls cheerfully. 

Steve shoves too much money at the guy. “Keep the change. Thank you!” 

He manages to snatch the boxes and slam the door before this can get any more mortifying, and then he sags back against the doorframe and puts a hand over his eyes for a second. 

“What happened to not that kind of movie?” he sighs, cheeks burning, before collecting himself and making a mental note to warn Pepper about another impending PR crisis. 

They sit on the floor, side by side, leaning back against the mattress. Steve checks the top box and hands it to Bucky at the sight of pineapple. 

“That’s yours. Heathen.” 

Bucky shrugs, unrepentant, and shoves half a slice of his pineapple abomination into his mouth in one bite. Steve does the same with his perfectly respectable mushroom and sausage piece, and for a few minutes they both just shovel food into their mouths. Steve didn’t realize how hungry he was, but… yeah. 

Maybe blood sugar has been a factor in his mood. Huh. 

“How’sit?” 

“It’s pizza. It’s hot and cheesy, it’s not like it could be bad.” 

“Hot and cheesy, huh? Just like one of my other favorite things.” 

Steve lets out a long suffering sigh, but it’s hard to be grouchy after demolishing half a pizza. 

“You know that guy is gonna tell everyone he’s ever met, right?”

“They won’t believe him.” Bucky counters. “Hey, did you know there’s Captain America porn?” 

Steve almost chokes. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a porn parody of everything these days. The guy’s not a bad lookalike, at least in the face area. The dick area—” 

“Bucky.” 

“I gave them that guy’s name when I paid for the room and ordered the food.” 

Steve actually chokes this time. Then he laughs until his stomach hurts. 

He can’t stop until he’s breathless and red-faced, wheezing like he still has asthma. He wipes away tears while Bucky sits there and looks quietly pleased with himself. 

When the giggles subside he leans over and plants a greasy kiss on the corner of Bucky’s smile. Bucky chases his mouth and nips his lower lip, and for a minute they sit just like that, twisting at an awkward angle to exchange slow scattered kisses. 

With hunger out of the way, Steve’s top priority is getting Bucky horizontal again, so he shoves the pizza boxes out of the way and tugs-lifts-tackles him onto the bed. 

“Feeling better, I take it,” Bucky says, grinning. “Seriously, everything okay?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. “I just — I don’t know. I wanted this weekend to be perfect.” 

Bucky’s expression clears, suddenly. “God, you’re such a romantic.” 

“I mean, it would’ve been romantic, if everything had gone according to plan.”  

“You know I’ll say yes even if it’s not perfect, right?” 

All Steve can do is sputter for a solid minute. “You — how did you — how did you figure it out?”

Bucky raises one snarky eyebrow, thumbs stroking Steve’s shoulderblades before he surges up for a quick kiss. Then his lips twitch as he tries to hold back a chuckle. 

“You didn’t buy a ring, did you? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, but… that might be problematic.” He pokes Steve in the side with one metal finger. 

“No! I just — I wanted it to be special!”

Bucky rolls his eyes in a way that somehow conveys an entire lifetime of mingled exasperation and affection. 

“Pal, I’m part robot and you’re Captain America. Doesn’t get much more special than that.” 

“I had a whole speech!” 

“Now there’s something you don’t see often: Captain America making a speech.” 

“Wow.” 

“No, I’m sure it was a good one. Lemme guess, the words ‘til the end of the line’ were involved. Am I right?”  

“Wow.”

He’s laughing too hard for it to be considered a real kiss, but he can’t help it. 

Steve’s about to pull away when Bucky wraps both arms around him and kisses back, and suddenly there’s nothing playful about it; it’s startlingly slow and deep and urgent, with a hitched inhale and an exhale that comes out shaky. 

Steve can’t quite catch his breath either. 

“You really thought you had to ask?” Bucky whispers. Neither of them pull away; their noses brush, and they’re breathing the same warm close air. 

“Told you, I wanted it to be special. You deserve that.” He expects a sarcastic retort, but Bucky’s serious and silent. “Sometimes I worry… I’ll let you down. After all this time — I don’t want you to get bored. Don’t want you to think I take you for granted.” 

“Honestly? The boring stuff is my favorite.” 

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better, Buck.” 

“After everything that’s happened —” His voice has gone rough, and he pauses to lick his lips and take a breath. “Boredom still feels like a luxury. Getting to muddle through the everyday shit together… I love it. Even when you’re being a goddamn diva.” 

Steve lets out a wobbly chuckle. “Jerk.” 

“We both shoulda died a few times over by now. You know? It all feels special. I’m never gonna get over that.”  Bucky bites his lip, and his expression is wide-open and vulnerable, no trace of the usual laughter in his eyes. “So if you want a piece of paper making it official, that’s fine by me. But as far as I’m concerned… it was a done deal a long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” Steve manages. “Yeah, okay.” 

Then it’s bruising lips and feverish heat, a simmering need that’s so perfect and dizzying that for a few minutes, Steve forgets about the questionable duvet and the sticky wallpaper and absolutely everything else. 

They could be anywhere: crappy motel room, Brooklyn tenement, mountain cabin, Army base — Steve’s never been able to focus on their surroundings or anything else for that matter, not when Bucky’s around. This kind of love’s not just blind, it’s blinding. 

“You can go through the whole thing anyway, if it makes you feel better,” Bucky interrupts.

“Huh?” 

“I know you need to deliver an inspiring speech at least once a week or you get all backed up.” 

“I’m starting to think I should take it all back.”

“No, really. I’m sure it would’ve been very eloquent.” 

“Shut up and get your clothes off already.” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? Who needs romance when — oh. Oh, hey, do that again.” 

.

.

.

[straightlikewetspaghetti]

Demons of the Past

Pairings: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: Mature language

Word count: 3074

Ch.1 Stranger Danger

Poppy Min Sinclair had to arch her slender neck to see her reflection from over the shoulder of Chloe, who had been testing her new artistic vision on her for a good few minutes. For some time now, Poppy had become a canvas for Chloe's magical hands as she tried her luck at running a beauty salon, along with Veronica, who was doing her best advertising.

"What do you think V?"

Veronica tore her gaze away from her phone and looked towards Poppy wrinkling her nose slightly. She usually did that when she was seriously considering something. "As far as I'm concerned she could use some plastic surgery."

"Asshole," Poppy laughed hurling a pillow at her friend, which missed and knocked over a decorative vase standing nearby. Three girls looked in that direction and soon the three of them burst out laughing loudly, curling up on the floor.

"Enough, enough!", Chloe began to shout when she noticed that Poppy wanted to wipe her eyes from crying, and she caught her hands, looking at her with a chastising gaze. She wouldn't let her hard work be destroyed so easily. Poppy rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face remained constant as she silently teased the shorter girl along with Veronica. "Why am I hanging out with you guys..."

"You love us," whined Veronica hugging a reddened Chloe with one arm, who lowered her gaze quickly to her hands nervously playing with the hem of her skirt.

Poppy made the sound of displeasure she made whenever the two girls started acting too cute. She was glad for their happiness, but deep down she felt an incredible jealousy, because she herself would like to share her life with someone too.

The couple sort of understood the blonde, pulled away from each other and looked at her docilely.

"Don't worry Poppy, I'm sure you'll meet someone at the party tonight. From what I heard Zoey invited some cutie from the old days...", Chloe smiled as she tried to convey positive energy with her words. "Besides, you're wearing my makeup, no one will be able to resist you!"

"Cutie you say..."

Ch.2 Party Fever

She was the most beautiful girl in the whole room.

No.

She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.

Bea watched from a dark corner of the room as Poppy twirled effortlessly to the beat of the music, attracting the stares of drooling people with her movements. Her tiny skirt didn't leave much to the imagination either, but that was Poppy Min Sinclair's style; if she wasn't the main attraction, what was the point of her presence?

"You're acting like a creep," she was snapped out of her observation by Zoey who magically appeared next to her, making her almost gasp.

"You should have some kind of bell around your neck, Wade," Bea rolled her eyes at her friend's laughter.

"Wow, she has nice ass... Ets, yeah, nice assets," Zoey smiled innocently seeing her friend's murderous gaze. "You'd better come over to her eventually,"

Her gaze went back to the dancing blonde. "It's been five years, what should I say to her?"

"Maybe something like; Heya Pops I already have money, maybe you want to come with me for a little Macarena?", the black-haired squirmed as Bea's fist landed right in her stomach, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. The slight pain she felt didn't stop her from laughing at the tomato-like look that appeared on her friend's face. "Come on babe, she's at the bar now, this is your opportunity."

Bea nodded and straightened up, ready to attack. "You finally said something with sense."

Ch.3 Deja-vu

"One Old Fashioned and Sex On The Beach."

Poppy turned behind her with a ready biting remark, but her voice froze in her throat when she saw the person standing behind her. And it was none other than Bea Hughes herself, her first drink, crush, kiss, sex, love, but also her first heartbreak. She stood before her as casually as if those five years of separation between them had never existed. Her short brown hair, now shoulder-length, was whiter than snow itself. Her childlike facial features had sharpened and she could see tiny wrinkles appearing from the overworked late nights. Her style had also changed, from boyishly sporty and bad girl to formal and important. She looked like a millionaire ripped straight from the cover of Forbes. She no longer resembled the person she once was.

"You remembered what I drink," the blonde choked out as the first wave of shock left her and the lump in her throat loosened. Talking to her seemed so unreal that she felt like she had lost consciousness and was now dreaming.

Bea smiled in response, though it was more of a tired smile than the beaming howl with which she had greeted Poppy daily in their school years. "There are some things that are hard to forget Pops," the white-haired girl shrugged her shoulders sheepishly as she slid the hundred across the counter towards the bartender, who with renewed vigor reached over and ran to prepare the drinks, nearly tipping over his own feet.

"Feeling generous tonight?", Poppy chuckled as she watched Bea tuck a rather thick bundle of bills into her pocket. In their teenage years, the white-haired girl had barely been able to make ends meet, but Poppy had always admired her ability to live from day to day and enjoy herself, even when an eviction order from her home hung over her head.

Bea laughed a throaty laugh that sounded almost like a cough. She nodded and tilted her head to one side, the way she did every time she got into a thoughtful mood. "There's nothing wrong with supporting the littles." Poppy's insides tightened to ask where she'd gotten all that money, but by some miracle her strong will managed to curb the urge and nip it in the bud. That would be tactless, and lack of tact is a trait that should not be associated with Min Sinclair.

"You can ask me anything you want," Bea looked her straight in the eye, making Poppy stop seeing anyone else but her. It was as if she had cast a spell on her and moved them far away, enclosing them in a safe bubble illusion. Even the music became just a distant rumble as the white-haired woman looked at her that way. The same way she had looked at her five years ago.

"I don't understand," the blonde cursed herself when she heard her own words, which sounded more idiotic than some of Chloe's wisdom. Bea seemed unmoved, by her clumsy attempt at pretending, in fact, a cocky grin appeared on her lips that she, oh so much, felt like tearing off now.

" Don't play games Poppy, we're not kids anymore," Bea reached for the drinks that had finally been brought in and handed one to Poppy, completely casually, fingertips brushing against the skin of her palm. "Drink up, it'll help you relax, and I know you have a lot of questions."

The blonde lowered her gaze to the drink and took a moment to look at the colors that danced on the surface of her liquor. How was Bea able to read her like an open book after all these years. Everyone said she had changed, but could it be that the change wasn't so great after all? And why was she always questioning herself in her company?

She was pulled out of her reverie by Bea, who unnoticeably slipped her finger under her chin and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other again. This time, however, she was closer, much, much closer. Poppy could without much difficulty smell the expensive perfume that didn't match the Bea of her memories, but did match the woman who sat before her. Just as in years past, Bea's thumb involuntarily stroked her cheek.

For a brief moment, the blonde let her selfish thoughts consume her and savor the touch, but it didn't last as long as she wanted it to. "N-no," she whispered and using all of her strong willpower she moved a safe distance away from the white-haired woman, who didn't object to her reaction. "I can't do it like this," she said as she walked away, escaping as quickly as possible from this cursed place, from this cursed past.

Ch.4 When It Rains, It Pours

When she left the building, it was already dark and chilly outside, and a light rain was drizzling from the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. At this point, however, she didn't care about ruining her expensive and designer clothes and makeup that Chloe had sat on for dozens of minutes. She needed to get some fresh air, cool down, and let her thoughts flow.

Why had she come back just now? Now that Poppy had put her life back together, without her and without thoughts of her.

"Sinclair!"

"You've got to be kidding me," she snorted under her breath hearing Bea's loud voice behind her, who as usual wasn't giving up. At least that hadn't changed. "What do you want Farmsville?"

Bea squirmed at that old nickname, but quickly imposed a stoic expression on her face and shoved her hands into her pockets. Even in this gentle rain and illuminated only by the slightly penetrating moonlight, she continued to look like a goddess, which annoyed Poppy immensely.

"You ran out so suddenly, I thought something happened and I thought..."

"Oooh now you thought?" snapped the blonde, who nervously shifted from foot to foot, almost ready to throw herself at the white-haired woman's throat. Years of pent up rage bubbled through her veins, making her skin almost burn with living fire. "Forgive my surprise, but I would never judge Bea Hughes for her ability to think!"

The white-haired woman watched her in silent contemplation, answering nothing. Her silence irritated the blonde a hundred times more than anything she could say. The atmosphere between them was becoming strained to the limit and all it took was one wrong move, one misspoken word, and the catastrophe was certain. The rain intensifying around them wasn't helping either.

"I don't understand what happened. We were talking calmly like we used to, and suddenly you run out and do one of your tantrums..."

"Ha! Like we used to...," she interrupted her again in mid-sentence, mimicking her and almost bursting into maniacal laughter, but her mood had nothing to do with amusement. "I guess you've already forgotten that you left me for five whole years and now you're back and you expect us to talk like old friends?", her voice wavered between anger and tears. "Someone paid you to come back here? That's where you got the money from, right? You were hired to get revenge on me..."

"What," the astonishment in Bea's voice was almost palpable as she stared at the blonde shaking with anger with her eyes wide open. It was Poppy's nature to explode and make arguments for any reason, but what she was saying now sounded irrational, even for her. "I'm the CEO of my uncle's company, that's where I get my money from," she corrected.

"What," this time it was Poppy's turn to be surprised and her face even softened. "What do you mean, what about your dreams of becoming a music star?"

Bea scratched the back of her neck nervously and lifted her face up, letting the raindrops wash her face of any negativity that had accumulated. When she felt ready enough not to explode, she looked back at the blonde and sighed, her face looking more tired than before. "Those were childhood daydreams. A music career would never make me the kind of money an accounting firm would."

"Childish daydreams? You spent your first earned money on a guitar and an amplifier, how can you call that childish daydreams...", the concern in Poppy's voice was sincere, probably one of the more sincere feelings she had felt in recent times.

"I needed real options and real money," Bea replied dryly, ignoring any emotion from the blonde, who was looking at her with a worried expression on her face.

"What for? Why did you need the money?" she asked, not yet knowing that she would light the fuse from the bomb with that question.

"What for? Is that really what you're asking?", Bea's so far calm expression bent into unnatural anger, her eyes misting over from the emotions gripping her. "And isn't that what you wanted? A girl who can fulfill your every whim, with a stable life, a job and a mountain of money?", a realization and simultaneous remorse appeared on Poppy's face, but it did not satisfy Bea. "Yes Poppy, I heard your conversation with Veronica the other night when you thought I was sleeping."

Poppy blinked several times, unable to formulate a response. She replayed that conversation in her mind, all the words she'd said then that she hadn't really meant, but under the onslaught of people around her, her perception was distorted. "It's not like that..."

Bea raised a hand to silence any explanation from the blonde. She didn't want to hear it. "No Pops" she shook her head, her hair wet from the downpour sticking to her face, masking any tears falling. "It at least gave me the motivation to change my life, for that I will be grateful."

Ch.5 Irreplaceable

"You understand that she still had the nerve to be mad at me? Like it's my fault for changing for her," Bea had been lamenting to Zoey for about an hour, who, like any patient friend, silently let her rant.

"And she's telling me that she changed for me... After all, I didn't ask her to!", Poppy nervously walked around the living room almost already trampling a path in the tiles. A worried Veronica and Chloe watched her in silence, letting her get all the negative emotions out.

"I know she didn't ask me to do this, but I wanted to finally be worthy of her, you know? I wanted to give her the future she deserved, and she wouldn't have it with me if I continued to follow my dreams," the white-haired girl slumped helplessly on the couch next to her friend, dipping her face into her hands. "After all, to a gorgeous girl like Poppy, it wouldn't be enough that I...”

"After all, she knew full well that she suited me the way she was, why did she take away the one person I..."

"Love."

"I wish I could be mad at her...", Bea muttered lifting her face and looking straight at Zoey who seemed to be in deep thought.

"But I can't," groaned Poppy leaning against Veronica's shoulder, who reflexively began to stroke the blonde's back, which slowly began to twitch from her silent crying. Chloe moved to the other side and snuggled into Poppy to give her her full support, knowing that no words could heal these wounds.

Zoey nodded and patted the white-haired girl's shoulder giving her silent support. Bea relaxed from her friend's touch. "Haven't you thought maybe it's about time..."

"To move on and find someone new? It's been five years," Veronica felt Poppy's whole body tense up and prepared for a burst of anger, from the blonde, but the blonde only raised her head and furrowed her eyebrows."

"No. She's irreplaceable."

Ch.6 Where Something Ends, Something Begins

It had been a week since the memorable meeting.

Since then, Poppy hadn't seen or heard from Bea who had sunk like a stone into water. Such disappearing without a word wasn't her style, but the blonde wasn't sure what her style was anymore. The days she lived as she always did, and the nights she sat curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and reminisced about old times while talking to herself.

"Thank you for coming Poppy."

Poppy slipped her sunglasses off her nose and looked over at Zoey who was warming her hands with a mug of hot coffee. "Believe it, I was surprised myself that I agreed," she lied. She agreed without hesitation because she knew it was about Bea, and inside she was dying to know what was happening to her.

Zoey giggled at the blonde's nudge and shook her head. Although her words were biting, there wasn't an ounce of incivility in them. Such a habit between them. "You can probably guess why I met with you."

"Is it about Bea?", Poppy tried to sound as formal as possible and not show that she was thinking about it day in and day out, almost unable to focus on anything else. How pathetic it would be if someone found out she couldn't control her feelings.

The black-haired woman sighed grimly and nodded her head. For a moment she began to search through her backpack and pulled out a strange little bundle. Poppy tilted her head and looked at the colorful paper that only her Bea could choose. She smiled at the surge of positive memories.

"The day she left, she told me to give this to her. I honestly thought about it for a long time, against all odds I wouldn't want you to suffer any more than you already have," Zoey's gaze drifted somewhere behind Poppy's back as she couldn't stand the pain in the blonde's eyes that grew with every word she said. "But I think this will help both you and her close a chapter in your life" Zoey pulled money out of her pocket and placed it next to the empty cup. Without a word, she placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, who stared at the package as if mesmerized. She squeezed it tightly and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

With trembling hands, she reached for the bundle and prepared to open it. Somewhere deep inside she knew exactly what she would find, but she hoped that it was only an illusion and that it would not really contain what she had in mind. Unfortunately, hope is the mother of fools and when she opened the package, a velvet box appeared before her eyes.

She opened it with tears in her eyes.

"Maybe in another life and another time we would have had a chance, but I will love you always."

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- Part 8

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1789

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: I’ll have a special update on Saturday in celebration of my favorite holiday ever Halloween! I hope you enjoy this part though it was a toughie to write. Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

Loki was surprised when the artificial voice alerted him of your current whereabouts. It hadn’t led him to the pasture you claimed as your outside training area. Instead, Loki was led towards the gymnasium that resided indoors in the building next door. 

He finds you seated in the middle of the floor mats. You are tucked into yourself as the gold siphons rested on top of your knees. You stared at the distant unknown very unaware of his presence. It was obvious that something was currently occupying your mind but he had no idea what it could be. 

Loki’s curiosity over you makes him desire to know the inner workings of your mind but he was nowhere prepared to start what he expected to be a personal conversation with you. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. It doesn’t matter in the end as you finally snap into focus and turn to look at him. 

“Oh, Loki,” you greet as you jump to your feet. “You’re here.” 

“Hi, little mortal,” Loki nods in return, deciding to ignore the previous cause of concern for you in preference of remaining distant overall. “Did you practice with your siphons for the day?”

“Yes, I did,” you answer. “Did some target practice with Sam actually. He wanted to practice evading airborne attacks and I needed to practice sending those same attacks.” 

“Sounds dangerous,” Loki scowls. 

“Well, Wanda was there too just in case things went wrong and nothing did,” you explain. “No falling bodies or unnecessary confessions. I expelled my extensive power for the day and I’m ready for my lesson with you.”

The excitement you had the day before is gone. In fact you seemed a bit hardened and slightly colder. 

Something had shifted in you and Loki hated that he was aware enough to notice it. 

He is still unsure of how to initiate such an emotional-riddled conversation. It wasn’t exactly a strength of his but he had been at the receiving end of them enough to know the benefits of them. Loki thinks back to his mother and how she pulled him aside for these exact talks. 

Perhaps you just needed the same. 

Except Loki was nowhere near as experienced or caring as Frigga. 

“Is uh… Are you…” Loki stammers out unsure. “Did something…” 

You stare at him expectantly and Loki is annoyed at the growing frustration within him. 

“What is wrong with you?” 

Those were not the words that Loki had wanted to choose and yet they topple out of his mouth so graciously. 

You smile though. 

It’s not as warm as the one you had offered him previously but it was a smile nonetheless. 

“I didn’t realize I was that obvious,” you answer. “Sam and Wanda didn’t even notice.” 

“I’m more vigilant than most,” Loki states a bit proudly. “Will your melancholic mood disturb my lesson?” 

You start to shake your head and feel a sharp sting run down your spine. 

“I take that attempt of a lie as a yes.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “Ever since I’ve got this power it’s hard to ignore all of my emotions.” 

“The downside of the truth, I’m afraid.” 

“I really am sorry, Loki,” you apologize again with a sigh. “I guess we’ll have to postpone my lesson.” 

You start to move away and Loki hates himself for speaking up. 

“Wait.” 

You stop and turn back around surprised to find him perturbed. 

“Just…” he hesitates once more. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I don’t think…” 

“Everyone, including you, have a tendency of burying their emotions when they don’t want to deal with them,” Loki states. “And it leads to catastrophic results… I should know.”  

You watch him closely now making unnecessary connections of his personal experience. Loki clears his throat and continues on.

“Perhaps it's a good thing that you have to face them. Saves you time and energy in the long run.” 

You register his words and let out a sigh knowing he was right. 

“I guess I’m still stuck on the love spell we did yesterday,” you confess. “I know you were hiding something from me which then reveals the truth you were trying so hard to avoid admitting. The love spell… It didn’t work because my soulmate doesn’t exist.” 

Loki regrets initiating the conversation now, but the tension you held in your body is slowly released with every word said. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you laugh lightly. “With all the glamour and glory we get as heroes, there are a lot of things we sacrifice in order to keep the world safe. We take punches, we bleed, and we… we can’t love without putting them in danger.” 

You move to run your hands through your hair but are stopped by the golden gauntlets you wore. 

“And I mean… how am I supposed to find someone when I have to wear these 24/7 and I can tell when they lie,” you exclaim. “Love was not in the cards for me. It’s not in the cards for any of us.” 

You stare off into the unknown then and your smile fades away. 

“We’re not promised happy endings,” you whisper. “Those are reserved solely for fairy tales.” 

This cynicism was so unlike you and yet you spoke the unfiltered truth. 

“Your friends have found love. I’m sure you can…” 

“This isn’t the best time to tell me a lie, Loki,” you interrupt him.

“I’m not lying to you,” Loki argues. “I’m trying to offer you hope.” 

You frown at his response. He’s being honest but you still sensed that something was off in his words. 

“Hope?” 

“Yes,” Loki answers. “Hope.” 

He steps towards you and oddly enough you don’t shift away from him like many do. You stare up at him waiting for him to continue.

“It can sometimes feel like a lie,” Loki explains. “Hope is a fickle thing. A hard thing to keep honest since it's based on uncertainty.” 

You hum in response as you ponder his words. You watch as Loki waits for you to make up your mind, but something pesters on.

“Why don’t you want to fall in love?” 

“Why do you?” Loki spins the question back to you. 

You’re both at a standstill waiting for the other to break. 

Loki doesn’t. You do. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” 

Loki is surprised at your response and it shows.

“What?” 

“I have friends. Great friends,” you correct yourself. “But I can’t help but want more. I want to come home to someone. I want to hold their hand as I tell them about my day and hear about theirs. I want to be challenged and I want them to help me continue to grow as a person. I… I want to do the same for them as they do for me. I just… I just want to matter to someone.”

Loki doesn’t know how to respond but you didn’t expect him to. 

“You don’t have to tell me why you don’t want to fall in love,” you whisper. “But maybe you are right… about holding onto hope, I mean. Maybe my soulmate isn’t ready for me yet and that’s ok. I’ll wait until they are. However long it takes.” 

You smile at him again and it is filled with warmth once more. 

“So your lesson?” you shift the subject. “What is it?” 

It takes Loki a second to register the emotional backlash he’s having. The way you shifted from one emotion to another was hard to keep up but Loki followed along with it. 

“Right, my lesson,” Loki stammers out. “I want to try something out so bear with me.” 

Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He concentrates the little power he still held and extends it outward. Your sharp gasp proves its working and that’s when Loki decides to open his eyes to find his copy standing next to him. 

He felt tired and it took most of his concentration to withhold his clone. 

“Your power…” Loki breathes out with slight difficulty. “It should allow you to discern which one is the clone and which one is real.” 

Your smile widens as you approach him. 

“This is amazing. Loki… I…” 

“Can you or can you not tell the clone from it’s maker?” Loki grits out. 

Noting the sharpness of his tone, you look between the two Loki’s and reach out for the clone. Like a stretched out rubber band, the extended magic snaps back into him at it’s release. Loki staggers back and you are quick to reach for him. 

“That took up a lot of your limited power, didn’t it?” you ask him in which he nods. “Then why would you still do it?” 

“To test you,” Loki answers. “And I was right, wasn’t I?” 

“It wasn’t worth the risk, Loki,” you answer. “You have to take better care of yourself.” 

Loki opens his mouth to respond. Most likely an annoyed retort to push you away but you stumble back without prompting. 

The room grows colder, but not by your repulsed actions. 

No, it had to do with the patch of skin on his wrist that revealed itself blue. 

“Loki?” 

The dark prince in question pulls his long sleeve down trying to shove down the array of emotions that were threatening to burst out. 

“It seems your power can reveal illusion spells as well,” Loki states quietly. “I should have known.” 

“Loki,” you call out to him, sensing his incoming retreat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to expose something you weren’t ready for.” 

Your sincere apology is real but Loki can’t register it at the moment. He had involuntarily placed himself in a position of weakness which you had taken advantage of. 

“I really am sorry.” 

Loki takes a step back and averts his stare from you. 

“Lesson’s over. We’ll start up again tomorrow.” 

Before you can say anything, Loki makes a haste retreat. You wish to follow after him but FRIDAY chooses this time to capture your attention. 

“Now that you are free. Mr. Stark sent you a message.” 

“Not now, FRIDAY.”

The AI doesn’t register your command as a hologram appears at the nearby wall displaying Tony tinkering away in his lab. 

“Hello there, my favorite agent! And please don’t tell anyone I called you that. People will grow jealous. Anyway, this is your favorite Avenger speaking and I am cordially inviting you to the party I’m having this weekend for Halloween. I’m sure Reindeer Games has got you in a tizzy so I thought a break would do you some good. The whole gang is invited so be ready. I’m sending all of you a jet. Study hard, play harder. Iron Man, out!” 

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