#i just found this in my drafts and figured i’d post it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

traveler-at-heart · 2 months ago

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Love is a winning serve

Sequel to Game, Set, Match that was on my drafts and just decided to post lol.

Tennis player Natasha Romanoff x F!R

The grass is always greener at the start of the season.

No matter how many times you step in, Wimbledon always takes your breath away. The view is especially magnificent today, as your eyes follow the figure of your girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff.

Fury grumbles next to you.

“Is there a problem?”

“She’s down! 3 games to lob on the first set. Why are you not freaking out right now?” the man whisper yells and Melina glares, shushing him.

“She’s bored” you say after she loses the fourth game.

“What did you just say?”

“Natasha’s bored. She won Roland Garros 6-0, 6-1, so she wants to make this at least a bit entertaining”

“Well, could she possibly play sudoku or something else to combat this boredom? If I wasn’t bald already I’d be losing my hair from the stress”

After the break, and as you suspected, Natasha wins three games in a row. You admire her graceful movements as she sprints across the court. She’s wearing all white, as tradition requires. Such a shame that her team opted for a polo shirt. Yes, she looks elegant, but you’d rather see those toned arm muscles as she exerts herself.

“Fuck”

Natasha’s outburst and the crowd’s gasp break your train of thought.

“Are you kidding me? That ball was so in” she challenges the call.

“That’s the rule” umpire Steve Rogers, aka Mister Manners, says.

“That’s bullshit”

“Ms. Romanoff, language!” he says, truly shocked. You’re amused, because Natasha can do so much worse than that.

So much dirtier…

“Stop it” Yelena elbows you.

“Stop what?”

“Looking like you’re ready to throw your panties to the court”

“If that keeps the press from asking about her little outburst, be my guest” Fury sighs.

But you’re already on it.

After throwing her racket across the court, Natasha has to go the extra mile to win 7-5 on the first set. Throughout the rest of the match, you make sure your left hand is showing the big diamond ring Natasha gave you.

“You’re already trending on Twitter” Yelena says, amazed. “Thank God you’re on our side, evil genius”

Natasha wins the second set easily, and is saved from the court interview by the English rain.

“Nice. The tennis part, not the tantrum in the middle of the game” Fury says.

“Come on, the umpire was being an idiot. How long do I have before the press conference?”

“20 minutes, give or take. Don’t worry, they’ll be nice to you”

You show the ring and she nods.

It all started as an honest mistake. Yes, Natasha had given you this particular ring as a present, and yes you’d wore it in public. But the speculation of an engagement was enough to boost her public persona, so you ran with it.

“You know, when I get you an actual engagement ring, it will be huge” she says, pulling you closer to kiss you.

“I don’t have a preference on that regard, Miss Romanoff” you smile against her lips.

“Really? I was under the impression you liked how big my stra…”

“Aaaah! Stop. I should have stayed in New York!” Yelena says, leaving the locker room in a rush.

—

“Have you set a date?” is the first thing a journalist asks during the press conference.

“Date for what, David?” Natasha plays dumb.

“We’ve all seen the huge diamond ring on Y/N's finger. Or maybe you’re planning on getting married right in the middle of the court once you reach the Golden Slam”

“No comment” Natasha says, holding back laughter.

—

It’s been two years since the start of your relationship with Natasha. Once it became clear that you were both committed to making it work, you quit your job and joined her team, as PR manager/mediator when Fury and Natasha were butting heads.

At first, you were worried that I’d be too weird to work with Natasha, but she valued your input and trusted you. Two things she had never found in anyone else aside from her family and Fury.

The fact she had won 3 grand slams last year and was on route to completing the golden calendar this year was a testament to how good you were as a team.

Knowing her after match routine, you figure there’s some time to catch up with Bucky’s first round match. He gets the job done in straight sets, and you wait for his interview to be over.

“Hey, defending champion” you say, looping your arm around his. He smiles.

“Hi, coach Y/L/N”

“Glad to see umpire Jarvis wasn’t a total asshole to you this time” you mutter, looking around as a couple of kids approach Bucky for autographs.

“Might be too busy with all the Maximoff drama”

“Oh?”

Though Wanda had stopped trying to mess with Natasha since you two became public, you were always on edge when it came to her. It couldn’t hurt to have any extra intel on Maximoff.

“Word on the street is that they broke up” Bucky lowers his voice, placing his hand on your back. “You didn’t hear it from me”

“My lips are sealed”

“Hopefully not for food. I’m starving”

“Lunch on me, champ”

—

“I’m home” you joke as usual, stepping foot on the hotel suite. That had been the hardest part of your new life.

You didn’t spend more than two weeks in the same country, and being alone with Natasha was a rare ocurrence.

There were times when you missed your couch and the Indian food from around the corner of your apartment.

The sight that greets you is enough to make up for it.

Natasha is stretching in nothing but leggins and a sports bra, her perfect ass on full display as she bends over in a complicated yoga stance.

“Now that’s a champion’s ass” you whistle.

The redhead smiles and straightens, raising her arms above her head. You take the opportunity to wrap your arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “Where’s everybody?”

“They went to get some food”

“Perfect timing” you whisper against her skin, enjoying the soft smell of lavender. Your hands wander all the way down to her ass and slap playfully.

“You know the rule” Natasha warns, but still melts against your touch.

You huff, annoyed. Stupid, stupid rule. No sex during tournaments.

“I have to wait two more weeks to taste you? How is that fair, baby?”

“Don’t I make it up to you everytime?”

“Let me just…” you kneel hugging her hips and placing kisses on the small of her back. “I’ll take care of everything. Just bend over and spread those pretty legs for me”

“Y/N…” you can tell by her tone she’s ready to give in and you smile.

“Hope you are all starving… ah! AGAIN! I quit” Yelena shouts as she walks in on you.

“Step away, Y/N” Fury warns as you stand up and whimper pathetically against Natasha’s shoulder. “Go take a cold shower.”

“Not fair” you cry out. Natasha chuckles, leaning forward and kissing your neck. A blush spreads as you imagine her lips in other parts of your body. “Really not fair”

—

It wouldn’t be Wimbledon without a rain delay. Considering Nat lost the second set against Danvers, a little break might be good for her.

As you wait for the weather to improve, you keep looking at your calendar and the meeting that no one knows about. Of course it has to happen the minute the match resumes.

“I’ll be right there” you promise, knowing it will be a quick call anyway.

“Ramonda speaking” the voice on the other end greets. She knows it’s you, but still makes you introduce yourself. You expect nothing else from the head of the WTA. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

“It’s very generous… but I’m afraid I’ll have to reject it”

Head of Communications for the Women’s Tennis Association. Being on the citcuit for two years had put you on the map, beyond your wildest expectations.

But you would never leave Natasha. You are a team.

“You’ll still be able to see your girlfriend, if that’s what you’re worried about” the woman says, with a certain condescention in her voice.

“Like I said… it’s very generous. But I am where I need to be. Thank you, Ramonda”

There’s a pause and you wonder if the woman will call you a fool and hang up.

“Look, our current director is leaving at the end of the USO anyway. We’ll hire a consultig firm for a bit, and I hope you’ve had more time to think about this”

“Alright”

Your answer will be the same, but right now you need to go back to the game. Ramonda says her goodbyes and promises to send a better offer by the end of the month.

It makes you dizzy, to think that a local news reporter like yourself could ever do such a huge job.

“You look a little pale” a voice with a thick Russian accent says as you leave the locker room.

It takes you a moment to recognise it.

“Alexei”

“Surprised to see me?”

“Well, yes. Considering you’re banned from the club” you hope that he’ll take offense and end the conversation. But the man laughs, showing his gold teeth.

“I still have my connections”

“Natasha is not here”

“I’m not here to see her. Not right now, at least”

“Then what do you want?”

Alexei sighs, sitting in a bench and looking at you with a phony smile. He looks so much older, and nothing like the man that would get entire stadiums to cheer for him.

“You know I taught her how to hold a racket? How to throw a ball? She was serving before she knew how to write her name”

“Sorry, I don’t have time for this sentimental daddy of the year bullshit”

“I want her back” he explodes, standing up and blocking the exit. You look up, aware that he’s a lot taller than you.

He’s scaring the shit out of you and you hate him for it.

“She listens to you. Put on a good word for me. And then, she’ll come to her senses. That’s how Natalia is, she always needs a little guidance”

“If you go back to coaching her, it would be the worst mistake of her career. So, no. Now move. I have a match to get to”

Alexei punches one of the lockers and you try not to jump at the sound.

“I’ll make sure you regret this”

All you can feel is your heart beating out of your chest. What can you do to escape this situation?

“You better leave now, jackass” Bucky steps out of nowhere, shielding you with his body. “Security is on their way”

The man grumbles, exiting the room. You sigh with relief, allowing Bucky to hold you for a second.

“You ok?”

“Yes. Thank you, Buck”

“Natasha has to know about this. He could be dangerous”

“I don’t want to worry her. It will be fine” you dismiss his concerns quickly, but he looks annoyed “I’ll tell Fury, that should be enough. You have a match to prepare for, I’ll leave now”

Despite his protests, you walk out of the room, heading to the player’s box without paying attention to anything.

“Y/N?” Fury insists when you’re seated and you finally snap back to reality.

“What?”

“Did you two fight? Because she’s about to lose the match and you look like you’ve seen a ghost”

“What do you mean she’s about to lose?” you look up, noticing Natasha is two games down.

Well, shit.

“No, we are not fighting. And the reason I look like I might pass out is because Alexei was here”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you about it later” you say, watching as Danvers prepares to serve.

This eighth game isn’t any better.

One point and that’s it for Natasha.

“She’s gonna pull through” you say, hopeful.

And miraculously, she does. The redhead saves three match points, wins a couple of games and forces a tiebreak.

You sigh with relief as the umpire speaks those magic words.

“Game, set, match, Romanoff”

Little did you know, this wouldn’t be the last bump on the road.

—-

A questionable reputation

The world of tennis knows her as a devout girlfriend, strategist and PR manager to her partner of two years, Natasha Romanoff.

And yet, we know very little of Y/N Y/L/N as she seeks to share some of Romanoff’s record breaking glory.

An insider has shared that they met two years ago during the USO, when the Russian player was having one of the worst seasons of her career.

The public perception has been that Y/L/N contributed to Romanoff’s success, but recent information has put that into question.

As it stands, Miss Y/L/N has a habit of blurring the lines of professional and personal relationships. She has been tied romantically to Yankees’ superstar Sam Wilson and current ATP number one Bucky Barnes.

It seems as if the loving girlfriend is actually a calculated gold digger, and Romanoff might be the next target in her long list of infamous conquests.

—

Well, shit.

Not only did Alexei drag your name (and career) through the mud, but he also managed to put Sam and Bucky in a PR nightmare of their own.

You severely underestimated him.

What a time to post the article. Natasha is about to make her way to the quarterfinals, which means the press conference will definitely include some questions about her “gold digger girlfriend”

A tear rolls down and you try to keep it together, but it feels like the world is on your shoulders.

Your phone pulls you out of the miserable thoughts, but your stomach drops again when you see the name on the screen.

“Yes?” you greet, wiping more tears from your face.

“Alexei is after you” Ramonda drops the bomb without so much as a greeting and you laugh.

“No shit”

“You knew” the woman says, confused.

“He asked me to convince Natasha to take him back as trainer. You can imagine what my answer was”

“I see. He called me too, you know? I don’t understand what he was expecting to get out of it. Alexei’s not a friend of the WTA. He suggested someone else for the job we’re offering you, which is frankly unbelievable. I wanted to call you and let you know that he’s cashing in the few favors he has left to bring you down”

“What would you do in my place, Ramonda?” you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming.

“I’d give him hell”

The playful tone makes you laugh.

“I got nothing to lose, right?”

“Good luck, Y/N”

She hangs up the phone, but the conversation keeps playing in your head.

You may have underestimated Alexei, but he doesn’t understand one thing. As a team, Natasha and you are fucking unstoppable.

So, you take a deep breath, stand up, and go look for your partner.

—

The post match routine is the same as usual. The only thing missing is you.

“She’ll be right here” Fury says, nodding as Melina checks Natasha’s leg, where she felt a cramp.

“Pickle juice” Melina reminds her daughter and she rolls her eyes.

“But it’s so gross, Mama”

“Gross, but effective”

While they wait for you, Natasha walks to the bathroom. The first thing she hears upon entering is someone puking their guts out.

“You ok?” she asks, not knowing who was there.

A beat of silence and then a voice that she knows all too well.

“I’m fine”

Wanda.

“You never threw up before a match. Are you nervous?” the Russians tries to joke while she washes her hands, but stops when Wanda exits the bathroom stall looking half dead. “Jesus! What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Morning sickness” Wanda answers, too tired to care about keeping her pregnancy a secret anymore.

“Oh. Congratulations” Natasha says in an even tone.

“You sound more excited than Jarvis” Wanda says, splashing some water in her face. “Says he’s not ready to committ after two years. What am I supposed to do with twins by myself?”

“Twins?”

Wanda is about to speak when she throws up in the sink once again.

“Here. Let me just…” Natasha rushes to her side, offering some paper towels and craddling Wanda’s face between her hands as she cleans her mouth.

“I’ve missed you”

“I…”

Natasha places a strand of auburn hair back in her place out of pure habit. This is the closest she’s been to Wanda in years, outside of the court.

Her heart aches over Wanda, how terrified and alone she looks.

The redhead is about to say something else when the door opens.

“Oh”

Natasha turns around, her hands dropping immediately to her sides.

“Y/N…”

“Don’t” is all you say as you leave, not looking back.

You’ve seen enough.

—

It was wise to keep some things to yourself. Like this little bar downtown, where Natasha would never think of looking for you.

She must be going crazy, considering your phone is off and the last time you saw her she looked ready to kiss her crazy ex.

Bucky said Wanda and Jarvis broke up.

So, maybe this whole time you were just a distraction. And now, with the article and Wanda being single again…

No. Natasha would never do this to you.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having. Plus another one for her” someone says behind you.

“Carol” you turn, smiling at the woman. She squeezes your shoulder, taking a seat on the bar stool next to yours.

“I thought you’d be preparing for the next round”

“Nah. Gold diggers don’t work, we just cash” you joke but she doesn’t laugh.

“That article was bullshit. Everyone who has ever worked with you knows that. And if Natasha believed it, you’re better off without her”

“I don’t know if she believed it. I left after I saw her with someone…” you sigh, taking a drink from the new glass the bartender brings over.

How you wish you could erase that memory of Natasha and Wanda.

“I thought her and Maximoff had called it quits” Carol says, shocking you. “What? They weren’t as sneaky as they thought. The rest of us didn’t care enough to mention it”

“Wow”

You sit in silence, drinking and looking out the window. It’s gonna rain again.

“If I had known…” Carol starts, but just shakes her head. You encourage her with a nudge of your elbow. “I would have asked you out. But Natasha had to beat me to that as well. As she does with everything”

“Oh, come on” you say shyly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t know, in the court I’m pretty good at fighting Natasha. Maybe I can give it a try off it”

“I wouldn’t recommend it” you smile, looking over at the menu as a way to change the subject. “You got me a drink, I’ll get you a cheeseburger. How about that?”

“Deal”

—

By the time you go back to the hotel, the rain is pouring. Carol was staying very close to the bar where you had dinner, so she lent you her jacket to keep you dry during the ride home.

You’re walking down the hallway, when the door to your room opens.

If looks could kill…

“Where the hell have you been?” Natasha says through gritted teeth.

You were expecting an apology, not a scolding.

“Out” you walk to the room, eager to change into some dry clothes.

“Yeah? Danvers is your new target, or what?”

Your blood runs cold. Hell, you’re even sure Natasha regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth.

But she still won’t apologize.

She just stares and that pisses you off.

“Excuse me? Say that one more fucking time, Natasha”

“What do you want me to think? There’s that stupid article going around and just now, someone takes pictures of you hugging Danvers in the rain. It’s all over social media”

“She was helping me with her jacket, Natasha. But, while we are on the subject, how is Wanda? As charming and batshit crazy as usual?”

“That’s different” Natasha scoffs and you laugh.

“You are unbelievable. Truly. One of a kind” you go back to looking for clothes, praying the hotel has a spare room you can book.

“It’s not what it seems. She was going through a rough… just trust me, ok?”

“What? Is it her break up?”

“I don’t have to tell you everything” Natasha says, and you feel like crying.

You threw your life out the window for someone who was waiting for the one that got away.

“Yeah, you’re right. You absolutely don’t have to tell me anything”

“I don’t need this right now, Y/N. Think whatever you want”

She walks out, slamming the door behind her.

Everything you believed in has fallen apart.

—-

It was supposed to be an important day. However, your phone has been off since the day you got on a red eye back to New York City.

Bucky is the only person you talk to through video call using your old computer. He’s so pissed off that he easily agreed to not bring up Natasha at all.

So, Saturday comes and you have no idea if she reached the Wimbledon final or not. You stay in your living room all morning and afternoon, watching a medical drama.

Your heart is so broken, and the last time you felt this kind of pain was after losing your father.

At some point, you’ll have to start thinkig about getting a job. There’s no way in hell you’ll take Ramonda’s offer, because it would mean working with Natasha at some point.

For now, staying in your couch while you wait for your food to be delivered is enough.

“Finally” you mutter, standing up to walk to the door. You open without looking who’s on the other side.

“Hi”

Natasha is standing in the middle of the hallway. You look at the containers she’s holding and realised she hijacked your order.

“That’s mine”

“Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about”

“Yes, there is”

“No, there isn’t” you reach for the food and she steps back. “Seriously? Fine, I’ll eat leftovers. Whatever”

You begin to close the door, but Natasha stops it with her hand.

“I’m sorry”

“What for, Natasha?” you say, but she doesn’t answer. “For not explaining whatever that was with Wanda? For impliying I was cheating on you with Carol? Or for stealing my fucking food?”

There’s no answer.

“Everything you just said. And for not protecting you from Alexei. Fury told me everything. Barnes provided some extra context in a very loud voice too”

You want to laugh at the idea of your best friend yelling at Natasha. He’d been waiting to do it for so long. It’s apparent that Natasha has no intention of leaving so you walk away, leaving the door wide open.

The redhead takes the hint and goes inside, closing the door behind her.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“There was some food on the plane”

“Wait, what?”

“I… won Wimbledon”

“Congratulations” you say without a hint of excitement.

“And when I looked to my box, you weren’t there. I didn’t even climb to hug anyone. I got through the ceremony, then went to the airport and on a plane here”

“Natasha, are you insane?” you go back to work mode immediately after hearing how stupid she’s acting. “You know you have to stick around for the interviews, the pictures, the dinner. The press is gonna have a field day speculating…”

“I don’t care”

“I do. We are getting you back on a plane to London. Not to mention the Olympics are in two weeks on a completely different surface. You should be training”

There is absolutely no way in hell that Natasha will miss the milestone of her career because of you. You find your phone tucked away in your travel bag and plug it, ready to call Fury and make a plan.

“Y/N, I’m not going back unless you come with me” Natasha walks to your room, leaning against the door.

“I- I can’t. Not now, Natasha” you look away, tears rolling down your cheeks. “You should go”

“Ok”

She agrees so easily to let you go, or so you think until she speaks again.

“I’ll be back to get you some breakfast”

“What?”

“I’m going to a hotel. I meant what I said earlier. The only way I’m going back is if I can fix the mess I made”

Natasha lingers for a second and you sigh.

“Use the guest room” you give in, turning to cut off her thank you. “Just for tonight. One way or another, I’m making sure you go back to London”

—

The call with Fury takes an unexpected turn.

“What do you mean you don’t want her back?”

“This past week was hell for all of us. Did you see how hard she was hitting the balls? I almost thought she’d break them in half mid play”

“So what? She’s so close, Nick. We have to help her to the finish line” you plead. Just two more things and she’ll become a legend. That’s the way it was always supposed to be.

“Don’t tell me you’ll be the one to put the sport above your relationship. I thought it was all Natasha’s doing”

No, it wasn’t all Natasha’s doing. This past week has been eye opening for you.

You gave up your life to follow her, you decided to become her rock. She didn’t ask for anything, and even when she crossed a line, being too focused on the game to check on you, your immediate reaction was to minimize your needs. In your mind, Natasha came first because she was extraordinary; a once in a lifetime talent.

But what about you?

“You still there?” Fury says, making you snap out of it.

“Yeah. Just thinking”

“Listen. If she doesn’t want to come back, no one’s going to force her. I think you know better than anyone that nothing can change Natasha’s mind. Well, only one person can”

“Who?” you think about Melina or Yelena. They can talk some sense to her.

“You” Fury says before hanging up.

Well, that won’t do. You’re done telling her what to do, or when. She’s a big girl and she can handle herself.

“How’s Fury?” she says as soon as you walk out of your room.

“He wants you on the next flight to Paris” you lie to her, but she laughs.

Of course she knows better.

“If you want me out of your place, just say the word and I’ll find a hotel. But I’m not leaving until I fix this. Hey, are you listening to me?”

“There’s a seat available for tonight’s flight” you ignore her, pulling out your credit card to buy her a ticket.

“Stop it!” she protests, snatching the card from your hands.

“Natasha, give it back. You need to practice before the Olympics”

“Why are you so worried? Clay is my best surface” she argues and you take the bait.

“Your best surface is grass but stats don’t reflect that because there’s like two championships! Why am I even arguing with you?”

“I don’t care about any medals if you’re not there” she insists, going after you as you pick up a basket of laundry and walk to the bedroom.

“Really? You’re fine with Maximoff taking it from you? The one thing missing in your career? Olympic gold. Boy, she must have done a number on you on that bathroom, huh?” you say bitterly, trying to shut the door, but Natasha pushes inside.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I saw how close you were. Her hands on your waist, yours on her face. Fine, be with her, I don’t give a shit”

“It looks like you do” Natasha tries to joke when you throw the clothes on the bed. “And Wanda’s not competing. She’s pregnant”

“Congratulations” you smirk, walking out of the room. Natasha stays annoyingly close and you’re aware of how small your apartment really is when you keep moving but there’s absolutely no way of putting distance between you two.

“Ok, now you’re just being an ass. You don’t believe I want to be with her”

You laugh, but it comes out as a sob. Natasha’s smile fades, and she tries to inch closer to touch you, but you step back. She doesn’t push it this time.

“You’re the one who was quick to assume I was flirting with Carol. The one that believed the article. It hurt, Natasha. Especially because I quit my job and my life to be with you”

Your words are met with silence. Not even an apology. Great.

“Wait” she says a second later when you’re opening the door to leave.

“Don’t. I need to be alone”

Luckily, she listens to you.

As you walk down the street to get some food (because yes, you’ll stress eat like you always do), Fury’s words come back.

You could change her mind.

But you don’t want to. She’s a grown woman, a professional athlete with a career to think about. If she wants to throw it all away, that’s fine.

That’s not your problem anymore.

“Hey, Y/N” Pat greets as you enter your favorite diner. “Shouldn’t you be at the Olympics?”

Since you left to travel with Natasha, there’s always a tennis tournament on their television. Apparently it’s a big deal for everyone when the camera pans to the player’s box and you’re there.

“Ah, I had to come back for a bit, I don’t think I’ll make it to Paris” you say, trying to avoid the topic.

“Is that why you weren’t at the Wimbledon game either?” the woman says with a frown and your eyes widen. “It was all the commentators were talking about, sweetheart. They said it was a miracle she won. You didn’t watch it?”

“Nope”

“Well” she turns to the screen and shushes a customer complaining about watching baseball. “There. Watch for a bit while I get you some food”

“Pat, it’s scary how much you know me” you smile in spite of yourself.

It’s a though watch. Natasha lost the first set and barely managed to get the second one in a tiebreak. You notice how she kept looking at the player’s box, and then shaking her head, muttering to herself.

Pat gets you a chesseburger, shaking her head at the way in which your eyes are glued to the screen.

During the break before the third set, she sat looking defeated, and you notice she was running her hands up and down her left arm.

Of course.

It’s the spot where you always write something or put on a smiley face before a match. A spot only she can see.

Even if you already know the result of the match, you cheer when she wins. Natasha doesn’t. It looks like she couldn’t care less about winning, she won’t even go to her box.

“Quite the watch, huh?”

“Yeah. It was… very stressful. I would have shouted at her if I had been there”

“Like your dad during the NBA playoffs?” Pat jokes and you laugh.

“Yeah. Would have gotten banned too”

“Here. Take this back to her. Sleep it off” she says, handing you a package with a burger. You nod, smiling when she tells you to go back home.

You’re walking back when the rain starts.

“Come on” you protest. To your surprise, Natasha meets you halfway there, holding an umbrella.

“Pat called me” she explains when you inch closer, feeling thankful as she shields you from the cold drops. “Come on, let’s go home”

Natasha places her hand around your waist, and even if it is only to keep you under the small umbrella, it makes your heart beat faster.

Once you’re back in the apartment, she places the umbrella in the hallway.

“I’ll get us some towels. Sorry, your food got wet”

“It’s ok” she smiles, taking the bag.

You go back to your room, getting rid of your wet clothes, and searching for a couple of towels among the mess you left earlier.

“Sorry, I should have knocked” Natasha says, but is unable to keep her eyes away from you.

“It’s ok” your voice shakes.

It feels like a small gift from fate. You’re never completely alone, you’re always thinking about the next tournament. But now, it’s just you and Natasha, and the rain drowning out the rest of the world.

She approaches you first, pulling you by the waist until you lean your head on her shoulder.

“You’re cold” she says against your temple.

“Let’s take a shower” you say, surprising her.

It also takes you by surprise, considering how pissed you were. Considering she hasn’t said she’s sorry.

But it feels like it’s been forever since she’s been yours and no one else’s. Your Natasha, not the tennis legend, the number one in the world.

No one can have her, not like you do.

“Ok” she nods after a second, allowing you to lead her by the hand. It’s a small shower, and definitely not as fancy as the ones in those hotels you stay at.

You laugh and giggle as you struggle to fit inside, and Natasha reaches behind you to get the water running.

“Nat!” you shriek when the cold water hits you. “It’s the other one”

“I always forget your shower’s messed up” she apologizes, and you push against her to run away from the stream. “Not that I’m complaining” she adds when you invade what little personal space is left in the shower.

Before you can protest further, she kisses you, slowly at first and then with more urgency.

“Feeling warmer?” she teases against your lips and you smile.

“Very much so”

Her hands travel to your waist, one trailing lower until her fingers are circling your clit.

“Nat” you sigh against her skin. She teases your entrance, and takes her time playing with your clit. It isn’t the friction that makes you come, it’s the soft kiss she places against your ear as you keep moaning.

“It’s ok, let go, baby. I got you”

And as you ride out your orgasm, digging your nails in her back, you feel complete again.

—

The sounds of the city wake you up. As you open your eyes and look up, Natasha is already awake, admiring you.

“Morning, detka”

“Were you watching me sleep like a weirdo?” you grumble, sinking further in her arms.

“I missed this view. Thought I’d never get it again”

You don’t say anything, and stay in her arms until your stomach protests.

“I’m making you pancakes” Natasha says, kissing your temple and leaving the bed.

Even if you want to stay in bed, you follow her to the kitchen and watch as she gets everythig she needs for breakfast.

“I’m surprised you have anything at all”

“Did some shopping the day I got here” you comment, and she nods, trying to act unfazed.

Natasha cooks in silence, and as she places a plate in front of you, kisses your temple.

“Can I say something?” Natasha asks after a beat of silence. You nod, bracing yourself for the worst. “For the last two years, you’ve done what I wanted. I never ask you what you want or need. So, today I want you to tell me what do you want me to do”

“I want you to go and win the gold medal” you answer.

“Will you come with me?”

“I have to stay here… think about what I want” you say. “Natasha, I love you but my life has been all about tennis for the past two years. And I did it because I love you and we’re a great team… but if you were to break up with me tomorrow, you’d still have your career. And what about me?”

“Look, you’re right. We make a great team. But you need to tell me things too. If I had known Alexei was threteaning you, I would have handled everything”

“I didn’t want to worry you” you say, looking away.

“You’re my biggest concern. My reason to do this” Natasha says, holding you by the chin. “I’m sorry I made you doubt it, detka”

You lean forward, kissing her. After a few moments in her arms, you take a deep breath.

“In the spirit of transparency… Ramonda offered me a job as Head of Communications of the WTA”

“What? That’s amazing! When do you start?”

“I haven’t accepted the offer. If I do, I won’t be able to be with you all the time, Nat” you smile sadly, knowing you couldn’t do that to her.

“If that’s what you want to do, I’ll support you” she says.

“Not sure yet. And anyway, with everything that happened the offer might be rescinded”

You eat in silence for a moment, thinking about the things you discussed with Natasha.

“I guess I’ll take the next flight to Paris”

“Call Stark, ask for the jet. It will be faster” you roll your eyes, knowing Natasha hates talking to the former professional turned business man.

“Pass”

“You’re so stubborn” you complain, and she kisses your cheek, taking your plate to wash it.

“So, any advice when I move back to clay?”

“Patience is rewarded. Agression is not” you say, the same way your father always told you when watching those tournaments.

“Agression is my thing” Natasha grumbles.

“I know. Which is why clay is not your best surface”

“I know” she smiles, walking back and carrying you to the bedroom. “Now, let’s do some cardio. Just so I can get back into shape”

—

“Passport? Money? Your special socks?” you check as Natasha goes over her small suitcase.

“Baby, I didn’t bring a lot with me. I didn’t even shower after the game. It’s fine” she says, walking to the door.

Natasha hesitates before reaching for the doorknob, turning to look at you. You frown, arms crossed as you try to figure out what she’s thinking.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do it” she sighs, reaching for her pocket and pulling out a small box. You gasp. “But I realise that this place feels like home. Because you’re here. I know we go to all these amazing locations and I could set up a romantic dinner or a huge show, anything to impress you. Hell, I even had it with me at every final this year, thinking I might propose after winning”

“Nat…”

“I know, you would hate that” she smiles, placing the box in your hand and looking at you. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If it is here, while you work and I become a personal trainer for wealthy, senile people, so be it”

“Oh, that would be fun to watch” you chuckle.

“You don’t have to answer yet. But know that I love you, and I’ll do anything to prove how much I want this. And apparently that includes winning a gold medal”

“I… I’ll think about it. Call me when you land?” you ask, taking her face in your hands, kissing her softly. “I love you more than anything, Natasha. The trophies are just a plus”

“Mean” she laughs against your lips, kissing you again. “See you soon”

“Yeah”

With a final kiss, Natasha closes the door and you’re left in your apartment, still holding the box.

You try to think of something else, distracting yourself with cleaning and sorting out some clothes. Natasha texts you when she’s about to board and that finally makes you open the box.

The ring is beautiful. Very simple, because that’s what you like, instead of some flashy, giant diamond. You put it on and it feels… right, like it’s meant to be.

“Screw it” you take your phone and dial Stark’s number. “Tony, hey! Have a small favor to ask”

—

There’s a lot of movement in the airport, tourists and athletes arriving for the Olympics. Natasha figured it was going to be chaos, so she told Fury there was no need to pick her up. Still, there’s a driver waiting for her at the arrivals section.

“This way, please” the man says politely, leading her to a black SUV.

“I told you not to pick me up…” she complains as soon as she’s inside, but it’s not Fury on the other side.

It’s you, smiling at her.

“I couldn’t miss this. Not when you’re about to make history” you smile, kissing her. She squeezes you in her arms, shaking and refusing to let go. “Hey, it’s ok”

“I love you”

“More than winning?” you tease and she laughs.

“Yes. A million times yes”

“Damn, you have it bad. Now, let’s get going. Fury’s gonna put you on a tight training schedule”

—

It’s been a week. As you obviously pointed out, Natasha needed a lot of practice in clay. The surface asks for consistency and patience, and she’s anything but patient.

Still, she’s made it to the final, and you’ve been at the player’s box every single day. The press is having a field day, speculating about your absence during Wimbledon.

“So, what do I get if I win this thing?” Natasha says when you go and wish her good luck before the final match.

“A vacation” you promise, pulling out a sharpie to write in her arm. “You can’t read it until the match is over. I’ll place a little bandaid over it because I’m sure you’ll cheat”

“Baby, not fair”

“Shh, just do as I say. There” you finish, grabbing her chin so she’s facing you again. You smile, kissing her softly. “You got this”

“I love you”

“I love you too” you smile, smacking her ass. “Go win this thing, baby”

The crowd cheers as Natasha steps into the court, and you sit by her family and Fury as she warms up.

“Do you think she’ll be extra mean because she’s playing against Danvers?” Yelena whispers as the match begins.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the pictures” Yelena says, smirking.

“No, come on. She knows nothing happened”

But then Natasha executes a move that leaves Carol on the floor, her shirt and shorts covered in clay.

Yelena whistles, laughing as Natasha gets another game with four aces in a row.

“Alright, yeah. She might still be a little pissed”

The first set goes on to be a little bit of the same, Natasha winning with an easy 6-4. For the second one, it becomes a close call. Whenever Natasha serves, she’s in control of the ball, but if it’s Carol’s turn, she manages to throw Natasha off her game.

“Third set” Fury says, when Carol wins the tiebreak by two points.

“She looks kinda tired” you frown, knowing the change of surface might be getting to her.

And it definitely shows when Carol wins the first two games, Natasha struggling to get a deuce on the third one. If she loses this one, then you feel like she’ll definitely not be able to come back from it.

“Is there anything we can do?” Melina says, and you think about it for a moment.

“Oh, boy. I hope I don’t get kicked out” you stand up, aware that several people (and their phone cameras) turn to you.

“Take off the bandaid!” you shout. The umpire glares, asking for silence. Thankfully, there’s no request for you to get kicked out.

Still, you watch as Natasha does what you ask, while Carol dries her hands and gets ready to serve. Once she reads what you wrote, she smiles, turning to look at you.

Then, a miracle. Carol throws what looks like a killer serve and Natasha returns it so fast that you have to do a doble take.

“Is it code for something dirty?” Yelena jokes when Natasha wins the third game and gets two aces for the next one.

You laugh, ignoring her question. She’s so close. Two games. Eight points.

“Serving for the match” Fury moves around in his seat, anxious.

Natasha tries to breath, turning to look at you and you smile, nodding. You mouth an I love you and blow her a kiss.

Then, an ace.

“Fastest serve she’s ever done” Melina comments, looking at her notes.

The last three points go by in a blur, as Carol is simply not playing right. Her last unforced error gives Natasha a match point.

It goes by in slow motion. How she throws the ball, lifting her racket. Her movements graceful, almost like a ballerina as she practically floats.

Carol returns the ball, but it gets stuck in the net.

The crowd goes wild, Natasha dropping to her knees after the realisation sinks in.

Carol waits for her at the net, smiling and hugging her. Natasha accepts the congratulations, going to greet the umpire and turning to you a moment later.

She goes through the sea of people, straight to lifting you up and kissing you.

“Do you mean it?” she says, looking at the thing you wrote.

Yes, I’ll marry you.

“Absolutely. Now, put the ring on it” you say, handing over the box discreetly so she can pull the ring out and slide it in.

“Congratulations!” Yelena says, hugging you both.

Natasha is called back to the court, and you wipe the tears as she talks to the interviewer.

“Thanks to my family, my trainer, and my fiancee…”

The crowd cheers, and you can’t help but laugh at how perfect everything is.

This is a day you’ll remember forever.

2 months later

“Darcy, what news do you have for us today?” Maria says, the screen splitting to show the producer turned reporter.

“Romanoff breezed through her first match and is the favorite to become the USO champion. This would mean she would be the youngest player to complete the Golden Slam in the Open Era. Her wife and a former collaborator of us was also there”

“I believe she’s joining the WTA team soon, isn’t that right?”

“As Head of Communications, yes. And it couldn’t have happened to a better person. Congrats Y/N, but you still owe me a beer”

“Well, let’s hope she finds the time to settle her debt” Maria laughs, but then frowns. “Hey, you said wife. Didn’t they get engaged recently?”

“Well, have a look at what Natasha said in her post match interview” Darcy says with a smile, the screen running a recording.

“Have you set a date yet?” one of the reporters ask.

“Actually, we got married last night” Natasha says, turning to look at you, and you’re blushing when you notice all eyes on you.

“Congratulations” another reporter says. “Can you share anything about the ceremony?”

“Just that we’re very happy and can’t wait to go on our honeymoon. But my wife says I need to win the USO first, so… I better get back to practice. Nice chat, everyone”

Natasha leaves the conference room, amidst questions and camera flashes. You greet her with a short kiss, smiling as she pulls you by the waist.

“Now everyone’s going to say you’re whipped”

“Aren’t I?” she jokes, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s win this so I can have you all to myself for the next month”

“Relax, Mrs. Romanoff. We have our whole lives ahead” you kiss her, smiling as she squeezes your hand, her thumb running over your wedding ring.

“Forever and then some”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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anonity · 3 months ago

Text

seeing

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

hi ladies! happy valentines day <3 i have the flu 😩 the last time i had the flu my ex-gf broke no contact to tell me to take care of myself.. just thought i’d share that.. i meant to post this wednesday but i lost the original draft i had of it and only just now finished rewriting it

WC: 765. supa short, longer fics coming i pinkie promise

summary: paige should look away. she knows she should. but azzi is beautiful and, more importantly, hasn’t noticed paige staring. (or maybe she has, and is letting her look anyways.)

the cabin drums with the white noise of plane engines, accompanied by a stillness unique to the sky — suspended moments paige has only found 35,000 feet in the air.

somewhere behind them, there’s a flight attendant passing by with a drink cart. it clatters against someone's seat, the wheels making an unpleasant scraping sound. aaliyah is craning her neck to see if they have fritos, and KK is arguing vehemently with whoever is behind her. paige barely registers any of it.

because azzi is sitting next to her, leaned into the window seat they’d fought over, bathing in the dim light of the overhead lamp — and paige cannot stop looking at her.

she’s reading. or at least, she was reading, because the page hasn't turned in a hot minute. it’s a new book (a paperback paige had caught her eyeing in the airport and bought the second she looked away), but the spine is already cracking from use.

her head is tilted just so, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and the way she’s leaning has the setting sun softening over the curve of her jaw. paige swallows thickly, shifting in her seat.

she should look away.

she knows she should.

because azzi is her best friend, her teammate, the peanut butter to her jelly. and so she should turn away to scroll through her phone, or even watch the moving where-are-we map displayed on the flight screen in front of her. she should do anything but sit there, yearning in the cabin of an avelo airline, and stare.

but azzi hasn’t looked back yet. and so long as it stays that way, paige figures she can get away with it. there’s something stupidly intimate about watching azzi when she’s so clearly focused on something else, eyes decorated with golden flecks where the sun is catching them. there's something soft in the way azzi hasn’t noticed yet, or kind in the way she probably has but is choosing not to acknowledge it. maybe that is what creates the weightless feeling that only seems to exist in the quiet in-between of being with azzi. the way she’s letting paige look, deliberately allowing her to have this moment.

paige knows the second azzi turns her head, she’ll have to school her expression – pretend she wasn’t memorizing the way azzi tugs her lip in between her top teeth, or the way her eyebrows are knitted together like she’s trying to figure something out.

for how hard paige is staring, you would think she’d notice the way azzi’s eyes have stopped following the paper in front of her.

she doesn’t, though. azzi shifts, paige tracking the way her fingertips slide up the spine of the book, and lets her gaze follow upwards – to the slope of her shoulders, the outline of collarbone where her sweatshirt is falling.

then, azzi inhales softly, speaking without raising her gaze. “you’re staring.”

paige freezes, eyes landing on the digital airplane in front of her. “no i’m not.”

azzi smiles. “you are.”

paige shuffles further back into her seat, rolling her eyes. “you think you got your degree, and you know every fuckin’ thing, huh?” she deflects, grin widening at the reference as she nudges azzi’s knee with her own.

azzi hums. she has that look she gets when she knows something paige doesn’t – like she’s waiting for her to figure it out. “i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me.”

paiges grin stutters, her stomach flipping like it does when there’s turbulence. it’s the first time azzi has ever really acknowledged that paige looks at her. if she’s honest, she feels a little caught, walls she thought were well-built around her crumbling at the mere notion of azzi noticing the way paige watches her (of azzi recognizing the way paige looks at her, seeing it in the pages of whatever romance she’s reading).

paige risks a peek over, but azzi is still staring at those same words. paige’s shoulders slump in relief. azzi’s giving her this – this safe distance, the opportunity to ignore what's sitting thickly between them.

i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me. of course she does. it’s all paige can do sometimes: stare.

then paige laughs, light and easy like her world didn’t just briefly stop spinning. “crazy thing to say,” she mutters, faking an unbothered yawn. she prays azzi doesn’t catch the way her voice wavers.

azzi finally turns her head, but paige's gaze is trained stubbornly on her phone. not because she’s embarrassed, but because she’s not sure what would happen if she looked at azzi right now – not while azzi is looking at her.

but from the corner of her vision, paige catches it – azzi smiling, soft and knowing.

and yeah. she probably knows.

#paige bueckers fic #pazzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige bueckers x azzi fudd fic #pazzi fic #i just love writing pb yearning

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prokopetz · 9 months ago

Note

Your post about indie games immediately took me back in time to when I was younger and repeatedly playing the majesty of colors and this one other flash game that I cannot for the life of me remember the name of so I figured I’d pop in in case anyone else remembered it

You’re playing as a girl who was drowning iirc and could choose to swim to the surface. There were jellyfish and stuff trying to keep you down. There was a tumblr post including it and the majesty of colors and a few other games that I’d found and saved to my drafts on an old blog, but it’s been lost to time now

(With reference to this post here.)

I'm about 95% sure you're thinking of Daniel Benmergui's Today I Die (2008). It's unfortunately not been made available via the author's itch.io page, and the page for it on their personal website has been busted since 2022, but if you have a Flash emulator installed in your browser, you should be able to dig a playable snapshot from before it broke out of archive.org's Wayback Machine:

https://web.archive.org/web/20211001000000*/http://ludomancy.com/today/index.html

(Like I said, just pick a snapshot from 2021 or earlier.)

#gaming #video games #today i die #indie games #death mention

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sitp-recs · 5 months ago

Note

Hi Liv, I loved the hidden gem list that you did in the past. I discovered so many new authors thanks to you. I love going back to my all time favourite authors but I also love discovering new ones. Would you or any of your followers have any hidden gems recs ? Could be long or short fics. Thank youuuu

I’m so happy to hear that! The hidden gems series is very dear to my heart and probably my favorite project. I started a s2 back in 2022 and have a few lists saved in my drafts, maybe I will revisit them in the new year… we’ll see! I found some additional rec posts that might interest you here, here and here. I haven’t read much this year, but if you’re looking for new-ish works I’d highly recommend the fics below, and also my reclist for the h/c fest. I’m sure my followers have more recs. Enjoy! 💜

Train Song by @fw00shy (T, 1.2k)

"Imagine: An extended summer vacation," Ginny said when she first pitched the trip to the group. "Fine," Hermione said after only a moment's hesitation, to which everyone cheered, because everyone knew she was the only one who could figure out how to make the Hogwarts Express fly.

All I Think About by @skeptiquewrites (T, 4.5k)

Sometimes all it takes is one perfect late summer night in June.

mind the gap by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 5k) - MCD

The first time Draco died was by far the worst. Once Potter started living with him, it got better.

everything you should say by icarusinflight (E, 7.5k)

They're not friends. But when Draco offers help, Harry takes it.

Tarry, Tarry, Wait For Me by @toomuchplor (E, 8.5k)

"I can't ask it of you," Draco says, quick and awkward, "I just thought you should know, I thought you needed to know, but none of this is your fault."

Seasons by @greattemptation (E, 9k)

Seconds pass, and it’s like he can see Draco worrying the sliver of glass in his heart, looking for a way to press it out, to expose the wound to the sun. It’s life; Harry can be patient.

Necro-romance by @thehoneybeet (E, 9k)

The first time Draco kills Potter, it's by accident.

like a scratch on the roof of your mouth by @eleadore (E, 9k)

Two weeks into the new year, Draco Malfoy saves Ron's life in a spectacular fashion.

coyote ugly by @garagepaperback (E, 10k)

One night, every month, Harry is a coyote. Malfoy has a silver tooth. Sometimes, he cuts Harry’s hair.

draco malfoy's substitute murder service by @oknowkiss (E, 10k)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities.

When the Flood Comes by @academicdisasterfic (E, 10k)

Nine years on from the war, Auror Potter is upholding the Ministry of Magic's rule of law. Senior legal counsel Draco Malfoy is challenging it.

Wobble Week 2023 by @moonflower-rose (E, 12k)

Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.

With Hands Full of Dusk by @corvuscrowned (E, 15k)

Harry thought he'd found what he was searching for after the war. But as the quiet life he's earned begins to unravel at the seams, he finds himself searching instead for an elusive, mythical creature found only in lore and legend - with none other than Draco Malfoy as his companion.

Rich Friend by @sorrybutblog (E, 18k)

As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

Sun Thief by BlackRose532, @floydig (E, 28k)

Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.

Truth to Materials by lately, @toomuchplor (E, 54k)

In which Harry learns to appreciate art and other pleasures of the flesh.

#asks #anon #hidden gems #old and new fics

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altcvnningham · 5 months ago

Text

of a demon in my view

william “case” calderon x f!reader

summary: when the team return to the rook after visiting the science facility in kentucky you hear a bump in the night. good thing case is back to protect you, right? (takes place after the 'emergence' mission. inspired by this post. please heed the tags!!) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, dubious consent, f!reader, angst, (case is) under the influence (of the cradle), rough sex, size difference/kink, biting, choking, case is hung, animalistic/primal behaviour?? i guess?? reader is confused but loves case too much, case is obsessed w reader, aftercare (ish), author goes mad with power at the use of italics wc: 4.8k

a/n: umm sorry to case + the case enjoyers, i wish i’d written something softer for him first... trust that my first full nsfw fic on here would be icky nasty dubcon w poor confused reader. promise she likes it. since there’s not a whole lot of case content to base his characterisation on, i hope this suffices!! shoutout to lovely lacie @dearlydevoured, case's actual irl gf who put up w my brainrot while i wrote this <3 title from “alone”, edgar allan poe.

You wake gasping.

The bedroom is pitch black, offering little but a sliver of moonlight to orient yourself, cutting the room split in two as you try to discern what the hell that sound was. A slam, booming like thunder and carried in with the draft and the dust. It takes much to hear it across the old house, the Rook as big as it is barren, and it takes much more again to wake you. But whatever it is, it had, and your body jolts in its instinct to get up and investigate.

But as you do, you stop. You’re half a leg out of bed and a finger upon the nearby flashlight when you catch something in your periphery. You don’t even look at it head on- the figure in the open door. Just stare ahead at the wall and freeze, trying to clock if whatever stands there has spotted you sooner than you’d spotted it.

Any other night, Case would have awoken before you. Hell, he would have dealt with the problem himself before you’d even stirred. But the space in the bed where he usually sleeps is cold, and it had been all night- they’d left for Kentucky a couple days ago now, and you hadn’t received much word in between. Only a call from Marshall on the way back, to keep an eye on Case when he returns. That he wasn’t quite right.

But you know Case better than anyone. You know he already isn’t really quite right as he is; you never minded it, the odd pauses between words and the bitten tongue, like he’s always holding something back, or the distant way he sometimes seems to regard you from across a room, before the colour floods back to his face and he finds the courage to smile. Whatever warmth you possess encourages a similar feeling in himself, and Case had found himself sweet on you quicker than he would most. He sees in you a kindred spirit, maybe. A missing piece. Enough that when he sleeps next to you, the screaming stops. Most nights.

But whatever it is in the door, you’re almost sure it isn’t Case. Almost. Until—

Breathing. Quick, shallow, raspy. For a second it doesn’t even sound human, until you recognise it- the same sound when he wakes from a nightmare, the same panting in your ear when you hold him tight and let him ride it out. The fear, primal, pacified by your patience and care. Your heart tugs- it’s him. You know it’s him.

With that knowledge alone enough to brave your panic, you turn your head to the open door, and regard the figure stood in it with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh, god, Case. It’s you. Jesus,” you huff, a hand clutched to your chest. “Scared the shit out of me.”

A smile, sheepish, spreads over your lips as he just stands there in the doorway, filling it with his shadow. Tall, stocky, broad-shouldered as he is, arms held stiffly at his sides as he just stands there, shapeless face cast in darkness. His hulking figure eclipsing the moonlight trying to come in from the hallway windows. You can’t see his expression, only the whites of his eyes, and though it’s hard to tell at first, they look to be open wide. And staring at you.

Your smile slowly drops. You sit up.

“Case? What’s wrong?”

But he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t say anything. Just- fucking- just stands there- just you and him, locked eyes, for a fleeting moment feeling like prey and predator at a stand-off in a too-open clearing. Vulnerable, is the feeling that creeps up your spine and staples you there, still and rigid in the bed.

There’s a pause. He blinks. You think he snaps out of whatever daze he’s in, because he comes into the room and kicks the door shut with his heel, but where he’d usually sigh, sit on the bed, and undress, he just moves straight towards you. Unhurried, but urgent. Single-minded in his pursuit.

Case’s knee dips into the mattress, sinking under his weight, and though you aren’t scared you feel the urge to move back into the bed, hitting the headboard in your scuffle.

“Case, you’re still dressed,” you worry, voice lilted like a question. He must suddenly notice, or perhaps hear your concern, because he glances down at himself, though decidedly mustn’t care at all- even as you go for the zipper of his windbreaker yourself, he’s wholly intent instead on closing in on you. Scarred hands curl around the headboard as he leans in to kiss you- no, to- smell you? He noses your hair, behind your ear, licking a greedy stripe up the side of your neck. You do your best to ignore it, focusing your quivering fingers upon the zipper, and somehow you manage to push the jacket off him and onto the floor. His hands are immediately on you then, dug into the back of your hair and cradling your skull as he kisses sharply along your jaw, your cheek, the corners of your babbling mouth.

“H-hey, um,” is all you can manage as you’re jostled by his movements. He isn’t rough, isn’t even hurting you, but his fingers dig into your arms and pull at your hair in a way that’s unfamiliar, uncharacteristically desperate, like you’ll slip into dust any second. It’s enough to make you wince. “Case- Case, c’mon. Talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, we can—”

“Want you.” Is all he says.

“What?”

“Want you,” he repeats, an animal grunt in an octave you’ve never heard before. It thrills you as much as it frightens you, but you steel your focus, more concerned than you are anything else. That excitement that tingles at the base of your spine is unimportant, insignificant in the grand scheme, when he’s acting so strange.

“Case, I think you should sit down a sec,” you say, trying gently to pry his hands off you, but he won’t budge. He’s stronger than you- much stronger- and before you can open your mouth to protest his hands are on your waist, pulling you out of the bed and stringing you out atop the blanket like you weigh nothing. “Wh- oh!”

You land with a hiccup, disoriented as he climbs on top of you, and in your befuddled state you’re half worried about shoes on the bed as he wedges a leg between yours, coarse grey cargo pants chafing your sleep-soft thighs. A tiny yip makes its way out of you as you bear the sudden weight of him- as is always so stifling, yet now seems suffocating- a thick scarred forearm braced in the pillow beside your head as he buries his nose in your neck, not quite kissing but breathing you in, huffing like a dog, something primal, savage.

It’s so unfamiliar, and yet so like Case; never having seen him this way but always sensed, known, that there lingered in him something like this, some growling thing seated deep inside just waiting to get out, biding its time and snarling. It frightens you, but not enough to fight it off. Just enough to lay there and let whatever thing that’s reared its ugly head in him feel you out, get its bearings of the girl trembling beneath him.

You catch a scent on his shirt then, tart as it wrinkles your nose. It’s a strange smell, acrid, not entirely unpleasant but foreign to you- like chemicals or detergent, coppery like blood but lacking its warmth. It clings to Case’s clothes like something parasitic. You breathe it in, and strangely it has a texture, almost like smoke, but whatever it is your body rejects it, tangled in a cough as your vision blurs. It’s enough then to just let him close over you as he likes, pressing your face to his hair instead as he mouths at your neck, starved.

You’re burned by the heat of him. Heavy as he envelopes himself around you, greedy hands moving down your body to touch and grab and grope, undecided whether he wants to be gentle, whether he can be, calloused hands like sandpaper as he slides them under your shirt. Your own hands try to turn his jaw so you might see his face and deduce the expression into an answer, a reasoning for his behaviour. But every touch you give has him shuddering beneath you, near enough purring as he careens his cheek into your hand, lapping up your warmth.

Case feels like he’s on fire. Tunnel-visioned. Drunk, almost. He’d cooled off whatever substance he’d breathed in that facility on the flight back to Bulgaria, but part of it still sticks to him like sap, simmering and seething all red and angry in a place inside he can’t reach. He’d claw it out of himself if he could, if he had the guts, but he swears he could smell you from the fucking front door- and by then it was over, decided for him before he even knew what he was doing. Something else took hold then, brutish and hungry, overcome with the base animal need to stalk, hunt, fuck.

His hands run down your body, kissing wetly into your open palm. You whimper frantic and confused as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs, falling frail as petals somewhere off the bed. You gasp as he pushes himself forward, hips bullying your legs apart, while he peels back your shirt to knead your breasts and latch his mouth upon a perked nipple with a moan.

“Hey, slow- slow down,” you rasp, barely a whisper, dying on an open-mouthed sigh as a spike of pleasure needles you. You can’t help it. It’s him, Case, always so soft with you, so slow and gentle, now pawing at you like he’d sooner die than go without touching you. Your hands knot into his hair as he sucks at your nipple, tangled at the base of his neck, unsure whether you’re trying to push him off or pull him closer. “I think we should- just- calm down and—“

“No,” Case says, a low noise, almost strangled as he unlatches himself from you, shaking his head. He sounds pained, sick, emitting a whine as he unfolds himself, hands wrestling with his belt. In your sudden shyness, feeling all too exposed, you pull your shirt down and make a move to close your legs, but Case’s hand nudges your knee, as thoughtless as if he were swatting a fly as he pries them back open.

“Gotta have you now, baby, I-I gotta,” he mumbles, repeating it under his breath over and over like a mantra. Is it for you to hear? Is it for himself? You don’t know. But even as you try and move his hand away it’s a hopeless thing. He’s firm, resolute. Won’t so much as let you budge. He slides his belt off with one hand, shoving his cargo pants and boxers down his hips, and stamps your arm back at the side of your head with the other, wrenched tight around your wrist.

“O-ow, careful, Case—”

Your words are cut short by a jarring thud. His cock thumps thick and heavy against your tummy, and wide-eyed, you freeze. Oh. Case tugs around the base to give it some hopeless attention, something, anything to take the edge off. The shock of it all pulls out a breathless whine from you. He’s never usually so forward. He rocks himself slow against you, moving his hips down, nudging your clit with the leaking head of his aching dick. It’s- it’s so much that you don’t know whether to stop him or just surrender, craning your neck down to try and catch a glimpse of- of—

Fuck, you forget how big it is. Every time. It always looks so much more intimidating than it feels, but that’s because Case has always been careful with you, patient, always working you up on his fingers first before even attempting to split you open on him, even then only feeding you inch by tentative inch until he’s seated nice and deep inside you. Eager, but takes his time with you, never in any rush to give his sweet girl what she needs.

But you have the feeling that this time is different. Not- not bad, but- different. His hands are hard on you, bruising, kisses impatient and starving, even the way he’s slowly fucking his tip against your clit, hazy-eyed and mindless as he watches himself slide the length of his shaft between your folds, so pink and sweet- it’s maddening. It’s only then that you realise you’re moaning, bleating like cornered prey.

As if suddenly reminded of the fact he ought to prep you, he shoves two fingers unceremoniously into his mouth, sucking them wet before pulling them out with a pop and delving his hand between your legs. It’s done so fast you flinch, a panicked sound pulled out of you. His usual patience is swapped with hurried desperation, a flit of his eyes to yours- your lips, your face, God, the prettiest thing he’s seen in his life- measuring your reaction. Your shock and confusion must be evident in your wilted expression, because he moves his fingers just a little slower, watching with enamoured reverence as your face flushes hot, savouring the way he can see the thoughts just spill out of your head like honey as it empties itself for him. So, so pretty.

“U-um—” you stammer, as dumb as the day you were born. You want to say something, want him to say something, but your mind goes blank. Whatever good sense might linger is gone- there’s only Case, much too broad and much too big in your bed as he looms over you. He slides his fingers against your clit, tender with need; he thumbs at your slick entrance, soaking his knuckle as he teases against it, and moans at how reflexively it clenches around him, begging to be filled. How badly it wants him. He barely humours your poor, needy pussy as he slides his middle finger inside, thick as it stretches you, just about managing the first knuckle before you keen, body bowing into him.

“G-God, Case, please—”

Sobriety spurs vaguely into him then, the light coming back into his eyes as he blinks down at you, strewn like a blushing favour over the pillow. His perfect girl, his. As he looks at you, he slides his finger out of you slowly, relishing with a faraway look on his face the way you crumple and cry, grasping at his wrist to try and pull him back in again. He thinks he’d go mad for it. For you, he thinks he’d die.

“S’okay,” he grumbles under his breath, a click of his tongue as he tuts at you like one might a skittish animal. He pulls back, lining his cock up with your soaked entrance, his pupils blown black, drunk. “I’m gonna make it better. M’gonna make it better, baby, I promise.”

He has to make it better. Has to. Has to apologise for what he’s doing, how he’s acting- he has to apologise for what he is, the thing growling inside him, tearing, clawing, screaming to get out—

He’s still sucking the syrup of you off his fingers as he pushes himself inside you, eyes rolling into the back of his head with a loud, broken groan. He’s so lost to the white haze of bliss for a second as your slick heat all but swallows him in, pushing only a little resistance at the sudden intrusion and God, he knows you’re not used to it so quick, so soon, but you’re his good girl, his baby, and he knows you can take it.

And you’re not quite used to the stretch even on a good day- feeling it rip into you now is near agony. Your mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Useless anyway, given Case bends down and closes his own around it, tongue delving hot inside to seek yours. It’s so fast and so much that you barely find time to adjust, just letting your mouth loll open and surrender itself to him as he tongues you, trying so hard to focus on accommodating to his cock pushing- forcing- its way into you, too much, too much, too big—

The hand around your wrist loosens as though some pliant drug has washed cold over him, and you open your eyes for just a second, enough to catch the way his dilate, black melting into the white before he sinks himself all the way inside you. Filling you to the hilt, suffocating. Bliss is written into every line of his face, softening as he lets out a whine. He bottoms out, and you see it in him- complete and utter relief. Some awful agony in him quelled immediately, his body slack against yours. He feels, in you, complete. Home.

It’s evident enough that it puts you at ease, whatever it is that’s compelled him like this. He’s not trying to hurt you. You don’t think. He’s just rather like a big dog that believes itself to be no larger than a puppy, unaware of its own weight and strength. Case’s body goes almost flat atop yours and the only way he notices at all is how it pushes a wheeze out of you, a silent beg for release.

But just then you feel his hips pulling back, cock sliding out of you inch by agonising inch. A whimpering plea is all you’re given to let out before he slams back into you again and fuck, it’s too much, he’s too big, you’re not used to—

“F-fuck, Case, wait—”

Your legs tremor involuntarily as they part further to let him closer, let him in, his hips welded to yours as he buries himself right to the fucking root of you. Case groans, delirious as his face falls against your shoulder.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Case- s’too much, you’re—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, an attempt at comfort that leaves you dizzier than it does much else. He licks a wet kiss to your neck, meant to calm you, but only riles himself up more, setting off a dormant bloodthirst in him; he does it again, and this time he- he bites you.

You squeal. “O-ow!”

Like an apology he can’t voice he laps his tongue flat against your skin, mulling hungrily over the bitten flesh like he’s savouring it. It’s only when he’s sated himself on you that his hips start moving, slow, languid thrusts that quicken each time you yelp, hurried pace picking up once he feels you clench reflexively around him.

And he’s usually so gentle when he fucks you, almost hesitant, always like he’s half afraid of breaking you. Not like this. He fucks into you mindlessly, a rabid thing with a single razor sharp splinter of desire- you. Wants you. Has to have you, has to split you open and- take you. Fuck you so there’s nothing left in him to think of or breathe in but you. Every thrust is merciless and messy, Case pounding into you again and again as the sound of him fucking into your wet cunt smacks luridly in the air; loud enough that it makes you wince, cringing to hear yourself so shamelessly, how your body makes itself so slick and malleable just for him. His hips slam into you faster than you can take it- but you can take it, you can, he insists, demands it, grunting it into your ear, baby, please, jus’ take it for me, take it take it take it—

Your orgasm slams into you, a violent punch that singes you hot-white and blind; your thighs clench around his hips of their own accord and pull him in even deeper- as if there’s any more room- unbidden as you cry out, wailing helplessly as he just- keeps- fucking you. Wave after wave of pleasure drowning you over and over and over. It almost terrifies you, how willingly gone your body leaves itself, all sense and reason fleeing you all to make room for this- him.

You babble incomprehensibly as you ride it out, words lost in your throes of euphoria, smothered completely beneath the sweet and tender violence of him, your ravaged cunt milking and just taking him in its refusal to let go.

You don’t know if you’re crying- it all feels so good you can barely make sense of where you are- but through the red haze of it all you feel Case’s hand cup your cheek, caress your face, mumbling choked apologies into your shoulder as he keeps impaling you on his cock, chasing his pleasure into you. It’s the sweetest thing, his voice very almost pathetic, incongruous to the way the rest of him seems dead-set on pummelling you into the mattress as he garbles a knotted string of I’m sorry, baby, can’t help it, s’too good, I’m sorry—

As if you’d even care if he wasn’t. As if you wouldn’t let him break you and cradle the pieces in his mottled hands. As if you wouldn’t let him carve out a home inside of you, broken and bloodied, and nestle himself within. Where no one can hurt him ever again, where nobody could ever find him. Nobody but you.

You’d promise him that much, you think- the times when he wakes up screaming in the night, when he sits up in bed and stares empty at the wall, when mid-conversation he’s just suddenly stunned into white-noise silence, the Case you know, the Case that’s yours, absent for but a moment. Replaced by something else entirely, something you’re not quite sure you recognise. You take him then, like you take him now, your body so dumb and fragile in his big arms as he fucks you hard, cock punching into you so bad you go dizzy.

And isn’t this much like that? Don’t you love him even now, as he is? While he violently breaks you?

“C-Case,” you choke, his chest pressed so tightly to yours you can hardly breathe. His hand snakes up your neck, closing around your throat with a satisfied moan, stars dotted in your view. You feel something cresting again, down your legs, up your spine, the back of your neck— “Oh, god, Case, please, I’m gonna—”

But you don’t know what you’re gonna. It hits you before you can even find out. You come again, you think, some viciously delectable feeling severing you and flinging your body straight up off the mattress, holding him to you, begging him closer, as though he could be any more than he already was. Flesh melting into flesh, sweat sticky and waxen, indistinguishable from his. Inseparable. As you cry out again, he groans, thick and low and not quite human, spilling himself so deep inside you that you feel it pooling hot in your gut, molten sweet; your own climax is slow, tender agony, gorging you open, rippling warm and pink behind closed eyes like the thin warbling of blood in water… and then… and then…

It’s a short moment later, or maybe a few, when the black spots in your vision clear.

You’re staring up at the ceiling, cracked white, a picture much like Case’s eyes had been in the doorway, veins struck blood lightning across marble sclera. He’s there too, you can hear him, his voice a distant echo as you feel large hands cup your face, your whole world oscillating.

It’s bliss. It’s perfect. You lie there, barely coming to, your body sinking into the mattress as though you weren’t even there, floating, feeling so, so nice.

When the shadow pulls over your vision, you smile. Case holds himself over you, his thumb peeling back your eyelid, letting out a choked sound of relief when your eyes, lucid, finally fix on him.

“Oh- oh, thank god- oh- baby, I’m so—”

He scoops you up like a ragdoll in his arms, clutching you so tight to his chest that you can feel the erratic thrumming of his heart, quick as a rabbit’s to the slow drum of yours. A series of strangled noises leave him as he buries his face into your shoulder, wet, whether from kisses or crying, you don’t know- but you know that you love him, and he’s yours. It’s the only thing on your emptied mind as your face burrows against him, breathing him in. That strange chemical smell is long gone now, enveloping you back into the warm embrace of pine and petrichor, the smell of home. Of him. It’s all you can think of, the only thing you can form into words, when you mumble, exhausted, into his chest.

“‘Love you, Case.”

And he must hear it, because his heartbeat slows then, decelerating a steady hum to match your own. His death grip on you loosens, his body going slack as he falls into you. Whatever noise that screams endless in his mind seems to cease, because through it all he hears you, hushing and cooing at him as you pull your fingers softly up his arm, pulling him slowly, slowly, down into bed. You stay still as he sifts frantic hands over you, smoothing you over like he’s trying to keep the shape of you, checking you like he would for bruises. You know this is his way of taking care of you, of fixing you, of making everything right and keeping his precious baby together with all her pieces intact; he kisses you slow but trembling, lips finding every swath of skin he knows he’s bitten, pinched, groped too hard.

“Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, quiet and worriedly into your hair. He kisses, again and again. “Didn’t mean to be so rough. Didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you whisper, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Look- feel.”

You find his hand in the dark, pulling it around yourself to press it against your chest, your heart beating heavy against his palm. You keep it there, proof of your wellness, showing him you’re unharmed. Where it matters, anyway. You’re so strung out from your orgasm that all you can do, want to do, is just lie there and hold him, body limp and satisfied in spite of it all.

It’s just that, then, quiet, the soft sounds of his breathing slowing in time to yours, a conscious effort to calm himself, to prove to you that he can be, that he isn’t that thing that lingered in the doorway glowering at you- to prove to himself that he isn’t a monster.

He tells you again that he’s sorry, but you just tut your forgiveness and shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. And he tries to tell you why, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. Just the voice in the back of his head again, the knife kept lodged in his throat all this time. We don’t talk about that. His vision warps, chromatic as he blinks away pictures of the lab, the lights, the Cradle. We can’t talk about that.

Case just sighs then, settling into your arms and cocooning himself around you like he’s not the very thing he’s trying to protect you from. He thinks he tells you he loves you too- that, at least, he knows is his- but he isn’t sure if you hear, fallen asleep before you can utter a response.

He just looks at you, and he’s completely besotted. Utterly and madly. He kisses you sweet and gentle, stamping his one last apology as soft fingers thread through your hair. He’ll fix it, he vows, for you, for you. Then he slides in next to you, curling his arms around your tummy to pull you in close, swearing until he falls asleep to make good on that promise. Then, as sleep slowly takes him, there are no more bumps in the night.

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heyidkyay · 7 months ago

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“just friends”

In truth, I was just looking through my drafts and found this sat there from agesss ago, remember it taking me a while to make when I’d been sick one week, it’s cringe but I figured I’d just post it anyway seeing as I’m never really on here anymore 🥲

Hi btw, hope you’re all good x

Summary: They’ve always claimed that they’re just friends, but to the rest of the world it has always seemed like so much more..

Over the years..

Fan reactions

#the 1975 #fic #matty healy #the 1975 band #fluff #x reader #friends #friends to lovers #reader insert #matty #george daniel #ross macdonald #adam hann #matty healy x you #matty healy imagine #smau #1975

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avatarmerida · 4 months ago

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So I know it’s been awhile since I’ve updated anything or shared any news fics but life is doing life things and my hyper-fixation has been coming and going but I’ve had this in my drafts for awhile so I thought I’d share what I have ready! When it’s all done it’ll be called 365 days in my Wintery Junk collection on AO3, for context in this they’re like juniors in college 20/21ish and Hunter is leaving for a year to work on planting more palistrom trees across the Isles. So this fic was gonna be about them like video chatting and keeping in touch and figuring stuff out long distance and updating each other. So here’s the last post of the year I guess! It felt thematic to share today lemme know if it’s worth finishing!

—-

“Hey there, Mr. Man-of-the-hour,” Willow greeted in a low, teasing voice as she shut the door behind her. It was a lovely night, and she knew Hunter couldn’t resist looking at the stars, even at his own party. But she acted surprised anyway. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Oh, just catching my breath,” he chuckled, the cold air capturing it as he exhaled. The muffled sounds of music and laughter broke the silence for a moment as she joined his island of silence on the porch. Her emerald green dress somehow just as vivid and captivating in the dim lighting the low hanging string of lights provided. “I haven’t danced like that in awhile.”

“Yeah, not since Grom I bet,” she said walking over to stand beside him.

“Oh my Titan, don’t remind me,” he groaned endearingly.

“What? You looked so cute!” She insisted. “And you were a really good dance partner.”

“I think I stepped on your toes like 6 times,” he said between clenched teeth, remembering he was wearing the same shoes now.

“Well seven but hey it’s a lucky number!” She said and they both laughed. He had bought a wallet purely for the purpose of keeping their Photo Booth pictures in jt. After the group had gotten their classic shot, she insisted they get as many of just the two of them as possible. They did all the classic poses, it was bright and loud and the best kind of chaos and for the final photo she had pulled him down to kiss his cheek. It was quick and she didn’t make a big deal about it so he didn’t make a big deal about it, at least not outwardly. That was the photo he had gotten laminated.

“Yeah well, alots changed since then,” he sighed.

Not really, Willow thought as she took in his relaxed profile. He was still sweet and dorky but now he was more rested. Her feelings for him certainly hadn’t changed, if anything they’d gotten worse. Well, worse wouldn’t be the best way to describe it, it was an overwhelmingly positive feeling but it just never found the right time to be fully expressed.

When she had kissed his cheek that night, she had intended for it to signify that she didn’t want their first date to be their only date. But Hunter had endearingly mistaken it as a ritual of the event and so she took it as a sign. She couldn’t deny there had been a shift between them after that night, that he felt more comfortable initiating contact and lingering when they found themselves sitting closer during game nights and the way he looked at her… well that might not have changed but he didn’t shy away right away anymore when she caught him. It was like she knew she had him but saying it aloud might undo it somehow.

“Did you ever think when you started helping Dell that you’d be traveling the Isles as this big shot hero?” She asked with a sigh as she took in the cool night air.

“‘Hero?’ Pshh, hardly,” he scoffed. “I’m just doing my part to help fix something I didn’t realize I was a part of hurting.”

“Hey, no one knew,” she said as she put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not gonna let you blame yourself or deny that what you’re doing is pretty cool.”

He sighed, the fire in her eyes melting any guilt he tried to harbor. “Okay yeah it is pretty cool,” he admitted.

“There ya go,” she smiled, moving her hand up to brush his hair from his face, as though she just wanted an excuse to touch him. “I’m really proud of you Hunter.”

“Proud of me? You wanna talk about cool go look in the mirror Miss Pro Flyer Derby,” he countered, crossing his arms and shaking his face at hers in a cocky way he could only adopt when he was talking about her.

“Okay…” she said with a sigh of fake annoyance that he knew meant to kept going.

“Youngest ever recruit before she even graduated and is already on track to be captain? All while creating her own major in advanced plants studies? Now that’s cool.”

“Well you deserve a little credit,” she said. “How many times did you stay late to help me work on my drills?”

“Well how many times did you stay late helping me find the right PH level for the soil for the trees?” He countered.

“Oof, no wonder we’re so tired,” she joked and they laughed again. Oh, he was going to miss that laugh. He wondered if it would be weird to ask to record it. He knew they promised to talk as much as possible to keep in touch but there was nothing comparable to being beside Willow when she laughed.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it to your first match,” said Hunter sadly, leaning on the railing again.

“Hey you can stream it,” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers. “I’ll give you a shout out.”

“Thanks,” he said, feeling a tug in his chest as he felt like it was some kind of sin not to be there in person to support her. Had he been smarter, he would’ve cherished their last one on one practice session more. Who knows the next time they’d be able to play and have it just be the two of them. “But ya know, it’s only a few weeks away I could probably push my trip back so I could-.”

“Hunter,” she cut him off. “As sweet as that is and as much as I want you to come I can’t let you do that for me. They need you over there and the sooner you go the sooner you can start changing the world.”

And the sooner you can come back, she thought.

“Besides, rookie games aren’t usually that exciting,” Willow somewhat lied. “I might not even play.”

“Well then that’s their loss,” said Hunter, knowing she was right. As excited as he was to go and as much as he cared about the work he was entrusted to do, well he just couldn’t help but care about her maybe a tiny bit more. In a perfect world, he could stop time and help the palistrom trees and come back before her season started. But unlike Willow, the world was far from perfect. “But could I at least get your autograph?”

“Only if I can get your autograph,” she teased, hitting the side of her hip against his. “I wanna brag about you to my teammates.”

“Brag about me?” He teased, inching closer to her. “Oh no no, I’m the one who will be bragging about you to my colleagues.”

“Well I’m the one with half a dozen hand made jackets I get to show off,” she said smugly.

“Oh no, what? You seriously kept all of them?” He asked with a sigh of fake embarrassment. He truly loved making her things and he had improved immensely but his early work was very obviously his early work. But nevertheless, Willow cherished them as though they were from the hottest designer (which in her opinion, they were.)

“Well I want something to remember you by.” She said shyly. She had a jacket for nearly everyday of the week, and for the day she didn’t have a homemade jacket she had acquired quite the collection of his own jackets he had lent her whenever she showed any indication of being cold. They smelled like him, which she used to think was a gross thing to say but she couldn’t argue with the peace it brought her. He smelled like wood chips and old books and fresh grass. It was like an easily accessible embrace when she was out of teleportation distance.

“Oh what, you don’t have enough pictures, ‘Miss 20 Scrapbooks?’” He teased. She loved when they entered this type of banter, how Hunter’s brand of flirting was mostly asking questions as though he knew just how to set her up. They ebbed and flowed until it was like a competition to see who could compliment the other more subtly and they were both extremely competitive.

“Well I blame you for being so photogenic,” she teased back. “It’s not my fault you have such a cute smile.”

“Well it is your fault I smile so much.”

Oooh, he won that round. She sucked her teeth, knowing the blush on her face was clear even in the dim lighting. She was having trouble crafting a response to top that. “Well I’ll gladly take that blame,” she said softly, seeing one of those smiles forming now from the corner of her eye. Oh she didn’t need a photograph to remember that.

She sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder. She was only somewhat overly aware of how much she was touching him tonight. Every playful shove or brush of the hand hid the severe urge to scoop him in her arms and trap him in the tightest embrace. But that would only make letting go harder.

She felt him lean back against her and her mind flash back to a movie night not long ago but now felt like lifetimes ago. They had found themselves left alone, the rest of the group not up to finishing the marathon they had been so excited to start and the pair found it up to them to see it through. It was late, and the movie was fine but Willow had for some reason felt the overwhelming need to be close to him. The way the screen reflected off his eyes, the way he muffled his laughter so as to not awaken everyone else, the way he yawned and stretched his arms and it landed… over her shoulders? She slyly scooted closer to him, testing the waters. He did the same. She pretended to adjust the blanket so she leaned into him more, and his arm held her in place. It was somehow both certain and uncertain, neither of them wanted to bring it to attention in case that was what broke the spell, but they both felt safe and cozy in this midnight bubble.

Now, many midnights later his arm found her shoulder again. More purposely. She looked up at him and he offered her a lopsided smile, still not speaking over what exactly it was but assuring her he was aware. He wanted her this close.

Being this close was another contradiction, the way it was both common and uncommon. They’d always manage to sit next to each other or wind up finding each other but without the guise of a crowd or being crowded, it came down to how to make it happen when you couldn’t simply happen upon it. It felt like always being on the brink of something, so being here now with all the space in the world to occupy and choosing to act magnetized… well how long could it exist without a reason?

“Oh man,” she chuckled, reaching up to cup his chin in her hand, looking up at him to memorize the way he looked in the moonlight. “I’m really gonna miss that smile.” She said it softly, as though it was meant to stay a thought. She brushed a loose hair to the side of his face, another excuse to touch him as their eyes locked. He leaned into her touch again and placed his hand over hers. It was chilling and warm and natural and fleeting. His smile softened just when she thought it couldn’t get any softer and it was so warm she could just melt.

This was the moment he had hoped for. He cleared his throat and went to stand up.

“So there’s actually something I- oh! Ergh!” He stopped himself as he realized he had gotten tangled in a string of especially low hanging lights Luz had added for the event.

“Oh! It’s okay, stand still,” said Willow reaching up to help him untangle himself. “Hang on, I might need a flower to stand on, I can’t quite reach.”

He couldn’t duck down much more lest he bring the collection of lights down with him. Willow’s hands untangled him as carefully and quickly as she could manage, the task making her seemingly unaware at just how close their faces were. Hunter didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he focused on the determined and adorable way she stuck her tongue to the side as she freed him.

“Sorry, I uh think I got taller recently? Somehow?” He said awkwardly, not sure how else to explain it but feeling like he needed to apologize. More feeling like he needed to say something or else the silence would lead him to get lost in her features. He couldn’t imagine how he’d come back from the embarrassment he’d feel if she caught him actively daydreaming about her when she was right in front of him.

“No actually I think I got shorter,” she responded playfully, sensing his uneasiness. They both laughed as the light above them seemed to circle them like a sun, as though creating an illuminated midnight bubble. Like they were living in a fond memory.

“No, you’re the perfect height,” he said just as she freed the last lock.

“Well I won’t argue with you there,” she said softly, staying close to him, always loving the way she looks up to him. The way she could always tell when his gaze was on her. “Seems like even the Owl House is gonna miss you.”

“I guess so,” he chuckled, trying to steady his breath as he tried to determine if she was getting closer or waiting for him to step back. He arms remained at his side, holding back the urge to return to her shoulders.

“I’m sure Luz wouldn’t mind if you took the lights with you though,” Willow continued. “Maybe you could hang them in your new place, like a going away present.”

“Yeah,” he gulped. He didn’t think he’d get a better opportunity. “So uh speaking of that, uh there i-is something I wanted to give you before I left.” His was voice a mixture of nerves and determination she found utterly charming.

“Hunter this is your party, you’re supposed to be the one getting gifts!” She insisted, knowing that Hunter had specifically instructed no one bring gifts and how everyone had definitely not listened.

“Heh, I think you know what I’m gonna say to that,” he said with a smirk.

“That me being here is already the best gift you could ask for,” she responded in her best Hunter impression, playing with his collar.

“Exactly,” he chuckled and nodded. “You just know me too well.”

“Okay so then lemme guess what you wanna give me,” she giggled and closed her eyes to think, her hands going down to take his and swinging them between the two of them as her mind collected her guesses. “Hmmm I know you’ve been trying out knitting recently so maybe a scarf? Oh! Some mittens maybe?”

“Um, well it’s more-.”

“Oh, I hope you didn’t think what I said before meant I had too many jackets cause if it’s a jacket I know I’m gonna love it,” she went on. “Clover loves all the secret pockets you add. Well anyway, I know anything from you is gonna be-.

Before she could finish, he leaned down and gently kissed her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered and looked at him in a small shock, uncertain if this was the gift or if it was just something that had come over him in the moment. Either way his face indicated he did not regret it. It was a simple gesture and he seemed relieved, as though it had been something heavy he had been carrying for her. She wished she could somehow preserve it, tattoo it or frame it or carry it in a locket around her neck. He hadn’t gone too far from her and her eyes quickly darted to his lips and back to his eyes which seemed to have done the exact same thing.

She suddenly wondered if he had been waiting for her out here, hoping she’d wander for air or knowing she’d go looking for him so they could have one last moment to themselves. She felt like she was in a dream she suddenly gained control of, the details of everything were simultaneously crisp and blurry, like Hunter being so close had frozen time and changed the air.

They both held their breath as they gravitated towards each other. It was unclear who pulled who in but suddenly their arms were wrapped around each other as they found themselves in a deep and long anticipated kiss. It was a quiet night, but they brought forth an orchestra and collection of fireworks without saying a word. Like it was the thing they had been on the brink of for all those midnights.

Hunter eagerly moved down to reach her better and she summoned a flower to stand on for a boost so they met the middle. Maybe it was meant to be a quick, chaste peck but it evolved and then evolved again, neither of them finding it in themselves to be the one to break it.

So they didn’t.

His arms secured around her waist and he held her close, cradling her and dipping her like the cover of some grand romance novel and her arms anchored around his neck as one hand found its way through his hair. He somehow knew how to carefully remove her glasses and how to angle his face so their noses didn’t collide as though he had thought about it before. He delicately moved the hand with his glasses to the side of her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. He could feel her smile against his lips which made his own wider and soon bits of laughter were mixed into their exchange.

It was a laughter of joy and relief and certainty. It wasn’t shy or awkward, they fell into it naturally as though they had fallen so many times before. But because they hadn’t, they had so much time to make up for.

When he needed a moment to breathe, she covered the rest of his face with kisses. His jaw, his nose, his forehead all demanded to be shown affection. When she went to kiss his neck she could feel his sharp inhale as he pulled her closer and went to reunite their lips with such vigor that Willow subconsciously summoned a vine to wrap around them as her knees went weak.

They weren’t sure how much time had passed or if it had stopped all together and frankly they were fine with that until a loud crash from inside brought them back to reality. They heard the muffled sounds of Luz and King assuring everyone there were okay to a response of laughter. Although they pulled apart, they still held onto each other like they were a life preserver.

They were each breathless, processing and replaying everything as their forehead naturally rested against each other as they panted. Their insync panting brought forth more laughter, hushed as though they were suddenly worried about being caught. It felt as though so long as it was just them then the moment could go on forever.

Willow wanted it to, it felt as though she had waited lifetimes to be able to take in his smile this way, like a wave that had been building and building just waiting to crash.

But they both knew there were other earthly obligations that needed attention and words that needed to be said. But the words were just as complicated and as much as Hunter was elated that his gift had been welcomed and returned, he had only worked up the nerve for actions and less for words. He didn’t know if it was the emotions of the evening that had gotten them here or something brewing longer but he didn't want to tamper with the moment. But he couldn’t just vanish into the night, well he could but he certainly didn’t want to.

He cleared his throat, still memorizing the way the moonlight hit her hair. “Um I have to get up pretty early in the morning tomorrow,” Hunter managed to say at last, his voice hoarse. He was unsure of what he was supposed to say as he handed her back her glasses. He knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to keep her in his arms and tell her how much he adored her and how amazing she was as he kissed the rest of her face, one for every minute he hadn’t taken the chance to.

“Oh, oh yeah uh you should probably get going,” said Willow, meaning the exact opposite. Now that she had been held by him like this she didn’t want to know any other feeling. She wanted to squeeze him and tell him over and over and over again how lucky she was to know him and how much she trusted him and all the things she had written in her diary about him. She hoped he could read her mind and come back down to her so she kiss him silly.

But instead she released him slowly, returning to the ground and felt his hold on her loosen. Leaving his embrace felt like falling from a precipice. They stood there for a moment, both waiting for the other to say what needed to be said. Their hands soon found each other, naturally entering their signature pinky hold like a promise they always returned to. Like a light always visible in the darkness.

“So I guess this is… goodbye?” She asked.

“Yeah I guess it is.” He replied with a sad smile.

He felt like he could kiss her goodbye, that it would be appropriate and wanted and reciprocated. But he felt that if he kissed her now he wouldn’t know when to stop. That he wouldn’t let go. He worried he couldn’t recreate the confidence and passion the spontaneous act had brought out in him. He worried it was a dream. He worried that she had only kissed him because he was leaving. He worried he had waited too long.

“But only for now,” she went on, her voice shaking as it was apparent she was holding back tears. She powered through as she looked up at him, her lipstick smeared over most of his face. “Promise me you’ll message me as soon as you get there?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Okay good,” she said, searching for something more profound to say. She wanted to send him off with something more, something to assure him this was something more. But he already had so much on his mind, she didn’t want to add any uncertainty or pressure to his plate. But regardless of any additional feelings she harbored, she cared about him no matter the label their relationship wore and that was something she did not let him forget. “Have a safe trip, captain’s order.”

“Of course,” he said again with a smile and he pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his torso and his chin rested atop her head.

He heard her let out a small sniffle and he felt his own eyes sting with tears.

“I’m really gonna miss you captain,” he whispered.

“It’s not that long,” she said, muffled by his shirt. “It’s just 365 days until your next day off, right?”

“Right,” he said and felt her hug him tighter. He remembered the first time she had said that, as if that was the day his days began to hold value. The day he knew he didn’t have to be alone, that he didn’t want to be alone. The day he knew he wanted her in as many days as possible, and one day he hoped to have more days with her than without her. He had endured worse things, he needed to remind himself. Saying goodbye to everyone had been emotional, but saying goodbye to her carried so much more.

“It’s just 365 days.”

He hoped it would be there when they said hello again.

#huntlow #winter toh #toh #the owl house #Willow park #hunter toh #Huntlow fanfiction

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galaxymagitech · 1 month ago

Note

hello!! i'm a big fan of your fic "Bleed the Poison Out" (and i'm definitely putting it on multiple fic rec lists). it has such a good portrayal of bruce and dick's relationship <3

so for the ask game: ✰ NEW SHAPES ☹ EVIL TWIN ♡ SMALL THINGS

Thank you so much!!! That is one of my favorite fics I’ve written, and probably in my top three of Bruce & Dick fics to write, so I’m really glad you enjoyed it. Sorry for taking so long :(

Bleed the Poison Out | Ask Game

♡ SMALL THINGS: pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite minor detail from it!

Hmm. This fic means a lot to me, so it’s difficult to find something that feels minor, but…I think I’d go with the soft rug that has the pizza sauce and blood stains. The fic can feel very isolating (to me, at least), like Bruce and Dick are the only two people in the world—even when other people come up, they’re a distraction tactic. But the rug is just there, and a sign of Dick’s connections beyond just Bruce. Even if he never talked to Bruce again (although he will talk to Bruce again), he would still have a family.

✰ NEW SHAPES: send me a fic and I’ll give you an alternate direction the fic could have gone!

Well, when I first started planning this fic (for last year's Dick Grayson Anniversary Week), I was trying to make it an actual heartwarming, complete apology that, while not fixing everything, left a very solid foundation. But every single fully sincere apology I could think of felt utterly ridiculous. I genuinely could not suspend my disbelief enough to believe that Bruce could apologize in a way that doesn’t make things worse. So, I ended up pulling out a draft that was permanently consigned to my notes. It was a personal thing, not fit for posting, but I figured I could try to fix it up.

After that, I think the main thing that nearly went differently was that I almost cut it off because I couldn’t think of an ending. Instead of getting through to Bruce, Dick would have forced down his feelings in the end, accepted Bruce’s apology (and lack of apology for the incidents they disagree on) and then Bruce would leave. And Dick would be alone.

But then I found a turning point, where Dick voices something that's just so out of place that it forces Bruce to confront how his actions are so messed up that they've created these really messed-up (but realistic, I think) thought processes. That, despite not meaning to, he hurt his son.

☹ EVIL TWIN: send me a fic or scene and I’ll give you the unhappy ending version of it!

This was really fun. My first thought was that the conversation escalated and Bruce got violent again, but I figured that's boring, and I could do better. So I challenged myself to imagine the actual worst dumpster fire of an ending possible. And then I worked back from there to light that fire.

That turning point I mentioned in the previous question? It could very easily have sent the conversation careening in the opposite direction. So I’ve started the story from there. Enjoy your dumpster fire ending!

***

“I want you to hit me again,” Dick admits. For a moment, there’s silence. And then—

“What.” Bruce’s voice is flat and cold. Dick flinches at the sound of it.

He—it made sense in his head. If Bruce just…just hit him. Now. After Spyral. Not under mind control. No Court of Owls, or dead sons, or dead friends, or justification. If Bruce just hit him, Dick would know. He would know that this is what Bruce does, that Bruce hits him, that it’s a thing, and Dick can be angry all he wants and it won’t be just stupid, childish resentment.

But sitting in the silence and listening to the words echo in his ears, Dick knows there has to be something wrong with him, something that makes him push and poke and prod and provoke until Bruce loses his patience. After all, what kind of kid—not that Dick is a kid, but he sure feels like one right now—what kind of kid wants his father to hit him? What kind of kid says that out loud?

When Bruce speaks again, his words dig their claws into Dick’s heart and scoop out the rot hiding inside. Because, as much as Dick wishes he wasn’t, Bruce is right. “If you’re looking for whatever villain you’ve built up in your head, Dick, you’re not going to get it.”

“Villain,” Dick echoes. Everything is cold, not just Bruce’s voice. The air in his apartment. The air in his lungs. The cavity Bruce has carved into his chest where his heart is supposed to beat.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Bruce asks. “I fired you. I’m to blame for Jason’s death. I’m to blame for everything, aren’t I?” Dick’s fists clench, thumbs trapped against the wood of the table. “I made mistakes. I’ll be the first to admit that. But—”

“Mistakes?” Dick can’t keep the hysteria out of his tone. He was trying to be calm. Reasonable. He alwaystries. But something about arguing with Bruce turns him into a timebomb. And sooner or later, he explodes. And even if he calms down, even if he tries to reel himself in, he just explodes again. And again. And again. Until one of them leaves. “You want to talk about Jason’s death? Because you blamed me for that too, and then you hit me, and the first time you even thought to apologize is half a decade later! You beat me until I agreed to leave my family behind and go on that godforsaken mission and even now, you can’t even acknowledge what you did! All you can say is that you made mistakes!”

“What do you even want me to say, then?” Bruce asks. His face is contorted with something that Dick has only seen a few times before. In the cave, after Jason’s death. As Batman pulled him from Blüdhaven’s wreckage. In the cave again, after the Crime Syndicate. It’s a face Dick has only ever seen on Batman in their worst moments together. But now, Bruce is wearing it, and Dick can’t force his lungs to breathe. “You’re acting like a child, right now.”

“Maybe stop treating me like one then!” Dick screams.

He doesn’t mean it in the way he meant it at twelve, at sixteen, at nineteen. He doesn’t mean that Bruce isn’t giving him enough responsibility or independence, or that Bruce doesn’t trust him.

Dick means that he will never be able to say anything to convince Bruce that he did more than just make a mistake. No matter what, Dick’s words will always be less trustworthy, less valid, less real. Bruce will hold a court session in his head and Dick’s thoughts will never be anything other than an unreliable eyewitness testimony.

That’s unfair to Bruce. Dick has no way of proving that he’s right—about Bruce hitting him after Gordon’s supposed death, about the events before Spyral being more than just a brutal spar, about Bruce’s actions being a step above mistake and crossing over into something he doesn’t want to name. Why should Bruce trust him, when he accidentally lied about not agreeing to spar? Why should Bruce trust him, when he took the most thorough apology Bruce has ever given and pushed and prodded until he made it another argument, just like he always does?

But it still stings.

Bruce’s response stings even more.

“I tried to apologize,” Bruce says. “I sat here while you accused me of one terrible thing after the next. But—”

Dick can’t help but interrupt. (That’s wrong. He needs to take responsibility; he can help it. He just doesn’t.)“It’s not an apology if—”

“—playing the victim—”

“—you’re arguing with me—”

“—own up to my flaws but—”

“—every other second!”

“I won’t apologize for something I never did!” Bruce roars, hands slamming into the table as he stands. The surface trembles, and Dick wonders if this will be it, and the kitchen table will finally crack. He’ll get a bigger one, this time. One with room for enough chairs for everyone.

His mind, Dick realizes, is not totally there. He can hear everything Bruce is saying. He can see the kitchen around them. But right now, the world doesn’t feel entirely real. “I didn’t ask you to!” Dick yells back. He thinks at least. He can’t really tell. His voice sounds too-loud and too-quiet at the same time. “I didn’t ask you to break into my apartment when I just wanted to sleep and try to talk about it, okay? Nothing’s stopping you from leaving!”

“I was trying to make things right!” Bruce screams, stepping forwards. Dick scrambles out of his chair and takes a step back, towards the corner of the kitchen. Away from the door. Not that Dick could reach the door anyway—Bruce is blocking the exits.

Dick remembers noticing that, when Bruce sat down. That Bruce put himself between Dick and the exits. Because he both of them appreciate being able to watch all the entrances, but he doesn’t know that right now, Dick feels like a cornered animal. Bruce would never have thought that Dick needed an exit to feel safe. “This?” Dick sweeps an arm out. “This is not making things right! This is making things worse, like you always do!”

Bruce takes another step forward. This time, Dick refuses to give any more ground. There’s not much further he can retreat in the corner anyway. Bruce opens his mouth, presumably to scream something else, before he abruptly pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is cutting, but no longer a scream. A knife, instead of a club. A knife that buries itself in Dick’s chest and twists. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You said you want me to hit you. And so you do this.” Bruce shakes his head. “This isn’t you, Dick. There’s something wrong with you, right now, making you act like this. Have you been exposed to any—”

Bruce says more, but Dick can’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. All he knows is that he needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs to get out.

He can’t get out. The exits are blocked.

He needs to—

Over the next few weeks, Dick will look back on this moment and replay it over and over again in his head. He will try to tell himself that he was just acting instinctively, that he wasn’t thinking, that his vigilante brain perceived a threat and lashed out. But he’ll know better.

Dick hand forms a practiced fist and strikes Bruce in the face.

No. Dick needs to take responsibility. Dick strikes Bruce in the face.

And for a moment, the world freezes. Bruce, with his head thrown to the side. Dick, with a fist raised, blood beginning to well from where one of his knuckles scraped against a tooth. And the room, empty, with no one to bear witness. Just like always.

Except it’s entirely different.

Dick sucks a breath of air into the vacuum of his lungs. Bruce slowly lifts his head. For a moment, they both stare at each other.

And then Dick collapses against the wall, barely remaining upright. His mind is filled with a cacophony of voices, all screaming the same thing. “I’m sorry,” Dick says. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I’m sorry.”

Dick hit him. Not to fight him while he was making a mistake. He just hit him. During an argument.

Bruce has never hit Dick outside costume. Even during the spar, they wore their cowl and mask.

Dick didn’t just hit Bruce, didn’t just make a horrible—a horrible mistake. He crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeats. It’s all he can do. He knows how it sounds. ‘I didn’t mean to’s and ‘I’m sorry’s. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Are you done?” Bruce asks, wiping away the blood from a cut on his lower lip. His voice isn’t warm, but it isn’t cold either. It just is. Are you done? Are you done being a problem? Are you done escalating every fucking argument you get into? Are you done playing the victim, when you just struck someone you love and made him bleed?

“Please,” Dick says. He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. Forgiveness? That would make it worse. If Bruce forgave him. What he did— “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bruce says quietly. “I’m sorry too.” Bruce shouldn’t be apologizing. Dick hit him. This is all wrong.

Bruce was right. Dick keeps playing the victim, when all he’s done is create the problems.

Bruce helps Dick into his chair at the table and steps back. Dick’s skin crawls the whole time, but he can’t think of anything except the impact of Bruce’s skin beneath his fist. “I’ll see you next week,” Bruce says. “There’s a case that could use another pair of hands.”

Dick looks down. When he looks back up, Bruce is gone. He doesn’t know quite how long it was between.

All this time, Dick held grievances against Bruce for, what? Treating him like an equal? Like someone he could speak to honestly? Like someone who could stand up for himself if he didn’t want to spar?

Bruce wanted to apologize. And Dick responded by hitting him.

It’s clear, now, where the poison lies. Seeping into Dick’s blood. Dripping from the cut on his knuckle. Pulsing within his very veins.

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georgewashingtonsnudes · 5 months ago

Text

~ Tainted Love ~ Dio Brando ~ PT. I ~

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 (I may post the full version on AO3, but we’ll see)

a/n: this has been in my drafts collecting dust for some time now; so I thought I’d share. I’ve never posted a fic before so please be patient w/ me and let me know how I can improve. It’s quite drawn out so I’m gonna be splitting it up into three parts, but hot vampire man is an asshole, so I’m just going for realism. Somewhat of a reader insert but without use of y/n or ___.

Likes, comments, shares, and reblogs are welcome and much appreciated. Again, please let me know how I can improve from here. <3

DO NOT COPY MY WORK ANYWHERE

WC: 4,645

Summary: DIO saves reader from captivity and is now training them to use their Stand to endure torture/pain; but such a power can have many creative applications. They’re rewarded in the end for being a fast learner.

(If you care to read into the specs of the intended stand or for quick reference;it’s at the very end. If not, the brief description in the story should hopefully do.)

CW: 18+ NSFW warning minors/ageless accounts DNI, sort of a song fic, not proof read, GN reader/Gender not specified (they/them/their pronouns used), fem reader (sorta?), reader is a stand user, prior to stardust crusaders, begging, Lots of teasing, edging if you squint, no direct smut at first but very heavy nsfw (they hold hands lol), blood play, punishment, heavy biting, (scratching sorta), acts of violence/mention of d34d bodi3s, pain/endurance play, maybe a little bit of Stockholm syndrome/yandre (idk if it qualifies but just to be safe), inappropriate use of stands, mention of mental institution?, use of pet names (dear one, my lord, master, maybe others), clothes ripping, I’m bad at tags lmk if I missed any

Please don’t do these things in real life unless you are a consenting adult with another consenting adult. Please be wise and safe <3

Darkness engulfed them; suffocating and cold. Incense clouding around, filling the room with a misleading warmth, the scent comforting and familiar. Chills ran up their spine as their feet touched down onto the marble floor, reminding them of the ever-consuming chill.

The hair on their arms stood on end as they suddenly felt a stifling aura emanating from behind. A fast, hushed chuckle reverberated in their ears, making them turn quickly to search the room for intrusion. But they found nothing, aside from the empty room they’d been in before.

Living with DIO Brando was nothing short of disquieting. The constant sensation of his fixed gaze, whether in sight or not, kept them on edge. DIO had discovered them in a ward for violent patients suffering delusions after he heard tell of someone there who had a strange effect on their environment and people around them.

Doctors could not understand why the patient had hallucinations of a humanoid figure following them whenever their emotions became heightened. It loomed behind them in a possessive, almost protective way, only visible to their eyes. They were admitted based on severe hallucinations and what hospital staff described as “fits of terrifying violence,” but it was much more indescribable than that.

Buildings shook, windows shattered, and explosive-like blasts would destroy walls and floors. Strangest though, the feelings others experienced around them seemed to be elevated by the strange vibrations and frequencies that emanated from their body. Happiness turned to madness, sadness to utter despair, and anger to pure, unadulterated rage. Every occurrence further drove fear into anyone they encountered, so for the protection of others, they were placed in a comatose state.

When DIO heard of such a being, it was immediately apparent they were a stand user. A stand user whom he was determined to have under his leadership before they dared to fight against him. The power they held was erratic and unpredictable, but that made it something to be feared. If such an ability was attainable and trainable, it could prove invaluable to him. An ability so strong, yet uncontrolled by its user—for now—he thought.

Their body filled with a dull ache—a deep heaviness sat in their chest as their mind was brought out of its fog. Had their eyes been closed for weeks? Months? Forcing them open, akin to willing paralyzed legs to run—bright fluorescent lights assaulted their eyes as their sight began to return. The shape of a cramped room forming in front of them.

Wall-to-wall white padding; an unframed mattress and medical equipment are its only excuses for furniture. Slowly, splotches of deep crimson came into view, decorating the walls and floor. It was an added ornament to the motionless figures scattered along the floor, lying lifeless and mutilated. Dead—they’re all dead.

Unable to move, they searched frantically for any trace of the living. Machines and tools started to shake around them as their thoughts became more frantic. Until—they saw something they wouldn’t soon forget. Finally coming into blurred view, a lone figure standing amongst the carnage, splattered with dark vermillion. Beaming like a heavenly entity, he drew closer to the mattress where they lay, their arms, chest, and legs bound by bed straps.

Standing at the edge of the bed, their binds suddenly came undone, making time itself seem unreal. In the blink of an eye, the stranger disappeared from the foot of the bed to reappear again at their side. They turned their head to meet the man, the fog finally clearing from their sight, and what stood before them was something of dreams—or perhaps a nightmare. Cautiously, he leaned forward and spoke softly.

“Do not be afraid,” as if quoting angels from scripture. “I’m not here to harm you; I only wish to ask you a question.”

Slowly, and shakily, they rose to sit upright, hoping to look closer at this mysterious creature. They could feel the room resume its soft quaking as his full form became apparent. He was overwhelmingly tall, towering over them even while bending down, built large and strapping. His body was carved like a Roman statue, shining porcelain that put David to shame. The words he spoke were like silk, flowing off of his tongue as naturally as cerulean waves kissing the seashore.

Suddenly, they felt weightless, like gravity ceased to exist. Strong arms engulfed them from behind, arms that didn’t belong to the man, lifting them above the mattress. He reached to softly grab them from the arms that held them up and pulled them to his broad chest. Bringing them closer to his hulking form, they gazed into his eyes, breath catching in their throat.

Their body hung featherweight in his gentle grip, enticing them to draw closer to his cold skin. His voice tickled their ears; the warm contrast to his icy touch sent shivers running down their spine. They let their held breath finally escape, still rendered speechless by the scene in front of them. It seemed to all melt into nothing when he brought his face close to whisper in their ear.

“I would be delighted if you would leave this wretched place with me so that we might become friends,” his deep voice enticing and rich. “I’ve heard rumors you have special gifts that could help in my never-ending struggle for peace. You see, I’m in pain and require your assistance to make my life’s goal a reality."

Bringing the back of his hand to stroke their reddening cheek, he spoke tenderly, "I beg of you, end my suffering."

Their heart stopped; the stranger's voice was so welcoming and kind, yet a disquieting feeling they knew all too well crept into their chest. The distrust in others after constant imprisonment, discrimination, hate, and abuse was inescapable. As the stranger pulled away to look at their face again, their mind began to spin. They wondered how he wasn’t affected by their presence like others—could he really be that strong?

“The choice is yours.”

Still—the world stood still. His words slipped through the cracks of the walls they had built, like water through cracks of a dam; it flooded their senses with joy. Gracefully, they were placed on shaky feet, a large hand supporting them from around their waist. Nearly forgetting how to speak, they managed,

“Who—“

Their voice was painful and hoarse, the time spent asleep weakening their vocal cords. The man’s large finger came to press against their parted lips.

“There’s no use in hurting yourself; you need only nod or shake your head. I’m but a simple man with simple wishes, none of which are to force your hand. So think deeply; don’t decide in haste, dear one."

The pet name was so simply bestowed upon them, yet it remained, ringing in their ears whenever he called. They tried to recall that day—the beautiful man, the stark cold of his hands, the honey in his voice—but it was caught in a fog, as if fading like a dream upon waking.

“Dear one—“

The endearment brought them back to the darkness, the scent of frankincense and musk replacing the sterile antiseptic and brassy red; a welcome difference. Goosebumps ran over their skin as a cold breeze swept over their back, a lurking aura standing dangerously close behind them. The heat in their chest slowly beginning to rise. Frigid hands slipped around their waist, brushing under the hem of their shirt, grazing their delicate skin.

“Your body is trembling, yet the room is still. It seems you’ve gained much more control.”

His praise mixed with the feeling of his fingers sliding over the contours of their figure made the heat in their chest begin to spread. DIO’s hand danced against their skin, every inch of his touch lingering like a silent plea, an unspoken and burning need. The deep sound that echoed through their ears pulled the memory of his delicate words from that faraway moment.

“My Lord has taught me how; I would not have control without you. Your overwhelming power makes me feel weak in comparison, yet strong in your presence.”

They were left alone, a dark chortle bouncing off the walls of the marble-plated room, his presence lost in the vast expanse of the burgundy boudoir. Fragrant smoke was all that held them as, as quickly as he had vanished, his large stature stood mere inches before them.

“And where do you suppose you would be had it not been for such a power?” Knowing the answer—he wished to be humored—a king to be entertained.

“Perhaps I’d be rotting along with those other corpses, my body serving no greater purpose than for maggot’s food.” The quick response fueling his exalted ego, reminding him of his heroic rhetoric. “Eating flies on the floor; collecting dust like a mantle ornament.”

As their grim list of examples became more graphic, a devilish smirk grew across his face, his imagination playing with their words. Whether it made him feel like an omnipotent god or a messiah mattered very little. Just a slight glint of his smile was enough to make warmth seep into their stomach.

“You would make a splendid centerpiece on any fireplace mantle, dear one.” The sobriquet was like soft worship as it fell upon their ears. “Or maybe you could have use as a centerpiece on a table; it would surely make for worthy dinner entertainment.”

Gone. His form vanishing as they heard a heavy sigh from behind. One large hand slipped around the front of their neck, the other haphazardly moving along the edges and grooves of their side.

“Although—that would be terribly boring.” His hand nudging their head to rest against his chest, melting into his frosty skin. “You’d be nothing but something handsome to look at. What a shame, it would be much more enjoyable to be able to play with you.” His hand fell upon their hip and held a firm yet loving grip.

“Yet, handsome nonetheless, dear one.”

They were on fire, their imagination starting to run wild as he pressed his body closer to theirs. DIO’s arms engulfing them in an inescapable hold, face burrowing in the crevice of their neck. A small sigh fell from them as his lips ever so lightly grazed a tender place on their collar, not enough to be called a kiss, but to tickle their skin. Their heart began beating faster as his attention shifted to the other side of their neck, only providing delicate brushes. Until his lips met their neck in a sloppy manner before sinking his fangs in, just enough to draw blood.

Burning pain ran through them, blending into sheer ecstasy as they felt his lips connect with the wound. They moaned as he began to suck at the blots of crimson seeping from his intrusion. Licking at whatever remained, he began to plant firm kisses on their neck and collar. Leaving behind splotches of red, as if wearing ruby lipstick for a romantic date. He bit and sucked love marks wherever he could reach.

It felt like their clothes were suffocating, restricting tightly under the steam their body gave off. DIO began to fiddle again with their shirt before time broke once more, along with their blouse. Gravity pulled shreds of fabric to the floor as he stood in front of them again. Taking in his bare form, only covered by unforgivingly tight pants restraining an equally unforgiving tool, heat exploded in their stomach.

He stared devilishly at their exposed chest, savoring his time stripping them bare. Watching as they became bashful, painted in a sinful blush, was a sickly sweet pleasure of his. The more they recoiled in shyness, the more he exaggerated his ministrations, turning them into a whining mess. Breaking down their cool exterior became his favorite pastime.

All the while, they tried to keep their composure, failing miserably as his hands moved to explore their body further. His predatory stare wrecked their nerves, making them feel like prey waiting to be pounced upon. The heat inside them followed his hands tracing along their flushed skin, eventually grazing along their clothed center for a fleeting second. It was so easy for their self-control to be broken down, and they didn’t seem to have much of a problem with that.

They wanted more—more—more—of him, his touch, his kiss, his body, his love. Rebelliously moving their hands towards his chest, they were stopped before making it far. One strong hand held both of their wrists in place behind their back, pulling them inches from his face.

“You know better than that, dear one. You know whom this is for.” A sigh of feigned disappointment left his lips, his voice rendering them speechless.

“Say it.” He bit gruffly, pulling away from their ear.

“You, Master DIO.” They answered quickly, knowing their actions and responses would determine the importance of their time compared to his.

“And whose pleasure is this for? Your own?” With his free hand he grabbed their chin, bringing them closer to inspect their reaction. “How selfish.”

They roughly shook their head, wishing to avoid being left unsatisfied. His face looked riddled with doubt, an expression usually reserved for a disobedient child saying they would behave better in the future.

“Yours, Lord DIO, I promise.” They spat out quickly, anxiously awaiting his next move.

Seconds felt like minutes as he gazed down at their face, looking as if making an executive decision. Lust and mischief danced in his eyes when they quickly flashed with a glint of malice, coming to a conclusion.

“Hmm—yes, I’m aware of that. Though, it appears you need to be reminded.” Holding them painfully tight, he pulled them close. “Don’t touch me, please—not without my express permission. How foolish can you be to have forgotten?”

“I’m sorry, Master DIO, I let my passion cloud my memory.” They were becoming frantic; the thought of him leaving them with warmth still swirling under their skin drove them to near madness. “I promise, I only want to please you. I promise, Lord DIO.”

Suddenly, the hand that held a bruising grip on their chin fled to silence them with a finger to their lips. Dark, amber eyes met theirs as he nearly recited his words from that day. “There’s no use in harming yourself, dear one.” Their heart skipped; trembling legs halted as his hand began to brush against their face, replacing his painful grip with sincere touches.

Silence.

A guttural groan was pulled from them as they were left alone in the darkness to bask in their desire, neck bleeding, half bare, and utterly exposed.

“How pitiful; I’ve barely touched you.” His voice called from an undisclosed location. Gone from sight, he let out a deep baritone laugh, booming like a roar through the silent boudoir.

Their heart pounded in their ears as the room went silent once again, making them whine out in disappointment. As quickly as they had left, cold fingertips resumed their search for purchase along their naked torso, goosebumps riddling their skin as they stopped at the hem of their pants. Standing behind them, DIO’s hands stood painfully still as he leaned into the crook of their neck.

“What a dreadfully paltry thing you are. I wonder how much strength it would take for me to snap your feeble body in two." Almost as if speaking to himself, he posed the question with no intention of waiting for an answer.

Their body lurched back, slamming roughly into his chest as he held their hips with a brutal clasp. A quick yelp escaped their lips before he moved to cover their entire mouth, consequently covering most of their face, with his enormous hand. Try as he might to hold it back, the moan that fell from his lips was one of pure filth as he firmly held them. His height itself was overwhelming, let alone his inhuman strength, but what made their legs begin to shake again was the size they felt growing between them. Pushing its shape firmly into their back, it took what little self-control they had left not to bravely knit their fingers through the golden hair tickling their neck.

Whatever sinful noises they made were negligible by them but memorized by DIO. He wished to make them come undone in every way possible before letting them come close to sweet release. Teasing wasn’t simply a game to him; it had surpassed a hobby even; it was a particular torture method that only DIO had mastery over. Torture that never seemed to end; always under his complete control. Their noises cueing him to every single point he could use, the louder the sound, the more advantageous the action.

Avoiding patterns—never remaining predictable, he kept a brief mental catalog of what he’d done before. Never repeating, but sampling from their previous excursions to get the right kick out of finally cutting them loose. He craved the sounds of ecstasy that poured from their lips every time they were permitted to fall into their own pleasure. Never letting his exterior crack, his greatest pleasure was to see theirs shatter.

Holding firmly on the waist of their pants, he took his time breathing in their seductive scent, pheromones playing in his senses. Their patience was wearing thin, but it made DIO all the more persistent in waiting. Trying not to squirm under him, they pressed further into his body, enticing a small scoff at the desperate action. Mind spinning, their facade began to fade as the surrounding furniture began to lowly rumble against the marble floor. Large chandelier quaking as if the earth began to shake.

“The longer you take to compose yourself, the longer you’ll have to wait, dear one.” The nickname returning to his lips in a curious gesture of consolation. His words sounded sweet, but the sick tone in his voice alluded to such dark intentions that they couldn’t anticipate.

“Yes, my Lord.” Their eyes screwed shut as they tried to still their heart.

It was all for naught when he began to brush his lips against their bruised and bloodied neck. Never stopping, simply hinting painfully slow. Anticipating when his soft lips would press onto their flushed skin, a profane gasp left them as they danced against the bleeding surface. The searing pain burning into pleasant tingles made their head spin as he began to move down their collar.

Sickly sweet sounds surrounded them, heaving and panting like depraved animals. Hands gripped with white knuckles were held in place by their navel by sheer force of will, a choice that didn’t go unnoticed to him. Gradually, his movements slowed and were brought to a halt when he plunged his teeth into their shoulder, just above the collar. Sinking them in further, he waited for their reaction. A high-pitched gasp was purged from deep in their lungs as they fought their urge to hold him tightly.

Their hands, still clasped together like a prayer, were brought up to their face with flaring fingers in their best effort to remain obedient. A God fearing servant, desperate to sate their Lord’s every desire. Trembling hands quickly found themselves, fingers interlocked, behind their head, giving him full access to their chest. Passionately cleaning up the new blood with his tongue, their pain seemed to never be there to begin with. Dropping their arms with a pleasured moan, DIO continued to lap at their seeping wounds until he was satisfied with their performance. Finally, he released their neck from his attack to admire the carnage he’d dealt.

Heart palpitating; their breath was unsteady and broken. Physically and mentally becoming a mess under his touch, they whined out when he’d vanished again. A torturous game of patience—one they knew wouldn’t be over soon.

“You’ll grow stronger the more you undergo,” seduction seeping through his voice, carrying itself through the incense.

Glacial fingers found themselves caressing their hips, one finding purchase, the other continuing to wander aimlessly—at least they thought. DIO was meticulous, never letting an advantage go to waste, always remaining two steps ahead. He had a plan from the start, and divergence from it would surely be justification for a prolonged exercise. Sure enough, rough fingers began to retreat upwards, nothing to protect their bare chest from his icy hands.

Obedience held at the forefront of their mind—composer—endurance; they allowed their arms to hang by their side. All that was required was to remain patient and calm; thus, reward would follow in the simplest of circumstances. DIO was anything but simplistic, though. His hands traversing their stomach reached towards their chest, littering their skin in goosebumps and hardening their nipples.

Frigid fingers danced against their searing skin, bringing chills along in their wake. Stifling a reaction, they let out a sharp breath when they felt his enormous body press against their back. Their legs were on the verge of folding, nails pressing firm crescents into their palms, but they held steadfast in their conviction to satisfy their Lord’s desires.

“You have learned a considerable amount and gained much strength,” hands resting just below their sternum, “but I wonder if you may be ready for a new challenge.”

The proposal sparked a flurry of excitement within them, promptly accompanied by a feeling of something more sinister at play under the surface. Transparently, they didn’t seem to mind all the same. DIO took note of their resolve, wanting to test how much further it could stretch.

“How do you suppose you would fare during a test of endurance?” His query posed more towards himself—his insatiable curiosity.

Tantalizingly close, he halted all movement, tilting his face into the crook of their neck.

“Consider this: you’re aware that pain and pleasure can be one and the same, if so desired.” Hovering his face to just barely brush against their sensitive skin. “Conversely, one’s desire to turn suffering to delight counts for naught if their endurance is unpracticed. Those too weak to endure such suffering will simply succumb to pointless emotion.”

Slightly grazing along his previous markings sent an involuntary shiver throughout their body, shuddering against him. He tested, licking the wounds once again, the stinging sending chills down their spine at each lap. Biting back any sound, they didn’t notice the pain in their mouth until the unforgiving taste of copper became apparent. A small gash in their plump lip seeped a line of blood, sliding down their quivering chin.

DIO’s left hand glided across their sternum, landing open-palmed in the center, his right moving to grab their jaw, gently tilting it upwards to gaze upon his heavenly face. Quickly diving in to lap up the stream that continued to travel after it surfaced.

“Well,” leaning back to stare into their glassy eyes, “can you bare it—my dearest one?”

Words were lost to them; all of their focus centered around undergoing his so-called test to his liking.

Dearest one.

“I would endure hellfire, crying my lord's praises amongst a wailing chorus of tortured souls.” Heart threatening to burst from their chest, they nearly screamed, “My master’s face would guide my mind to peace in the depths of Dante’s inferno; his voice a lullaby in a cacophony of pain.”

My dearest one.

“And whom would that be?” Feigning innocence, his hand moved behind their neck.

“You, of course, my Lord DIO.” Their lack of hesitation fed his desire to possess them. “I will pass any test you would have me take with great pleasure, DIO.”

Searing pain burned through their neck as he broke the skin effortlessly, bringing a sharp breath from their throat. Their mistake became glaringly obvious far too late.

“Hmm, how strange.” He lifted them from the ground almost how a child would carelessly jostle a toy. “I must have misheard you.” Looking up, as if to inspect them.

“Lord DIO—master—almighty DIO—“ They struggled; their prattling correction fell upon deaf ears as he turned them completely to face him. His large hand only allowing enough air passage to grovel, not to breathe.

“Lord?“ eyes dark, unrelenting “Master?” Inches from the ground, “Almighty?” He let out a breathy chuckle. Stars began to glide across their vision as gravity drew them to the ground.

“No.”

Silence.

Falling to their hands and knees on the cold floor, their heartbeat the only sound as they sat alone, once again, anticipating his return. Before they could bring themself to stand, his powerful aura returned, overcoming their half-naked frame. His form kneeled behind them, radiating danger and lust as he leaned over their back. One hand gripped their chin, the other rested on their stomach, tucking his head in the crook of their neck to speak directly in their ear.

“What, pray tell, did you call me?”

Time dragged, hovering in the air, as if the world held its breath. Their heartbeat echoed in their ears while they searched for a saving answer. Knowing only one to be correct, they submitted to their fate. Voice hesitant and broken, they spoke—

“DIO.”

Arms tightening to draw their bodies closer, he shifted his weight backward on his knees to push them flush against his sturdy body. The cold of his skin matched the frigid marble as he tilted their head back to rest on his shoulder. His brawny frame enveloping them like the final puzzle piece slotting seamlessly into its place, the contours of their bodies aligning with quiet certainty. Calves straddling his waist, they hovered above his lap, held up against his chest with a simply placed hand.

“How’s that again, dear one?” Sugary words laced with venom poured into their ears, the need for repetition impertinent. “Such a quiet little church mouse—I can’t seem to hear you.”

Every movement methodical and precise; DIO’s touch was misleading, his embrace almost delicate. All action opposed reason; his disposition unnervingly gentle despite their obvious trespass.

“DIO.” They repeated louder, throat searing inside and out despite their hunt for air beginning to settle. Dread, ever-consuming, overtook them as they frantically tried to avoid retribution.

"Please, Master DIO, forgive me." They searched desperately for words, "I will do anything you wish, take any test, endure any torture; I submit my will to you fully. Please, I beg your forgiveness, my Lord."

A quiet fell upon the room, the only sound labored panting, their head pounding. His icy digits danced across their neck, teasing their collarbone as he basked in the feeling of their body in his embrace. Anxiety wrecked their nerves as they awaited their inevitable reprisal, restitution that never came.

"My, how defiant you can be," fingertips lightly brushing against the open wounds on their neck. "But how delicious you always are—it seems I’ve become insatiable; I can hardly stop myself." Gingerly, he collected a stray trail of blood running down their sternum.

Drawing a line up their chest back to their broken skin, he brought his hand back, satisfied with the amount. Bringing the crimson digit to slip between their parted jaws, they instinctively closed their lips to surround the bitter taste.

"Sweet wine, dear one," retreating from their mouth with a sickly pop, he brought it back to play with the tender skin he had already torn. "Shall I finally take my glass?" His intention finally clear as he pressed his index into the crevice of their shoulder, blood beginning to pour down their body, staining what little clothes remained.

His head tilted forward to hover above the fresh puncture, admiring how the traveling scarlet complemented the color of their soft skin. Finally satiating his need, he leaned in to suck at their gashed collar, letting out a deep moan muffled into their skin. One arm wrapped around their waist; the other splayed across their shoulders, he desperately tried to control his wanton hands. Remaining in a bruising grip, he finally freed their neck with a delighted sigh, resisting the temptation to finish his meal quickly.

"My cup runneth over," he cooed into their ear, they became lightheaded as a sinful groan escaped from their throat.

Thank you for reading this far, you dirty thing, you. Please like, share, and reblog <3

Stand Specs

(TLDR: anything important to the plot or for quick reference is highlighted in pink.)

Stand Name: Soft Cell

Appearance:

A multicolored, unsettling humanoid figure with a metallic body featuring glowing cracks and circular ripple patterns. It has only a jagged glowing scar across its face and semi-liquid chains around its wrists and ankles that fade into a dark mist.

Stand Ability: "Pulse of Dissonance"

Soft Cell manipulates vibrations and frequencies, influencing physical and emotional states.

Primary Effects:

1. Emotional Manipulation:

Opponent: Uses low-frequency vibrations to alter emotions, turning happiness into mania, fear into panic, and anger into rage.

Self-inflicted: Can affect the users mental state by inducing euphoria, anxiety, or rage.

2. Physical Manipulation:

Opponent: Vibrates objects or opponents to cause structural damage or disorientation. (Ie. shattering materials or inducing vertigo)

Self-inflicted: Can cause internal shuddering, disorienting vertigo, or chronic pain by focusing vibrations on specific body parts.

3. Harmonic Collapse:

Opponent: Creates destructive resonance waves, damaging anything within a 5-meter radius of the Stand.

Self-inflicted: Can result in self-destructive resonance or explosive disruptions within the user's body.

4. Combat Applications:

- Ripple Propagation: Attacks enemies by sending vibrations through solid surfaces.

- Tuning Shift: Affects specific targets while avoiding allies/vulnerable areas.

- Chamber Lock: Traps targets in a feedback loop of sound or vibration, immobilizing them.

Self-inflicted application:

- Enhances speed and strength through vibrations but risks self-imprisonment or internal strain.

Pleasure Applications:

1. Amplified Euphoria: Intensifies pleasure during intimate moments.

2. Sensory Misdirection: Shifts sensations to different body parts, enhancing excitement.

3. Pain Channeling: Transforms pain into pleasure, adding thrill to experiences.

4. Harmonic Resonance: Builds waves of pleasure leading to intense climaxes.

5. Nerve Distortion: Alters perception of pleasure, creating unique sensory experiences.

6. Ripple Propagation: Channels pleasure through surfaces, enhancing intimacy.

7. Emotional Manipulation: Deepens emotional connection during romantic moments.

8. Self-Induced Vertigo: Adds excitement through mild disorientation.

9. Pain Suppression: Ensures enjoyment by suppressing discomfort.

10. Feedback Loop: Intensifies and prolongs sensations of pleasure.

Weaknesses:

Opponent: Less effective against chaotic opponents, reduced impact in open spaces, and strong-willed individuals can resist emotional effects.

Self-inflicted: Requires precise control to avoid self-harm, and emotional resistance demands intense mental discipline. User must use careful precision as to not hurt allies alongside enemies during combat operations.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and its characters belong to Hirohiko Araki, I do not claim to own this work.

#dio brando #dio brando smut #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure smut #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba smut #jjba part 3 #smut #stardust crusaders #dio x reader #jojo smut #jjba x reader #jjba oc #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #phantom blood

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artist-issues · 4 months ago

Note

I was writing out a really long meta analysis piece on the og Beauty and the Beast on how music and lighting were used to tell a story and I tagged you in it because I thought it’d be fun to debate some of that stuff with you but now I can’t find it in my drafts at all! It’s all gone 😭 so I came to your blog to make myself feel better and found your post about Zazu in the Mufasa movie and seeing you draw the characters in the original Disney style really cheered me up. Their animation used to be so beautiful and had so much love in it (your art was gorgeous by the way, it actually looked like a real lion king film!)

Anyway! If it’s not too much on you, I’d like to hear some rambles on Disney, it could be about anything really, but I’ve just gotten some really awful news tonight and I need something to take my mind off it please

Oh I'm so sorry to hear that! I want to be there for you. You're so kind about my art, thank you; I wish I'd seen the post. I’ve had it eat my drafts before like thirty times; recently my phone is doing this fun thing where I can’t type more than two paragraphs without tumblr freezing up, so I’ve lost more that way.

Let’s see…let’s talk about Disney’s Sequels! In these trying times of remakes and prequels, the Direct-to-Vieo Sequels start to look pretty good right about now, don’t they? I think they actually got better as time went on and money went into Disney Toon studios, but I’ll list my top three and explain why!

Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch (no I’m not biased leemee alone)

‘The Lion King II: Simba’s Pride

Bambi II

I can explain myself.

Lilo and Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch

This movie is amazing. It repeats the best things about the original Lilo & Stitch (tight focus on character-relationships, character-specific comedy, and a simple story) while still having its own vibe, as if these are the exact same characters you know and love, but they have a recently-new normal.

Stitch isn’t a destructive artificial-brain figuring out how to think outside his programming anymore—now thinking outside his programming is the new-normal, but he still has to learn how life with a family works. Lilo isn’t lonely anymore, but she is still stuck in her own little world, in a way. Nani isn’t struggling to keep her family together anymore, but she is still struggling to keep them all happy. And Jumba and Pleakley get character arcs, which is beautiful.

If you’ve never seen it, I don’t want to spoil it. It is a really good movie. They took this concept, which was originally from Chris Sanders’s early story ideas for the first movie, where Stitch is in danger of death but Lilo’s love revives him. And they made a movie out of that.

It’s great, because Lilo is still working through missing her parents. The movie doesn’t brush that aside, or act like having Stitch fixed everything for her. Instead, she’s become singlemindedly focused on winning the same competition at hula school that her mom did, because she wants to feel a connection with her mom, and because her peers are still treating her like she’s worthless.

The thing is, Lilo gets the confidence to try and win this because of Stitch. She’s downcast and believes that her bullies are right. You get the idea that this is how she would feel if she were still a lonely orphan. But this time, because this is the sequel, Stitch is there.

So he tells her they’ll win the competition together. And in this movie, while Lilo is struggling with getting her sense-of-worth from Stitch, or a hula competition, Stitch is struggling with his sense-of-worth, too. He’s glitching out and his programming is forcing him to act destructive all over again. He’s not sure if he’ll always be bad—he’s wrestling with the possibility that he’ll hurt Lilo and his new family.

And in the meantime, Jumba is trying to solve the problem, but he’s afraid he’ll fail, and lose his worth in the eyes of the family, as well as lose Stitch. And David, in a little side-story, is afraid he’s losing Nani, that she doesn’t value him.

All of which sounds really dark, but it’s really an interesting place to take the characters, and truthfully the whole film is so lighthearted where it needs to be, but not afraid to be earnest and emotional, either. And the point of it is really good. It’s “love is more powerful than death.” It’s powerful enough to overcome questions about self-worth, and it’s powerful enough to overcome the gaping hole that loss and failure and other forms of death leave. It’s gorgeous.

2. The Lion King II: Simba’s Pride

People take issue with this sequel because…I mean, look at it. There are parts of it that are animated really well, and the character designs are good, until you measure it up to the original Lion King, and then it’s just not even the same league. Besides, the writing is very dramatic, sometimes the sound editing for the characters’ dialogue is placed strangely or feels like the pacing is weird…

But I love it, and not just for nostalgia. I love it because it is about a new set of characters (like a sequel usually should be) but the previous set of characters still act in-character.

Not everybody agrees with me. Because Simba seems much less fun-loving, and so uptight and formal, that he doesn’t feel like the same character we knew and loved in the original Lion King, at all.

But it only takes like one second of thought to realize that, as a brand new king who’s uncle murdered his father and emotionally blackmailed him, and was able to do so easily because Simba himself was so self-centered and reckless as a child, and then Simba made big mistakes by running from his responsibility for so long…

…where we find him in this sequel makes total sense.

Of course he’s feeling like he has to overcompensate for abandoning the kingdom and getting fooled by Scar. Should he realize that not everyone is going to betray him, and he is the real King and can rule gently and fairly without being over-controlling? Should he? Yeah. But like. This is Simba. His major character flaw is thinking too much about himself—it used to be thinking he was awesome, then after his dad died it was thinking he was unable to be a good leader and everything was his own fault. Now, everything he ever dreamed about being a King, he dreamed when he was like the lion-equivalent of nine years old. And found out it was all wrong. He’s having to figure this out with only his father, whose very absence is a sore spot, as an example. Of course he’s suddenly obsessed with being just like his dad, and that makes him talk all formal, and pass strict judgement, and say things like “I’m seeking counsel from the Great Kings.”

Of course Simba would be protective of Kiara. Overprotective. Lying and controlling. Because as a child, he and Nala almost died over and over. And the worst of the worst things happened to him, as a cub.

Of course he wants to banish Kovu. It’s not because he’s racist. (What does that even mean?) It’s because he was betrayed and manipulated as a young, naive cub by someone who claimed to love him, then broke his heart and his life. So when a dark lion who literally looks like and claims connection to Scar waltzes in and appears to be manipulating his daughter and stealing her young heart? Yeah, no, it wouldn’t be Simba if he didn’t overreact.

But that’s enough about Simba. I think the movie’s real strength is symbolism and premise.

First off, it continues the symbolism of a reflection in its own unique way. The movie is very on-theme. Its point is “Hate divides us, but love completes us.” (Its not “We Are One,” that’s just Movie-Speak)

Kiara feels incomplete. Divided from a whole other half of who she is. She says so as a cub. She’s not just a princess; she feels like there’s a part of her that wants to be capable and bold and take action. But she can’t be that, she has no outlet for that, because as the Princess, everyone is always over-concerned for her safety and wrapping her in like, wild-animal-bubble-wrap. Then she meets Kovu, and he is capable, and bold, and takes-action—he seems independent. (He’s not, at first, but he has more control over his immediate actions than Kiara seems to.) And he gets her and loves her, and she loves him, despite their flaws, so that is her missing half.

And with him, he doesn’t know how to just enjoy life. He’s been trained his whole life to act out of passe-down hatred; he’s been run through drills, and there’s even a scene where Kiara has to teach him how to play…and then he goes back home to his sister, who clearly also wants to play, but just calls it “fighting.” That’s the world he comes from.

But he meets Kiara, who is all about trying to enjoy life and have fun, and it’s a whole new outlook for him. It’s what he had seeds of before his mother’s hate stamped it out, and Kiara completes it for him. So they really are each others’ other half. And they have that in common. Kiara could be independent and a capable leader, if her father’s hate (which manifests as paranoia and overprotectiveness against danger) weren’t stamping it out. Kovu could have fun and protect good things instead of killing, if his mother’s hate wasn’t stamping it out. Dividing the good parts of them. But then their love for one another overcomes all that and brings them together.

And they do that literally, with the reflections in the water. Simba needed to learn his father lives in him, he’s a part that can’t be separated. Kiara and Kovu needed to learn that love makes them part of one another—that’s the key to no longer being divided.

Just like how, in the end, love forgives—so the Outsiders are able to come back into the Pride. Instead of being divided, the prides literally merge into one, and are completed. Love all that.

If you think of it all as like, “how do we make Simba into a strong King when he has so much baggage to overcome?” And this adventure with his new family teaches him that? Then you can see it’s a really beautiful movie.

And I love, of course, that Mufasa appears to be orchestrating all these events. Like, there’s a Higher Power at work. It’s all good.

Bambi II

This movie has the same vibes as Lilo & Stitch 2, even though it’s a midquel.

I love that Bambi gets his own characterization and character arc in this movie, even though he’s pretty one-dimensional in the classic film. But yet, none of this feels out of character for Bambi. He’s sort of gentle and very young, but you can see glimpses of dreams and ambitions and even strength that show off what he’ll be like as an adult Great Prince of the Forest.

I think the animation is very good, soft and cute. It’s not so much about realistic-cartoon-animal movements, graceful and charming, like the classic was, obviously. This animation is more about emotion and appeal. Which I appreciate, because the story is, like most good Disney sequels, very relationship-based.

It’s about Bambi being cared for by the Great Prince, and how the relationship between a father and son is about more than duty; it’s about nurturing. I just love that. I love how carefully they build up Bambi as feeling distant and unsure of what’s going on in his father’s head, but wanting to please him nevertheless. I love that the Great Prince doesn’t know how, exactly, to care for or relate to Bambi, so he defaults to just telling him how to be dignified and Princely.

I especially love the scenes with Ronno or the Great Prince. I like the fact that those old Disney sequels can take a character that didn’t have a lot of dialogue or screen-time in the original, and build out a whole story around those characters, giving them personality and writing that somehow always feels true to those characters. The Great Prince might not know how to father, but even when he’s insecure he has a kind of put-on calm and reserve. He’s not made a fool-out-of, ever, or bumbling. I love that Ronno, on the other hand, is ridiculous and brutish, just a little-boy bully…but he’s also truly threatening, for Bambi and Faline and their friends.

I think the emotion in this movie hits really well. Because they’re so careful to interweave Bambi’s emotions about losing his mother and wanting to find the same feeling of safety he had with her in his father, with The Great Prince’s emotions about wanting to “do his duty” even if it hurts when he feels he’s not what’s best for Bambi…

Because they build that up believably and spend all their time on that instead of big, epic adventures or larger-than-life tales, the movies turn out really well.

Honorable mentions to Cinderella 3: A Twist in Time, The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning, Tarzan II, and Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp’s Adventure

I hope your day is better tomorrow, friend.