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boldlyvoid · 6 months ago

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Where There is Love, There is Life | Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Choice | for @elriel-month 2024

Summary: Elain trains, Azriel Gossips, and Lucien learns the truth.

Warnings: made up Daglan lore, mentions of HOFAS, history of bonds, Helion and Lucien talk

Word Count: 6k | Masterlist

Sitting in Helion’s personal library once again, there is a sheet of paper, an ink well and pen, and a stack of books almost as tall as Elain. And that’s just what Helion has deemed important for todays lesson. The walls are covered in books, well, 3 of them are. The fourth is dedicated to a chalkboard adorned with thoughts, theories and numbers she doesn’t yet understand.

“Now that we’ve gone over astrology, did you happen to get all the birthdays of your inner circle?” Helion asks, pushing the pen and paper towards her.

“I thought we were doing numerology today?” Elain asks, realizing she never brought the sheet of paper with the dates on it.

“We are,” he smiles. Today’s one of the rare hot days in spring, so her eyes dart from his smile to his big muscled arm that he has on show. The shirt he’s wearing can barely be considered a shirt at this point; it just covers his nipples and stomach… but she’s not complaining.

“Then why—

“Everyone has a life path number, which you get by adding up the numbers of one birth month and day,” he continues. “The easiest way to learn how to calculate the number is through repetition. So, start with your own and then your sisters; we can move on to the bat boys in a moment.”

The term makes her smile. She straightens her back, grabs the pen, and starts to write. “My birthday is May 16th.”

��It is?” He lights up. “Well, we’ll have to throw you a party, then!”

“Oh, no, no, it’s okay,” she waves him off. “I might go home for the day.”

He nods, “Or we could invite your court here? There is a beautiful plot of land my Pegasus frequents. It’s lush with flowers and fruit trees; I think it would be the perfect spot to celebrate you.”

She blushes; it sounds magnificent. “If it’s not too much—

“It would never be too much,” he assures her. “Now, May is already a single number. You’ll have to add 1 and 6 together…”

“So 5 plus 7,” she starts to write. “My number is 12.”

“It can also be simplified down to 3,” he smiles. “Out of everyone I’ve ever met, you radiate 3 more than I’ve ever thought possible.”

He pulls a book from the pile, flips through some pages and slides it in front of her. “See here; people with life path number 3 are creative spirits driven by their infinite imagination. Which is why the cauldron must’ve gifted you with sight. It knew you could see the wildest visions and still decode them.”

She continues to read the pages, absorbing the knowledge— some of it does sound like her. Like not being able to pick a singular hobby but rather jumping back and forth between everything she enjoys. She would go crazy without baking, gardening and cross-stitching. An independent, free spirit, she’s not restrained by others' expectations of her. Yet, she also loves being around people. Having friends outside of her sisters for the first time has truly changed her life. She felt so lost without Nuala and Cerridwen; she misses them so much right now. She’ll have to ensure they come for her birthday and not lift a finger the whole day! They deserve a break.

“Anything sticking out?” Helion asks.

She nods, “a few things… I’m definitely unable to stay organized. Ask Feyre; my greenhouse is a mess on a good day.”

“Speaking of the High Lady, what is her birthday?”

“December 21st,” she starts to write it down. “December is 12, so that becomes 3… the 21st also becomes 3, so her number is 6.”

“Exactly,” Helion beams. “Were you this good in school, too?”

“All 7 years that I was able to go,” she says with a sigh. “I learned what was important, my mother said that once I was married I’d only need to focus on keeping a house together. She said I’d never need advanced math.”

Helion presses his lips together awkwardly, “Well, at least this math isn’t hard.”

She simply flips the pages, finding the information on the meaning of 6… which is exactly how she would describe her sister. She starts to laugh at it; it’s way too accurate.

“As a child and young adult, responsibility was always there on your 6 Life Path, but you may have rebelled against it,” she reads. “You will learn a lot about parenting in this life time. But you are also here to create, to learn that creativity has many forms, and is not confined only to creating a biological family.”

Helion smiles. “She did make a son as beautiful as her paintings.”

“That she did,” Elain sighs, chest full of pride.

The 6 Life Path teaches you that you are primarily accountable to yourself, that family members and relatives do not own each other, and that love thrives when it is able to flow freely in all directions.

She’s always loved her sisters and always will… however loving them became a lot easier when they weren’t all sharing a bed. Knowing Feyre is on the other side of her massive mansion of a home, knowing she could just walk to her when she needs her, that’s a blessing. Knowing Nesta is just a quick trip to the House of Wind, living her best life with people who love her, that’s all she’s ever wanted for Nesta.

Being apart somehow brought them closer together.

“Nesta is April 13th,” she says, starting to write once again. “4 and 4 is 8… she has an 8-pointed star on her back.”

Helion’s eyes widen, “like the lost sword Gwydion.”

She nods, not allowing her face to change at all. It sure was still lost… it’s totally not in Nesta’s possession.

She turns back a page, finding it interesting that she and her sisters are so close in number and yet such polar opposites of each other. That’s life, though.

“The path of Empowerment,” she reads, filled with pride, once more… it fades when she starts to read and it gets too real.

The 8 Life Path signifies a lifetime of investing in yourself and overcoming judgments that stand between you and your strong ambitions. Modern numerology often diminishes 8’s meaning with an almost exclusive focus on material and financial matters. Yes, 8 is the number of power on the physical plain, but it is also the number of true understanding and balance, without which personal power is superficial and material gain is easily lost.

“I love her,” she whispers, trying not to cry. “She struggles in silence and lets it eat at her until that hunger needs to bite at someone else.”

Helion nods along, “But it’s all about balance. While she may be in her head, thinking she deserves or doesn’t deserve certain aspects of her life… she’s powerful. Not too selfish, she’s able to use her hurt and her experiences to connect. She networks and organizes, and she’s convincing. I heard about her little dance with Eris last year. I saw how she captivated the high lords during the war and managed to change even Berons mind. The bad comes with the good, making her a perfect 8.”

Elain nods along, finding her smile once more. “She is… everything.”

“Believe me, I know,” he teases. Still hitting on her no matter how long she’s been mated. “Now, do you remember the others?”

“I believe so… they’re on my desk in my room,” she shares.

“I’ll have someone bring them to us,” he assures, waving in a servant.

She writes down Azriel’s. January 27th. An Aquarius, and after her lesson the other day, nothing fits better for him. He lives in his head, thinks outside the box, and has a deep sense of justice. He's an easygoing loner, and he’s an air sign. It’s no wonder he loves to fly. One of a kind with beautiful eyes, they say what they think with great eloquence… that’s her Az.

His life path number, however, is 1.

“Ah… of course,” Helion says as he reads over her shoulder. “One typically takes care of themselves, stand on their own two feet and always get what they want.”

She smirks, blushing again. “He does.”

Once again, on his page of the book, she reads everything… but it’s not right. “He’s not self-centred or insensitive?”

“With you,” Helion reminds her. “At work, when he’s the spymaster, the shadowsinger… he has to put himself first; he has to not care because bringing feelings into an interrogation will backfire on him.”

“I guess,” she continues to read.

But because 1 is the first number, being at the top – being first – is your natural place. You will gain the maximum satisfaction from this energy when, instead of using it to compete, you use its pioneering vibrations to carve new roads in areas that interest you the most.

“He is the best at what he does,” she can agree with that. “Oh, and it says concentration is one of the splendid gifts a number 1 has. When he’s been given a command, he’s always so focused on getting the job done.”

“No wonder you’re so happy,” Helion nudges her.

She shoves him back. “Yes, and It says here: Practice the art of leadership by welcoming and encouraging your ‘following’, while confidently maintaining your position as originator and leader. Others soon realize that you will not be tricked into anything that goes against your grain or best interests.”

“That’s your man,” Helion agrees. Standing from his seat, he meets the servant at the door and takes her note. “The most powerful High Lord was born on the Eve of Samhain… when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. When magic is at its height.”

“So his number would be…. October is 10, so that’s a 1, and 31 becomes 4, so he’s a 5,” she says with glee. “He and Feyre are just a number apart.”

“5s are an interesting breed,” Helion hesitates, sitting back down beside her, he takes a deep breath. “They’re intense, both emotionally and sexually. Their body, mind and emotions are equipped to easily adapt to change… However, they either flourish with the change or are overwhelmed by it. 5s are able to change their inner attitudes and outer appearances to suit different circumstances”

“That’s my brother-in-law,” Elain laughs.

The book states: 5 is an active and unpredictable path. It is so filled with sudden and unusual events and opportunities that you sometimes become confused by it or afraid of it. Once in a while, these 5s do let go, or the 5 current becomes so strong that they are swept away into some kind of drama, only to miss the excitement of it all because they believe they are simply out of control. The freedom of 5 starts with a burning desire to live life as fully, freely, and openly as possible and to experience variety, excitement and adventure. And, of course, these desires can only come from within. Refusing to let go of what is safe and familiar so that you can discover alternatives is a large part of what causes a mistake to be repeated. And most 5s do seem to repeat the same old mistakes, often without realizing it. Admitting to your mistakes can be a battle in itself. Accept that mistakes are inevitable in your life because that is how 5s learn and prosper.

“I’m going to need a scribe to copy this for him,” Elain teases. “He could learn a thing or two.”

Helion smirks, crossing his arms as he sits back in his chair. “Have you ever been on the wrong end of one of his decisions?”

“Just last week,” she shares. “He thought it was okay to tell Az to stay away from me so he could keep a good connection with Lucien and the Human Queen, Vassa. Not taking into account that fact that I may want say in my future.”

Helion nods slowly, “Sounds like Rhysand.”

She lets it roll off her shoulders, “I settled it. He’s learning, albeit slowly, but he’s learning how to deal with the Archeron sisters.”

“How does Cassian deal with you all? Being a Cancer and all,” he pushes the paper towards her.

“July 9th…” she reads aloud. “That would be 7 and 9, so 16 becomes 7.”

“Perfectionists, prone to secrecy, but as they get older, that need to protect themselves goes away,” Helion explains. “Knowing Cassian as long as I have, he had a hard time trusting people to be as good as he was; he did work while with his legion because he knew that he would be the one to get shit done right.”

“And now he’s accepted that the rest of us are there to help him and he’s not alone,” Elain smiles softly. “What else?” She asks as she flips in the book.

“Deep thinker, a cleaver planner… he’s the orchestrator. It’s why he leads armies and he will go down in history as the best warrior since Enalius.”

She finds a passage that is so Cassian, she sits up straighter as she reads it: Your intuition enables you to sense and feel your way through life. Positive results will follow when you learn to rely on the combined voice of your thoughts and feelings. While others sit perplexed by a problem, you can produce the right answer, instinctively, in one intuitive flash. And once you have the solution, your intuition will take you inward and backward to show you how you arrived at it.

Helion nods along. “Numerology is one of my favourite aspects of divination. Numbers are everywhere, you’ll start noticing them more and more now that you’ve learned this.”

“How so?”

“You’ll notice that you look at the clock at specific times every day, without real reason. You’ll notice things come in packs of 3 or 8 or 12. You might even have numbers in your dreams…. And in visions, speaking of which, have you had any since you’ve been here?”

She shakes her head, “No, I haven’t had one in a few weeks. They only come to me when they want to.”

He hums, “okay… Tomorrow, I wanted to do some hydromancy, but I think it’s time we look more into clairvoyance and clairaudience. Both are extrasensory perception; the mother or the cauldron or whatever you believe in either whisper the future into your ears or show you glimpses of the future.”

“I have had both,” she assures. “During the war, I had no idea what was happening and while I kept seeing the firebird who ended up being Vassa, the ravens were first whispered to me. I kept hearing ‘the ravens are coming’ and it confused me so much.”

Helion starts looking around at all his personal books, reading the titles, but he cannot find what he wants. “I’m going to have a book delivered to your room tonight,” he explains. “You don’t have to read it all. However, it will be a good introduction to what we will be discussing soon.”

She nods, “are you sure we should have a large lesson tomorrow, given that Lucien is coming?”

His eyes widen, as if he forgot that was happening. “What if we meet here at dawn? You can join me for my meditation to get in the zone for the day and I’ll have breakfast dropped off here so we can begin early.”

She nods, “I would like that.”

—

Azriel’s shadows are like a second skin to him after 500 years. He almost doesn’t notice when they come and go, not until they’re whispering secrets and warnings to him. It takes a while for him to realize that his shadows disappear around Elain. They can find her, they can follow her if he asks, yet when she’s close, they leave. He’s not sure if it’s for privacy or because they know he’s completely safe with her… out of everyone in the world, Elain is the only person he’s truly safe with.

When he returns to the day court, his shadows simply say that she’s in the library and dissipate.

He heads to the main library, the first of many in the day court, the closest to the palace. Inside, he can’t scent her over the smell of old books… yet there is a hint of Ash. His shadows come rushing back, worried for him after everything he’s been through in the last few years. He’s been hit with more ash arrows and faebane in the last 3 years than he has in his whole life, which is saying something.

He follows the smell, a hand on the truth teller as he approaches an alcove. He knows the female sitting at the table, at least from what he can see of her over the stacks of books: Nuan, the Alchemist from the Dawn Court. He knew she’d be here; she had been here all week, researching the Ash family to see all that it could do to the Fae.

He clears his throat, alerting her to his presence and making her jump in her seat slightly. “Oh, hello, Lord Azriel.”

He grimaces, shaking his hands, “Please, it’s just Azriel.”

“Azriel,” she settles with a smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He shakes his head, “I was looking for Elain, I think I have the wrong library.”

“Ah,” she smiles, having guessed that the high lady’s sister and the spymaster were together. “Well, since you’re here, I have a question.”

He approaches her, standing beside her work table, “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come across a book on the Daglan, the history of the start of Prythian and old folklore,” she explains. “Do you know anything about how they were conquered?”

Az takes a deep breath and assesses if he should tell her. Rhys would be pissed… not as pissed as when Nesta gave Bryce the mask, but still pissed. If answers come from this, however, he might not stay mad for long.

So Az takes a seat.

“Where do I even start,” he can’t help but laugh.

He started when Bryce arrives, explaining their trip to the prison and the history they uncovered. Theia and her daughters, the Daglan, the portals to other worlds… how they concurred worlds and were overthrown only twice and finally destroyed by the portal-jumping half-fae who stole his dagger. He explains how the Daglan corrupted the cauldron and created the monsters now locked in the prison in the night court…. And how the same portals they used to jump worlds brought in the beasts that hunt in The Middle. Beings like the kelpie, the weaver and whatever Amren was before the war. Even Koshcei.

“Cauldron almighty…” she swears, jaw dropped as her eyes wander, thinking a mile a minute in her mind. “Do you know how they corrupted the cauldron?”

He shakes his head, “not fully. The original 8 Asteri— that is the Daglan’s true name. They pooled their power together and imbued it into the cauldron… they made the dread trove as well as Gwydion and Truth Teller.”

“Did you learn how to fix it?” Nuan asks, begging for answers just as he did that day he learned all this. “Learn why they did it?”

“No, I did, however, allow one of my shadows to go with Bryce to Midgard. The Asteri, when they were here, there was a tithe to absorb a percentage of our power; in Midgard, they created a parasite to infest the water and stifle their magic until they came of age. The coming of age ceremony was called the drop, once they partook they gave a portion of their power to the Asteri and their powers were unlocked. They were not as powerful as they could be, but they were just enough to live a long, long life. Those who didn’t partake faded away into nothing with age, like a human would.”

“And Bryce defeated them?”

He nods, “She almost died in the process… which is another way the daglan took power. The power they took in the drop was called first light, the power they take after death is called second light. Once they took it, they didn’t get to go to the forever resting place some believe is out there. They became nothing.”

Nuan slumps in her seat. Rubbing her hand over her face. “This is so much bigger than a family of trees…”

Az laughs, “believe me, it was a lot to take in when it was happening. Now, we’re left with the knowledge and no way to fix the cauldron. We don’t even know in what ways they corrupted it; what they changed.”

“The cauldron holds water,” Nuan reminds him. “They might’ve gotten the idea for the parasite from what ever they did to the cauldron.”

He hums, thinking about it. “Are you coming to dinner tonight in the great hall?”

She nods, “why?”

“Elain might be able to tell you about what the water in the cauldron was like,” he explains. “Seeing as she was the first one dunked into it, and she was blessed by it…”

“Unlike the other sister who stole from it,” Nuan knows. The whole of Prythian knew that the oldest Archeon sister was to be feared for what she did that day. They just don’t know she gave the power back.

“Would I be allowed to see the cauldron?” She asks.

He takes a deep breath, thinking it over. “Rhys and Feyre will be here in a few days, they, and Helion, can discuss if it’s a safe option for you.”

She nods, agreeing. “I appreciate the help today. I um… I figured out something, I think it’s something you and Lady Archeron would like to know.”

“Go on,” he pulls in even closer, anxious to know what she’s uncovered in her days of research.

“While Ash wood can kill us, the blooming leaves of the Ash tree can be used as a tea. The Daglan did awful, horrific experiments on the fae, all of which were recorded… ingesting the leaves doesn’t maim the drinker. Instead, it gifts them with dreams of their one true love. The Daglan put a stop to the tea the moment they found out what it could do, and now I’m guessing it’s because they corrupted the cauldron to change how bonds work. The dreams would show a true love match; the cauldron now wants powerful offspring because the Dagaln fed from them for so long.”

It all hits Azriel like a brick wall. “So if I take the tea…”

“You’ll know the truth,” Nuan smiles. “So will Lady Archeron.”

—

Feyre and Rhys arrive with Lucien right at noon, greeted by Elain and Helion in the golden courtyard. Helion’s hand is on Elain’s back, and she glances at him, noticing he’s holding his breath while staring at his son. Taking in all his features, noticing all the parts that are himself and what parts are Lucien's mother…, his heart breaks when he sees the scar on his face, knowing there are more scars he keeps inside.

“Welcome!” Elain takes over for him, breaking away from Helion to meet with him. “Lucien, it’s nice to see you.”

Surprisingly, she opens her arms and brings him in for a hug.

He’s a bit shocked, but accepts. Holding her close, smelling Azriel on her. He pulls back with concern on his face, “Did the shadowsinger fly you in?”

She shakes her head, “he’s been staying here during my training, assuring I stay safe after what happened with the cauldron the last time I started looking for answers.”

It's not a lie, just not the whole truth, either.

“In your bed?” He chuckles, “I was wondering when you’d finally get together.”

“You wouldn’t be upset about it?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t own you; you’re free to make your own choices. I’ve been alive for over 300 years; you haven’t. I’d like to see you make your own choices and mistakes and find happiness.”

She pulls him in for another hug. " Oh, Lucien, thank you! I expected you to want to follow the cauldron's orders.”

Lucien soaks in the hug, eyes closed as he holds her. “This is the one time I’m not going to blindly follow someone's orders. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“It’s also why we’re here,” Rhysand says from behind them. “We’ve learned quite a few things about the cauldron, things that you should be made aware of.”

“The uh, the dining room is all set up for lunch if you’d care to join me in there for this meeting,” Helion finally speaks. “It’s lovely to have you here, Lucien.”

He reaches out his hand for Helion, “Thank you for inviting me. I’ve always loved visiting the day court.”

They all agreed it’s completely up to Helion when he tells Lucien; if he ever tells him. This meeting is about the information Nuan found in her research, how to find one's true love and what the Daglan did to mating bonds.

They gather around the dining table and fill their plates with sandwiches, fruits, and vegetables with dips, cheeses and meats. Its a wonderful spread that his kitchen staff makes on the regular. Elain is going to have to start incorporating these into her own meal rotation at home.

“What is it you wish to tell me,” Lucien asks between bites.

Rhysand looks to Elain and then Helion, “Who would like to explain?”

“I can,” Elain assures, putting down her sandwich and taking a sip of her bubbly wine first before continuing. “Last spring, we had an unexpected visitor in the Night Court. She jumped from her world to ours thanks to the Harp— the 4th forgotten item from the dread trove.”

Lucien's eyes widened. “Is world jumping real? I thought it was a myth?”

Elain sighs, “It’s very real. You need specific items to do it the right way. However, Bryce was brought here to learn more about her heritage. She was the original Queen Theia’s long-lost ancestor… it turns out that Theia killed Fionn, took the trove and opened a portal to another world that the Daglan had overtaken after they were kicked from our world. There, Theia confirmed that the Daglan, now the Asteri, are just power-hungry monsters who feed off our power. When they were here, they used the cauldron to create deadly weapons, horrible monsters they could hunt for sport, and they corrupted the cauldron to ensure that mate bread more powerful beings they could feed off of.”

“Holy shit,” Lucien can’t believe it.

“Nuan, who fixed your eye,” Elain continues, waiting for Luciens mind to catch up, he nods. “She has been doing research for us. The wood of the ash tree is deadly for us, however the Ash tree is a cousin of the olive tree…”

She picks up an olive with her fork and eats it, “how can one thing kill us and the other be so delicious?”

“That is a fascinating question,” Feyre says under her breath.

“Nuan discovered that the Daglan discovered a tea that would allow for the taker to dream of their one true love and those who were able to could then Scry to find them,” she continues with a large smile. “Before the Daglan corrupted the bonds, all mates were assigned together for the purpose of true and happy love. They outlawed the tea because they didn’t want true love bonds anymore, they only wanted powerful offspring.”

“Are you saying we aren’t a true love bond?” Lucien clues in, shoulders slumping. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t a strong love, I just didn’t expect it to not be true love.”

Elain shakes her head, feeling sorry for having to break the news to him, “no, the Daglan would collect a tithe from us, taking 10% of our power that we willingly gave to them each year. They wanted a way to still take 10%, they just wanted a stronger 10% so they corrupted the cauldron to make mates who would produce powerful offspring that would satiate them.”

“Like my parents and Tamlin’s,” Rhysand adds. “They did not love each other; they have just been born through the generations to continue to make powerful children, even after the Daglan left.”

“How do we fix it?” Lucien asks.

“We’re still working on that,” Helion jumps in. “Elain is still learning all that she can do with her power so we can attain more answers.”

“So far, I’ve learned basic divination, meditation and relaxation, tarot, astrology, and my favourite has been numerology,” she beams at him. “When is your birthday?”

“Um, October 3rd,” he shares. “My mother tried to have all of us in the autumn.”

Helion stares at his plate, moving around his side salad and not saying anything.

“So that would make you a life path number 4,” Elain explains. “Life path number 4’s spend most of their life looking for their true identity. You find accomplishment through hard work. You have great self-discipline. 4 teaches the value of determination, effort, simplicity, and dependability.”

He nods along, slowly taking it all in. “That… that sounds right. What would someone born on January 1st be?”

“A 2,” Elain answers without missing a beat, making Helion smile.

“She is the best student I’ve ever had,” he compliments, staring right at Feyre. “I don’t want to give her back.”

“I’ll come visit you,” Elain assures him.

“What does 2 mean?” Lucien wonders, something like urgency on his tone.

“Um,” she looks to Helion for a bit of support. He nods his head slightly, reminding her that she’s got this. “the energy of 2 does not seek to control but to achieve balance. Those born on the 2 Life Path have the potential to lead the way for humanity through their refined powers of persuasion, their ability to inspire on an emotional level, and most importantly, their desire to bring equality and peace to this planet.”

Lucien blushes slightly, looking down at his plate. “She is going to change the world.”

“Who?” Feyre asks, sitting up straighter. Happy for her friend.

“Vassa,” Lucien beams. “Don’t tell her, but I’m— I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Elain places her hand on her heart, “This is wonderful news, Lucien!”

“Thank you. I’m excited to take this tea now, to see if my true love match is her… even if it isn’t, even if it was Jesminda, I still want to be with Vassa.”

“We’re still looking into her curse,” Helion assures him. “I’ll do anything I can to help you get to keep her.”

“Thank you, Helion,” Lucien smiles.

They look so similar it blows Elain’s mind. How does he not see it? It should be like looking in a mirror for him.

“The teas will be delivered to our rooms tonight,” Elain assures. “We are all taking it. Some has even been sent back to Nesta and Cassian to check. Morrigan and Amren are taking it as well.”

“What does this mean for you two?” Lucien asks Feyre and Rhys.

They look at each other and smile. Rhys is quick to hold her hand above the table, “we know the truth. This love we have between us in unbreakable.”

“I personally believe that the reason why mating has become so hard. People were shocked to find out that all 3 of us were mated so soon after becoming fae. It’s unheard of for a whole family to find a mate.” Feyre adds. “The Cauldron picked up to help it. I think the cauldron misses when it was dedicated to giving out love and life to these lands.”

“So we bring it back,” Helion announces, holding up his glass. “No matter what it takes, we bring true love back to Prythian.”

Everyone raises their glasses in response, dedicated to the task at hand.

—

That night she sits in bed beside Azriel, a mug of steaming tea in both of their hands. “Are you sure?” She asks.

“I want to know… even if it’s not you; even if I’m meant for no one, I want to know and love you anyway,” Azriel assures.

“And if we do dream of each other?”

Azriel’s eyes soften; he’s more beautiful than ever before. “Then we’ll know why we’ve wanted one another so badly.”

“Do you think this tea will make us tired or just aid in our dreams when we do fall asleep?” She asks.

A knowing smirk grows on his face, “Why?”

She takes another sip and places her almost empty cup on her night table; Azriel follows her lead and does the same. She quickly straddles his hips, hands on his shoulders, “because I would like to remind you just how badly I’ve wanted you all this time.”

—

Elain and Azriel are the last to arrive at the breakfast table the nest morning. Hand in hand, matching smiles plastered to their faces.

They dreamt of each other last night.

Feyre is sitting in Rhys’ lap, being hand-fed cantaloupe while Lucien laughs. Helion shakes his head with a smile. "Well, I take it you had good dreams?” the golden High Lord asks.

Elain nods, “We had the same dream… us and our daughter playing in the grass behind our home on the Sidra.”

Feyre places a hand to her heart, “the same girl you’ve seen before?”

“You’ve seen her before?” Azriel can’t believe it.

Elain nods, “We adopt her from Illyria, seeing as I can’t have babies for us.”

Azriel kisses her head, “we’ll create the family we deserve.”

They take a seat side by side, across from Lucien, “So, what did you dream of?”

“Fire,” Lucien explains, smile building. “Blinding, bright fire that took over all my senses.”

“Your firebird,” Feyre swoons.

He nods, overjoyed with love in his eyes, “My firebird… Helion, who did you see?”

He takes a deep breath, thinking it over. “I saw my mate… Seraphina.”

“That’s my… mother’s—“ Lucien blinks in understanding. “What?”

Helion simply nods. “I met her a year before she was betrothed to Beron. We met again during the great war, and… we had a love affair that lasted over a hundred years. Beron never knew, not until the end, when she became pregnant.”

Lucien's mechanical eye closes in on Helion, studying him. “You’re… my father?”

Helion nods. “I didn’t know. Not until last week.”

“Does my— does Beron know?”

Helion shrugs, “I’m not certain. However, his level of cruelty to you, from what I’ve heard, could be explained by knowing you’re not his blood.”

“Then where does—

“Your mother was sold to your father to ensure that the fire in her veins passed on to all his children. He wanted the strongest brood and would do anything to get it.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it? Why didn’t you challenge him?” Lucien begs, “You know he hurts her, and you do nothing?”

“What do you do?” Helion challenges him right back. “Beron is not a man I would like to mess with unless absolutely necessary. Your mother asked me not to intervene. She asked me to let nature take its course, and she said when the time was right when he died, she could come back to me.”

Lucien just shakes his head, “I wish he would die tomorrow.”

“We all do,” Rhys murmurs, reminding the men that there are others in the room, still.

Lucien calms, shaking his head as it all settles around him. “So I’m… I’m heir to the day court?”

Helion nods, “you are… I’ve heard your fire is bright, almost white. That you can winnow and you run like the wind. I wonder if there’s more light to you, if when you become truly happy... if you’ll glow like myself and Feyre do.”

“I’ve…. I’ve glowed,” Lucien admits. “I thought it was… I’m not sure what it was.”

Clearly lying, he doesn’t seem comfortable enough to share.

“How about we leave you two,” Elain announces, standing with her plate now filled with food. “My chambers have a sitting room; we can move there. Let them bond.”

“Fantastic idea,” feyre is quick to her feet, feeling just as awkward as everyone else. “I’d love to hear more about your dreams.”

@greenleaf777 @lostvillainess

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

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ladytauria · 1 year ago

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💖 and 🧠 from the ask game <33

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

my writing voice! i used to hate re-reading my own writing but now i can do so comfortably, even when i pick up on mistakes i missed or things i would change <3

i'm also fairly proud of my imagery, lol. that was something i worked hard to develop, and while i DO forget to like... describe things still when im writing, when i do remember/go back to add that in i feel more confident in my results lol

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

i have SO MANY of these

okay. i counted up the ones i have fleshed out outlines for, since there's more to talk about, and then i rolled a die <3

so! it's a jaytim fic inspired by the lyric, "why do you make me want to leave the world behind?" from the song stardust by new politics. the rest of the song doesn't actually fit, & i'll probs end up not using that line as the title, lol.

my outline for it is almost more of a not-fic than an outline, so... i'll just paste that in here, ig. pls excuse my brackets <3

why do you make me want to leave the world behind?

Jason couldn’t tell you what the final straw was. Maybe it was the last argument he got into with Bruce. Maybe it was hearing Joker’s laugh, again, echoing through the streets of Gotham. Maybe it was the gunshot he took to the shoulder, a few weeks ago. It— The point is, it could have been any number of things. Whatever the final straw, one thing is clear: he can’t do this any more.

And it’s not that he wants to abandon Crime Alley, or his people, it’s just—

He’s tired. He’s been tearing himself apart for the mission since he was twelve. He died, even—only to come back and keep doing it. And now… He’s just… done. He wants to live, and he can’t do that when the mission controls his life. He needs out.

Thing is…

He can’t leave Tim.

Tim is… somewhere along the way, Tim has become his rock. They’ve moved in together. When Jason suits up, Tim is at his side. When Tim needs stitches, it’s Jason holding the needle. When Jason comes home, knuckles bruised and lip split, it’s Tim there with the ice pack. And when they’re finished tending each other’s wounds, large and small, they fall into bed together—sore but together.

Jason doesn’t want to give that up.

He knows Tim won’t leave Gotham. Knows that Tim views Robin/Red Robin as the most important thing he’s ever done, the thing that gives him purpose, makes him feel real. He can’t ask him to leave it. He can’t.

But he’s not sure he can stay, either.

It’s a big, tangled mess, and Jason is no closer to figuring out what to do when Tim approaches him one evening. He sits down with him, holding his tablet, looking like he’s got something on his mind. He doesn’t bother with much preamble.

“My parents bought a place in [idk, some nice coastal or country area] a long time ago. A small vacation home, I think. It was one of those things we didn’t lose when Dad went bankrupt. I think… It looks like a nice place to retire, don’t you think so?”

Jason can hardly believe what he’s hearing, even as he agrees with feeling. He has to pinch himself once or twice, as they start making plans. They’re as methodical about it as they are everything else, hashing out all the details. It doesn’t feel real; not even when they inform the others, not when they start packing. Not even when they finally make the move, or unpack, or settle into the house.

It’s not until the second morning that it starts to sink in. This is real. It’s happening.

They grow roots. Befriend the neighbors. Tim gets back into photography, dragging Jason out with him on long walks to capture the scenery. He gets a job, too, working on cars, and talks Jason into pursuing a degree, the way he always wanted.

They gets visits and calls from the bats, and their friends—some more than others—and they usually even remember to leave business out of it. It’s… everything Jason wanted, honestly—though it’s not always easy. There are still nightmares, restless nights, and times when neither of them can watch or read the news without the urge be out there. Especially when there’s a crisis.

The worst of it, though, is the itching, nagging feeling in Jason’s chest. The thing that tells him it’s too easy. Too simple. Eventually something has to break—and each nightmare, each restless night makes Jason more and more certain it’s going to be Tim. One day, he’s going to wake up and decide that a quiet life with Jason isn’t what he wants after all.

He’ll leave.

Jason keeps his worries to himself. Just—tries to bottle up the good days, tucking them close under his heart, to keep him warm when he’s alone.

Before he knows it, though, a year passes. Tim still hasn’t left. Jason wakes up first, like he always does, and puts on the coffee before starting breakfast. Tim stumbles out of their bedroom just after Jason finishes the pancake batter. Even with a regular sleep schedule, he’s still not a morning person.

He goes for Jason first; winding his arms around his waist and sneaking a kiss before he pours his coffee. He slips out of the way, leaning against the wall to sip his coffee and watch Jason. And somewhere between the first batch of pancakes and the fourth, he glances over, and—he sees it.

Tim is smiling at him over the rim of his cup, still a little hazy from sleep. His eyes are no longer laden with bags. His skin is clear, a little tan. He’s got freckles, just a few, dotting his face. There’s a light, a glow to him that once Jason only saw in glimpses.

He’s happy.

Here.

With Jason.

It knocks the breath from him. He doesn’t know what his face is doing—only that Tim is at his side in an instant, coffee forgotten on the counter. Wrapped in Tim’s arms, Jason finds himself spilling everything, every thought and fear that’s plagued him for the last year. When he’s done, Tim smiles sadly, his hold turning into something like a cradle, despite their size difference.

“Robin was the most important thing in my life for a long time. First because watching you both, knowing what I knew… made me feel part of something bigger. Something amazing. And then because it gave me purpose. I was doing something that mattered, and so that made me feel like I mattered. And being good at it… It made me feel like I belonged, like I was wanted.” He strokes Jason’s cheek. “But… It always felt like it could be taken away. There were times when I thought it had been. And then… us. Jason, I don’t need Robin anymore. You make me feel like I matter—and I don’t… I don’t have to… to be perfect, or prove myself. I can just be here, with you, and that’s enough. I’m enough. And that… It means everything, Jay.”

Jason is tearing up. Supposedly, he’s the one who’s good with words—and Tim has pages of love poetry and sweet letters tucked away that can attest to that—but right now? He has none. All he can do is kiss him, and hope that everything he wants to say comes through.

The gratitude. The awe. The agreement. Tim does matter, and he doesn’t have to do anything to earn it, because Jason loves him. And fuck—the reason Jason stayed, the reason he couldn’t just leave on his own was because with Tim…

Tim has always taken him as he is. He doesn’t ask Jason to be anything more than he is, and because of that… Jason wants to be. He feels like the best version of himself when they’re together, and to hear that he gives Tim that same feeling—

It’s everything.

Tim’s coffee grows cold. Breakfast burns.

Neither of them care.

[ fic writer ask game ]

#its sappy and self-indulgent bc that's just where i'm at right now ig #thank you for asking!#waffleinator-inator #asks and answers #jaytim #tauriawritesfanfic #also this is another idea/fic/wip ive wanted to yell abt so ty for giving me the opportunity to share!

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jortschronicles · 1 year ago

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WIP: Sion Relic-Purse V - revenge of the birds

Apparently it's time for me to start another incredibly punishing knitting project and break out the crochet thread. I picked Sion V, as I haven't done this pattern yet and the birdies are DARLING. The extant is supposed to be frankly garishly colored, beige and blue birdies alternated with red and green birdies, and purple and white interstitial bands.

“Each band is composed of identical shields, with a small star at the bottom of the space between each two shields. The bands of shields are staggered by a lateral half-drop; each carries a bird. The bands alternate: one band of beige with the shields outlined and decorated in blue, one band of red with shields in green; all bands counter-changed with stripes across the middle of the shields in which the colors are reversed. The bands of shields are separated by a narrow saw-tooth design in violet and white.” -Richard Rutt, on Sion V

I chose to change some of the colors for the preferences of the modern-day recipient while still maintaining the spirit of the wildly colored original. I swapped the beige for more white, the red for a different shade of green, and the violet for a lovely maroon. I did all this color swapping and planning in GIMP 2.8, comparing an approximation of the extant's coloration and different combinations of the colors I'd like to use. All in all I'm delighted with the way the colors are coming out.

Considering this is my third sion bag and it's been more than 3 years since my first, I'm not surprised that my tension is a lot more consistent and resulting in a lovely texture on the front of the design. I've only bothered tacking down floats on stretches of 9 or more, which only occur at 2 points in the pattern. I'd love to see a picture of the inside of the extant, to know if the artisan tacked ANY floats down, or relied on their own consistency of stitching. Is the bag lined? I have so many questions and have struggled finding answers.

I originally cast on August 15, 2023, on 2.00mm needles and 10 crochet thread. My original plan was with 18 repeats, as the extant seems to have that many. However, 18 repeats of an 18 stitch large pattern resulted in 324 stitches, a number that I struggled to keep on the needles and seemed overall unwieldy after knitting 15 rows. I then tried 15 repeats (270), which was similarly unwieldy. I settled on 12 repeats at 216 stitches (or 54 on each needle), having knit and ripped out more than 2000 stitches in the search for the Right Count.

Somewhere along the way, I seem to have knit two stitches together between the bottom of the first stripe of blue shields and the top of the first stripe of green shields. After much searching, no culprit showed, so I've included a sneaky m1L near the BOR jog. Fixing dumb mistakes is period, look at the Pourpoint of Charles de Blois.

I also finally made a needle cozy for my 8 inch us0s, since they dont fit in the cozy i use for my 6 inch sock needles. No more stitches slipping and dropping!!!

You may notice my birdies face the opposite direction of those on the shields. I encourage you not to notice this fact. One thing this project has proven to me is that even when I think i understand the geometry involved in a knitting project, I am bound to make mistakes.

When I finish this, I think I'd like to submit it for competition unlined to show off the floats, then I'd like to line it before giving it to the recipient for use. I don't want anybody worried about messing up the bag by using it.

#sca #arts & sciences #a&s #society for creative anachronism #historical knitting #knitting #colorwork knitting #wip #thank you for tolerating my rambly WIP post

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gallifreyshawkeye · 2 months ago

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Chapter 14 of Reclaimed and it's gonna be at least 20 total now! And to think at one point I thought I could turn my outlined plot into a narrative in only 10 chap 😆

Chap 13 <- (because I don't think I actually posted chap 13 as its own thing?)

You Probably Shouldn't Hire An Archangel as a Spy

Summary:

With Gabriel pointing him in the right direction, Aziraphale finds the Metatron's full plans. But.... There's always a "but", isn't there. And when has it ever been a good thing... Meanwhile, Satan breaks all precedent. And in the aftermath, Crowley finds out that Amon has never been Earth-side and decides he needs to test the limits of the sigil on his chest, as well as further test some of his own abilities. Also, there's no whiskey in Hell, and that's a problem.

Excerpt:

Aziraphale turned his communication device back over and dialled Mark’s number. Shielding the speaker from the wind that whipped between the rocks around him, he waited for the angel on the other end to pick up.

“Hey there, ya daft muppet!” Came Mark’s voice after only two rings, and Aziraphale was so stunned by the greeting he just sat, speechless, while Mark barreled on, “You said you were going to call me right back. It’s been at least THREE minutes ya twat!”

Aziraphale waited a beat for effect, before replying, “Mark, this is Aziraphale.”

The silence on the other end was deafening for eight very long seconds.

“Oh my god… I mean… Fuck! I mean, Supreme Archangel, Sir! Big BossMan… Your Dukeness! FUCK! I mean……” Mark’s voice changed from sheer panic to that of a mortified teenager, “...Hi? Supreme Archangel, Siiiiiiir, whaddup? Duuude…?......*very quietly* shit. I’m in trouble, aren’t I.”

Aziraphale, who was barely holding himself together and having to cover his mouth to stifle out loud laughter at Mark’s journey of verbal panic, actually slid down the side of the rock he had been sitting on, all the way to the ground, shaking with silent laughter. How he managed to speak without breaking he didn’t have the faintest idea. “You can certainly expect to find a warning note about debauched language in your file and appropriate respect towards your chain of command. Because really, ‘Big BossMan’? ‘Dude’?! You were shown how to use the internet, weren’t you.”

“Maybe,” Mark admitted.

Aziraphale tutted into his device.

“Didn’t you use the internet when you were stationed on Earth?” Mark asked.

“Good heavens no,” Aziraphale replied, “There was absolutely no need for that cesspool of human gossip and pornography and nonsuch.”

Mark burst out laughing. “Is that all you think the internet is?” he asked.

Aziraphale prickled at the amused condescension he could hear in Mark’s voice, even across devices that were communicating between planets over four light-years apart for goodness sake! He huffed silently.

...............................

“I don’t suppose you have any alcohol down here?” Crowley asked, trying to hide that his hands were still trembling slightly. He needed a break and some sense of normalcy.

Amon shook his head. “I’ve heard of it. Never gotten to try it myself though,” he admitted.

Crowley practically gaped.

“Well I haven’t ever been Earth-side, have I,” Amon said quietly, an incredible, deep loneliness to his voice.

Crowley had to take a moment to process the reality that Amon had never left Hell, as well as the depth of the ache that suddenly just existed around Amon, stitched to him as securely as his own skin.

“That combined sigil,” Amon nodded his head toward Crowley’s chest, “It’s a control symbol, as you might have already figured out. I know I was one of the first ones he experimented on with it, and I would have to assume there are others, I just have no idea who. It’s not exactly like I go around sans a corporation and show it off, so I’m fairly certain any other demon who has one would be the same.” The bitterness in Amon’s voice was palpable. “But find a demon who hasn’t left Hell at all since forever, literally, and you’ll probably have located whoever has one of these. It’s not that you can’t leave Hell, it’s just that there are slowly escalating consequences the longer you’re away until it eventually kills you. Cross the threshold back, however, and things start to slowly reset. Slowly. But at least the kill timer stops I guess.”

“Fuck, this conversation really needs alcohol!” Crowley exclaimed, “Whiskey, to be most precise.”

Amon chuckled, “Well you can leave, especially if you’re quick. And once you have something down here you can duplicate it.”

Crowley contemplated, trying to decide whether the risk was worth it. He had built the Hell-to-Earth dimensional transport system, so using it fast enough wouldn’t be a problem. And he knew exactly where the finished barrels of Talisker whiskey were stored in their distillery warehouse. The only problem was whether the sigil also served as an alert system for Satan, in which case it didn’t matter how fast he went.

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #reclaimed fic #my fic #my writing

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catreginae · 1 year ago

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All the chosen heroes had anxiety in some way.

It came with the trauma that the Golden Three made them go through during their adventures.

Out of everybody, Legend was the most anxious out of them all.

(Did Ravio count? Wasn't he technically a Link like they all were? If he did, then Legend is second most anxious, right behind Ravio)

Tonight only proved that he was an anxiety-riddled bastard.

The hotel was tranquil, a near insanity-driving quiet. Wind was asleep against Wild’s shoulder, who was also asleep himself. Four was pacing around the room, biting at his already short nails. Hyrule tended to Sky’s arm, the first hero’s arm bruised and still slightly bleeding. He had opted out of having any magic done to heal him, so instead Hyrule was stitching at the concerning number of fang marks that ran deep into his flesh.

He tried to focus on the book he had, yet the words would meld and bleed off the page, and nothing stuck. At this point, he was just trying to make himself look busy since he knew that if he tried to sleep it'd be a waste of time.

Time and Warriors had long since disappeared into the room adjacent to theirs. Legend had never seen Time carry another person like a sack of potatoes, but seeing him do it with Twi was amusing. He silently hopes he will never be in that position, because despite it being hilarious to witness it would most likely be horrifying to experience.

But now, Legend was trapped in his own thoughts once again. He couldnt help but stress over what could possibly be happening within that damned room.

Wars showed he was more than willing to turn any of them. That, even if they didnt want to be turned, he wouldnt care.

All of them could be turned, even Legend himself. Sure, Wars would get sick for a while if he did, but Legend wouldnt be spared if he did go on a tirade of turning them all.

And that made goosebumps creep up his spine.

Hell, he could be turning Time at this moment and they would all be none the wiser…

By the time Legend had stopped his futile attempt of reading, he noticed that only he and Sky were awake now. Hyrule had joined the cuddle pile Wind and Wild had going on, and from the one foot that stuck out from underneath Wind, so had Four.

“I wonder what happened on that page that made you look at it for thirty minutes.”

“Shut your trap, Sky.”

“You're overthinking things again, aren't you?”

A hand ruffled his hair, and Legend looked up to see Sky. He was smiling, albeit weakly, at the other.

“No, what are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean. You think Warriors will do something to harm us now that Twilight is just like him.”

Damn it, how is it that Sky can always read him like an open book? It’s as if he doesn't need to try.

“Okay, maybe I am. But could you blame me? He turned Twi without him saying yes to it, so who knows if he won't do the same to all of us?”

“I have a feeling that he won't. This is Wars we are talking about, not some psychopath who finds enjoyment in hurting others. And even if he would, he wouldn't turn us unless it was his only choice.”

“But he turned Twilight!”

“Because he was dying.”

“You're acting like this is acceptable! It doesn’t change the fact that he turned him…”

Sky simply chuckles, as he mindlessly picks at the bindings on his arm.

“No, no it doesn't. But we are now going to have to get used to it. There isn't a way to revert vampirism, last I checked.”

A sigh escapes past Legend’s lips, and he holds his head in his hands. He couldn't believe Sky was acting so calm! Everybody else was on edge, and he was being too optimistic. He was the one who got attacked out of everybody…

A set of bandages falls to the floor, and Legend almost yells.

“Put those back on! Your wounds aren't healed!”

“That they are not, very good observation,”

Sky says sarcastically, which makes Legend stutter slightly. It wasn’t often that he would act so jokingly, even if he was now digging into the stitched-up wounds he had.

“Stop that. It’ll get infected.”

But Sky just shrugs as he finally digs deep enough into the stitching to draw blood again.

“At least Twi won't have to worry about such wounds like these now. Do you think that bite wound he has from Dink will heal fully? Will it even scar?”

“Are you insane?”

“None of us are sane, Legend. The goddesses made sure of that.”

He continued prying at the stitching, making Legend grab his hand and yank it away.

“What is with you right now, Sky? You're acting strange.”

Blood clung to Legend’s hand, and as he saw that it was pooling from the wound Sky reopened.

“Please, tell me you understand why I am doing this.”

“No, can't say I know why you're undoing all the hard work Hyrule did to clean you up.”

Sky shushes Legend, looking around the room for a second. Nothing but the soft blowing of the wind outside can be heard.

“I'm testing something. Notice how there isn't any fighting or shuffling from the room where Twi is? I would've thought that the scent of my blood would get him going again.”

This crazy bastard…

“You are either stupid or insane, and I'm starting to think it's both.”

“I'm trying to get you to realize that just because Twi is now a vampire, he isn't going to attack anybody. And that whatever theory you had in your head of what Warriors could possibly be doing in there is also just your thoughts getting out of hand. Wars won't hurt anybody, so calm down.”

Legend can only sigh in frustration. Of course, Sky was trying to get him to realize everything would be okay, but it didn't help the paranoia he still had. It's not like he could just stop worrying about Wars possibly turning them all into bloodthirsty monsters!

“If I had a rupee for every time you overthink about something, we would be able to have our own rooms whenever we visit hotels.”

“Can it.”

“No, I won't “Can it.” You need to realize that you aren't going to become Wars or Twi’s pin cushion.”

“Who says that’s what I’m worried about?”

“Then what are you so ails you? I can't help if you don't tell me.”

Silence.

Neither of them said another word.

That same silence that had racked Legend’s mind had returned, and he just grumbled before burying his face into his hands.

“Fine. I'm worried that he’ll turn all of us eventually.”

“Is that really it? Legend, your worries are unwarranted. Even if the worst case is to come, I doubt Warriors would be enthusiastic about turning us. He looked so guilty when telling us what he’s done to save Twilight.”

‘That doesn't mean he won't. What if he decided that it would be best if he turned all of us even if we weren’t dying? We don't know how his fucked up vampire brain works!”

“You really think Time would allow that?”

“Who knows if he isn't turning Time right now?! It might explain why it's so silent in their room right now.”

“...”

Sky chuckles. It’s a soft, almost mocking laugh with how carefree it sounded. He just shakes his head, muttering to himself in his native tongue as he ruffles Legend’s hair again.

“Well, I suppose we don't know if that is the case. You’ll just have to figure it out in the morning, won't you?”

“You are a bastard, Sky.”

“I try to be. Now, get some sleep. If anything does happen just get myself or any of the others. You aren’t alone in this, so don't try to deal with it alone.”

He leaves the room without a second thought, leaving Legend all alone with his thoughts once more.

Only the soft snores of the other sleeping heroes can be heard, the rest of the world silent besides that.

Grabbing his forgotten book, Legend joins the cuddle pile himself. He lays so that his head is propped by Hyrule’s side, and not a second passes before Four sprawls himself over his abdomen.

He tosses his book aside, and allowed himself to drift off into sleep. His mind was still uneasy, but he’d rather at least get a few hours of sleep than none.

(It's like 2 am here and I had a random spark of creativity hit me. I am never getting sick again making up school work is horrible 😭. I hope you're having a good day ♥)

-❄ anon

Do you ever just want to shake some sense into somebody but also give them a hug?

Also, not going to lie, but I've also thought about at least having Warriors justify why he won't turn his buddies. Other vampires would be curious about why only one of these heroes is a vampire and not all of them if they're so important.

It's an interesting thing to explore which is why I appreciate all these so much. The idea of any other boys being vampires was something I would only do for a dream or something, so it's fun to see somebody else take that idea places.

also somebody remind me to link all these together

#❄️ anon #catreginae: thou shalt not fall #ask #linked universe #linkeduniverse #fanfic #not my writing

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felinemotif · 1 year ago

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i’m very curious now—what are your favorite books? (not giving a number or genre or anything so you can list as many or as few as you’d like 💞)

livvy, this is my favorite question to be asked. like, ever. i love talking about what i read jaja. i am going to attempt to keep this list somewhat orderly and of reasonable quantity, just because i know there's so much and honestly, it's ever-changing and ever-growing because i tend to purchase a couple of books each week (and that doesn't even touch my library card).

i am... so sorry for the length of this. warning that some of these recommendations include memoirs about sa and abuse. umm this includes everything from memoirs to textbooks.

in no particular order (beyond in the dream house, which will forever be at the top of any list):

in the dream house by carmen maria machado. i own SEVEN copies of this book. i have read it in two languages. i live and breathe it. the day i don't recommend this book is the day after i died, and quite honestly i might just crawl out of my grave to shove it into someone's face one more time. it's my favorite memoir. hell, it's my favorite thing to read in general. i once carried it around in my purse for an entire YEAR despite having finished it the day i bought it originally. it has the most interesting narrative style and prose i have ever encountered. it also has a long list of trigger warnings as it's a memoir centered around domestic abuse in a wlw relationship. it's powerful & poignant. it also sucks you right in, because carmen chose to use you for her memoir instead of i.

her body and other parties by carmen maria machado. this is carmen's only other published work (she's had her hand dipped in others, but these two are the ones solely written by her; i also recently picked up a copy of carmilla that was edited by her!). i am a sucker for this woman's writing, everyone who knows me knows that, so it's no surprise that she's on this list twice. if she ever publishes a third story, i have no doubt it will become a favorite as well. she phrases things in such crazy, thought provoking ways. it's made me stop and think multiple times. you would never think to word things the way that carmen does. this one is a collection of short stories. my favorite was the husband stitch. there are horror elements. it's a collection that really makes you reflect on what it means to be a woman in a male-dominated society.

i am not myself these days by josh kilmer-purcell. a very intimate memoir, it goes into depth regarding his time alternating as an ad exec during the day and a drag queen at night. saw someone on goodreads call it as mesmerizing as a train wreck-- which about sums it up and is what prompted me to read it in the first place. it's loud, it's raunchy, it's in your face about real life problems, it's queer. it talks about the love he had for a male escort and struggles with addiction. it's honest in the highs-and lows of the glitz and glam. dark. and also written in the very early 2000s so while the issues faced aren't outdated, much of the language is.

i'm glad my mom died by jennette mccurdy. listen, i have some major mommy issues. we went no contact when i was 16. i knew going into it that this was going to be a hard-hitter for me. i kid you not, i used up multiple boxes of tissues while reading this. my copy is covered in annotations and highlights and tabs. it looks like it's been through hell and back. though jennette shares a story of shame, anxiety and various disorders, she does so with a strong voice. it's raw. probably the most helpful memoir i've ever read. i still have a lot of healing to do regarding my own childhood and it's often difficult to talk about, but reading this helped. it's like objectively i know i'm not alone in my trauma, that it's not only my mom who was bad. but it can be difficult to remember that when you're sitting by yourself and questioning 'what did i do that made it so my mom couldn't love me'.

there was a quote i particularly resonated with.

[I have no idea how to go about doing this. I have no idea how to go about life without doing it in the shadow of my mother, without my every move being dictated by her wants, her needs, her approval.]

no longer human by osamu dazai. semi-autobiographical. it's a very quick read, less than 200 pages. i think i read it in about half a day. osamu dazai remains one of japan's most well-known authors, and for good reason. the character he tells his story through, oba yozo, feels incapable of connecting with the world and the people in it. he remarks on things without sentimentality while yearning to understand those that do. it's bitter and depressive and deals with life in a postwar japan, digging into oba's relationship with his family and women, and his struggles with suicide attempts. additional warnings for misogyny, but i figure that's to be expected given the time it was written.

my husband by maud ventura. i read this one because a book reviewer i trust said that 'if you liked the tv show, you, then this is for you.' and she was right. it depicts a successful 40 year old french woman who seems to have it all. but she's obsessively in love with her husband, and is paranoid as to whether or not he returns her affections. directly from the summary:

[But she's never quite sure that her passion is reciprocated. After all, would a truly infatuated man ever let go of his wife's hand when they're sitting on the couch together?]

it's a contemporary thriller that keeps you on the edge of your seat. i knew when i started the book that the wife's mindset is dangerous, and yet at times she convinced me to start rooting for her. if the stranger in stranger danger was a character, it'd be her.

white nights by fyodor dostoevsky. i'm a fiend for dostoevsky. russian lit is something that came into my life via the gayest method possible: i went to the bookstore a few years ago because i needed to read crime and punishment (also by dostoevsky...there's a pattern here), but i couldn't locate it so i asked the cashier (who happened to be a beautiful blonde with a minor in russian language and literature-to this day i still think to myself 'what are the odds') to help me find it. SOMEHOW she managed to convince me to purchase multiple other russian lit books that day, plus wrote other rec's for further reading in orange sparkly pen on the back of my receipt. i went into that store expecting to spend maybe $20 and left having spent over $100. i still don't know how that happened, she was pretty; that receipt survived a house fire (literally).

um... but i digress LMAO. anyway white nights is a captivating story set in st. petersburg. it's one of the least depressing things dostoevsky has ever written imo. unrequited love/chance love, solitude, and unflinching tenderness. this is good for the romantics. (i say, as an aro.)

know my name by chanel miller. another memoir. excellently written. i'm sure most people are familiar with her story already, but this is a deep-dive on what it means to be a woman dealing with the aftermath of assault. she was described as being the ideal victim-- there were witnesses, little room for he said/she said. and yet. and yet. she opens up about her shame, both self-inflicted and forced on her by the way society views assault survivors. very raw commentary on rape culture in the usa.

all the lovers in the night by mieko kawakami. depicts a freelance writer in her 30s, struggling with loneliness in a fast-paced city with a huge focus on work. this is a character-focused story. i know that a lot of people dropped this without finishing because it had a very slow start and, to some people, an unsatisfying finish, but to me this story couldn't have been told any other way. mieko was telling a story of mundane life. the writing style reflected as much.

our wives under the sea by julia armfield. i can't possible describe this story without spoiling anything, but take this: it's a wlw story where a woman's wife returns to her after she had been stranded at the bottom of the ocean for quite some time. classic 'came back wrong' trope. it's unsettling. this is definitely a 'you either loved it or hated it' book.

lies our mothers told us by nilanjana bhowmick. an indian woman's burden. this is a nonfiction feminist novel. this is such a powerful work that deals with topics like universal suffrage, capitalism and how it harms people (particularly women), workplace harassment and fair pay. it's radical. it talks about how the women before us fought to give us better futures, how they told us growing up 'when you're older, it will be better' and what it's like to grow up and realize that things are still bad.

a certain hunger by chelsea g. summers. for as much as i talk about cannibalism on this blog, it'd be criminal to not have at least one book depicting it on my favorites list. this features a sex-positive, confident food critic who sometimes has men on her plate, not in her bed. it's unintentionally funny.

boy parts by eliza clark. follows a fetish photographer who is very much a classic female manipulator. if you want to read from the perspective of a narcissist, irina is the character for you. plays fast and loose with consent, autonomy and safety. very violent social commentary.

rise of the necrofauna by britt wray. the science, ethics and risks of de-extinction. the author herself has a PhD and is an acclaimed documentarist, but you hear from many other talented scientists throughout reading. i don't know what else to say; it's exactly what it sounds like. if you heard about people trying to bring back dinosaurs and the woolly mammoth and thought, 'that can't be environmentally friendly or ethically sound' then this book is for you. WARNING that britt wray does NOT 'dumb' anything down. it is not an easy read. i frequently had to stop and do some research to understand what certain things meant.

plants that kill by elizabeth dauncey. a history of the word's most poisonous plants. it talks about the use of plants in medicine, warfare and rituals. complete with detailed diagrams. another text that is exactly what it sounds like. if ethnobotany interests you, you'd enjoy this. otherwise it's probably a dry read.

they drown our daughters by katrina monroe. it's queer. it's modern gothic. it's yet another recommendation of a book featuring womanhood. beautifully eerie and atmospheric. if you're looking for a haunting story with a beach backdrop and strong themes of identity and motherhood.... she's for you.

vampires of el norte by isabel cañas. follows a daughter of a rancher in 1840s mexico. it's a fast-paced historical fantasy where the monsters are both beast and man. childhood lovers separated by tragedy.

shark heart by emily habeck. in their first year of marriage, newlyweds are devastated by the husband's shocking diagnosis: he's slowly turning into a shark. i know it sounds silly and it is, but it's a story of love and loss, with an alternating timeline. the husband is cursed with the knowledge that even after he turns into a shark, he'll still remember everything. magical realism meets enduring love.

#there's so much more ofc but this is already getting out of hand #lit #ladytauria #replies

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hattywatch · 2 years ago

Text

J. Vesey - July for the Whole Year 4

A/N: Chapter 4. Tell a friend to tell a friend. Comments, critique, and conjecture encouraged. Jimmy's looking so fine these days y'all. NYC agrees with him.

<< Chapter 3

March 2020

Jimmy: The season is going to pause, wish I was back in ny. We’d have nothing but time to catch up on GoT now.

Like I’d let you in my bubble.

Jimmy: Who are you kidding, I’m the best bubble partner.

No comment. :P

______

April 2020

Do you have toilet paper, should I send you some? You never remember until it’s too late.

Jimmy: lol, my mom sent me some. Good looking out.

______

“I’ll tell you when to hit play! Don’t hit it without me!” It’s makeshift for sure, but you figured out how to watch Netflix together over video chat. Everyone has been going crazy over this Tiger King show and there’s literally nothing else to do, so what’s the harm. You haven’t seen another human in about two weeks, save when you went to the grocery store to pick up some essentials for Mr. Callahan and he waved at you as you left the package outside his door. Even that was exciting contact. Plus you’re missing Jimmy extra.

“I cannot believe you talked me into this. This looks like the dumbest thing I have ever seen.”

His laugh, you’ve missed that laugh so much. Your cheeks hurt as your smile stretches, “I miss you so much.” You don’t mean the words to blurt out like they do; honest and out there for him to hear, read into, draw conclusions from.

Jimmy’s face is a welcomed sight, so your smile doesn’t even falter when he pokes at you. “Oh my Godddd. Shut up! You get to pick the next one. Probably going to make me watch something Boston, so I have to listen to that terrible accent for hours on end.”

______

“Yeah, me too. Like a limb,” his smile is a little soft, a little sad, but he’s Jimmy and he’s notoriously stoic, so he straightens up on his couch and grabs his remote, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

May 2020

Who do we cheer for now, Brady, Kevin? An unknown third party?

Jimmy: I’m gunna flip a coin. Tampa looks good though, hate to say it.

Gross.

______

October 2020

Jimmy: You gunna to visit me when the borders open back up? It’s pretty cool up here, I think you’d like it.

Only if you’re paying for Tim Hortons.

Jimmy: Not with this contract.

______

December 2020

Jimmy: Did you get a package 👀👀

I have to check the mailroom when I get home, why?? Did you buy me something! 🙃

Jimmy: Maybe. Keep an eye out.

______

As soon as you get in the building you rush to the mailroom and it’s there. A plain brown Amazon box, but when you open it, there's another box inside, shabbily wrapped in blue paper, tied in a white ribbon.

You snap a photo and send it to Jimmy,

It's here! Proud of your wrapping tbh!

Tucked under the ribbon, you start with the envelope, pulling out the Christmas card. It features a cartoon Santa proudly proclaiming "I hear there's some Hos in this house?" shaking a judgmental finger at the naughty list in his hand.

Jimmy's tight, sloppy handwriting covers the inside of the card and your smile grows, happy he thought of you enough to fill the left panel of the card entirely with a handwritten message.

When you finally tear the ribbon off and the paper open you're not surprised to see the bright blue jersey with the Leafs insignia on it. You are slightly surprised that Jimmy's name is across the back and his number is on the sleeve. You're warm to your toes thinking about him branding you in this way, even if you also have Kevin's jersey in the back of your closet and have never had a second thought about Hayes being stitched across your back.

(Y/n),

I thought you'd like this card, since I've seen your Spotify unwrapped and you've played this song more than any one person should. Freak.

Here's a new jersey so you can remember who your favorite player is. I had to change my number, which sucks, but I can't have you representing Philly. That's gross and blue looks way better on you anyway.

I know I said I couldn't afford Timmies on this contract, but here’s a bag anyway. Their coffee is really good and I don’t know when the country will re-open so you can visit and get a real one. I got you plain, French Vanilla is superior though. Even if you disagree.

We can’t have you embarrassing yourself at family skate again, so I hope these are the right size. Take them to the rink when it opens, have the blades sharpened and the skates baked. They’ll fit your feet better and they won’t hurt as much. Whenever I get to come visit we’ll practice.

Hope you like it, miss you.

Merry Christmas,

Jimmy

The skates do fit. He got you hockey ones so they’re chunky and black and not at all the sleek ice skating ones the rinks usually give you when you rent them. It’s so Jimmy that your heart skips at the idea of him spending time, thinking of a thoughtful gift, trying to figure out your damned shoe size, and wrapping the box alone in his apartment.

You’re not sure when you started sniffling, but the card is damp from the few tears that have slid down your face and you laugh in spite of yourself. The distance definitely hasn’t made any of this easier.

This is really thoughtful. I can’t wait to try them out. <3

Jimmy: You’re crying, aren’t you?

______

January 2021

Jimmy: Did you listen to this new Drivers License song yet? Seems up your alley.

RED LIGHTS STOP SIGNS!!!

Jimmy: I’ll take that as a yes.

______

The phone only rings once before he answers. “Hello?” His camera is facing the ceiling, so you can’t see his face, but it looks like he’s eating lunch.

“Watch Bridgerton with me?” it’s not really a whine, but it’s a little pitchy. He heaves a sigh and he picks up the phone so he’s finally in frame, munching on his pizza. You continue before he has the chance to turn you down, “Please? Everyone at work is talking about it, it’s only 8 episodes, please? You made me watch all those Ben Affleck movies last year! I barely even complained even though Matt’s the better actor.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m off Sunday we can start it then,” he tears into a piece of crust.

Smiling, you remind him, “You’re my best friend,” before you hang up and send him a calendar invite.

______

March 2021

Jimmy: I take it back, you’d like Vancouver better.

Missing me, Jimbo?

Jimmy: Maybe

______

July 2021

With restrictions eased up, you find yourself toying with the idea of a weekend trip to Boston. You’ve typed out about 60 messages to Jimmy telling him you may be in town, but you backspaced each and every one, because you’re a coward.

You haven’t been in the same state in almost two years, stuck video chatting during lock down, which has become a weekly ritual that you haven’t dropped since the world began slowly opening back up. Still though, something about seeing him in person has your heart rate picking up and your palms sweating.

In the end you sleepily reveal it when Jimmy calls you to say goodnight.

Your phone jingled loudly in your ear, you could probably put it on silent while you slept, but then you'd miss these calls, Jimmy's profile picture smiling on your screen before you answer and clear your throat.

"Hey," you sigh into your pillow at the content feeling that blankets your body.

"Hey, I'm walking home from the bar and I wanted to say goodnight."

"Okay, goodnight," you're quietly breathing into the phone, smiling to yourself at the sweet gesture.

He laughs, "ooookay, you don't want to talk to me? You already asleep?"

"A little, but I always want to talk to you." You'll be embarrassed by your admission in the morning. In the dark it's just honest and you feel light saying it out loud.

He's quiet now and you hear the cars passing him by as he walks.

"I haven't seen you in forever," he trails off and your decision is practically made for you.

"I'm thinking about taking the day off Friday and shipping up to Boston for the weekend, but the hotels are so much money" you're slightly more awake now, nervous for some reason that you both will feel differently in person since it's been so long.

He takes in a breath, "Do it. You can stay with me."

"Okay," it's Jimmy, it's Jimmy, it's Jimmy- your heart thumps. No reason to be nervous.

"Okay!" You can hear his smile through the phone and when you both hang up you slip easily back into sleep.

______

Jimmy's laughter booms through your headphones, "What do you mean 'what if you don't recognize me?' We video chat like every day you know what I look like."

You're feeling silly and giddy and bubbly only 2 hours away from Boston according to your itinerary.

"I should like, bring a red rose like Lorelei and Rory do in Gilmore Girls, just in case. So you know who I am." You look out the window in the train, watching the landscape blaze by.

"Any excuse to bring up the fuckin' Gilmore Girls. I'm sure we'll be okay."

"I'm hanging up on you, you interrupted my music and now you're slandering the Gilmores. See you soon."

You cut off whatever he was about to say and hang up, cackling with delight as he calls you back immediately.

"This is (y/n), how can I assist?"

"I can't stand you. When is 'soon?'"

"Two hours. You better be ready to eat. I'm starving."

"Okay, soon."

______

South Station is pretty empty, which you expected considering it's noon on a Friday. You try to call Jimmy but his phone goes to voicemail both times you call, so you stand and wait, knowing he'd never leave you hanging, so you find a bench and open your phone, scrolling through mindlessly.

Someone sits down next to you so you slide a little to the left without looking up wondering if you should call Jimmy again, but the person clears their throat and shoves a bouquet of roses at you.

Pushing them to the side you see Jimmy's smiling face. "I figured it's been a while, maybe one rose wouldn't do the trick if you forgot what I looked like."

In that moment, Jimmy smiling at you in a train station at 12 on a Friday, it takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss him square on the mouth.

______

"So what do you want to do today?" Jimmy says around a mouthful of sushi. Between you and Kevin constantly shoving your rolls at him, he's by no means an aficionado, but he's come around.

"I don't know. Last time I was here we did a bunch of touristy things," you pause chopsticks halfway to your mouth, "Show me Harvard."

Jimmy's too happy to oblige.

The two of you pile into his Jeep and drive to Cambridge, stopping briefly to grab coffee. "I used to come here all the time," Jimmy places his order and lets you keep looking, "sit at that table and try to finish my papers before midnight. Is it weird that I miss it?"

"Not at all," you confirm. His eyes are fond and you're happy you're here to see this version of him. "Can I have the same?" You place your order to the young girl behind the counter, her glasses are wide and her chemistry book is sat next to her, pages face down, spine bent to save her place.

"You're going to hate it, it's sweet," Jimmy warns, but you shrug your shoulders and nod to the barista to continue making your copy of Jimmy's nostalgic order.

______

You spend your day traversing the campus, being suitably impressed by the history and slightly in awe by the IQs you're surrounded by. The art museum is a particular delight- full of classic Van Goghs, Degas, and Stieglitzes, but also housing fine Japanese art, Buddhist statues, and textiles you haven't seen before.

He sidles up behind you quietly and you don't realize until he whispers, bent down and leaning over your shoulder, "Four years here and I never came in here. Kinda crazy."

Swatting him you answer, "Uncultured swine," and grab his hand to pull him to the next room.

It's full of earlier photography, and you stop in front of Stieglitz's The Glow of Night, depicting an empty street, glowing in the evening; only a few horse-drawn carriages sit in the distance under the glow of the streetlights.

"I miss New York," Jimmy mumbles under his breath.

Your eyebrows raise, "You're Boston through and through, I can't believe you just said that outloud."

He shrugs, "I love it here, I do. But I guess I miss the early years. Us and the boys, young and stupid."

He sounds doleful and it stings your heart. "I think we all miss that," you reply gently, hand looping through his arm.

"Do you think you'd ever move," it's close to the topic at hand, but a distinct deviation, so you think on it, staring intently at the photo in front of you.

"I don't know. A few years ago I'd have said never..." Jimmy nods, seemingly content with your answer, but looks at his phone and notices the time.

"C'mon. They're going to close soon, let's go home."

You're not home.

You're about 200 miles away to be exact, but it certainly doesn't feel that way.

______

Sunday morning you're sat in a hole in the wall getting breakfast with Jimmy. Your train leaves in the late afternoon and Jimmy's trying to pack as much into the day as he can, so you appreciate the quiet time at the table with him.

He's fidgeting a little and you can't take it, a little on edge from the close proximity of the weekend.

"Just take the bed!" He's not shouting but it's definitely as close as you've ever seen him to being short of patience.

"No! You're letting me stay for free! I saved so much money not staying in a hotel, I'll sleep out here!"

Jimmy picks up your bags and tosses them onto his bed. "Night! There's clean towels in the bathroom. Shout if you need anything." He gently pushes you into his room and closes the door behind you.

His bed is plush and you snuggle in after huffing at your defeat, washing your face, and changing into your pajamas. You would have thought you'd fall asleep quickly, a long day of travel followed by a ton of walking typically tires you out, but you're in Jimmy's bed.

You're in Jimmy's bed and it smells like him.

You're in Jimmy's bed and it smells like him and you're having a crisis.

"Do you think you'd ever move?" His question replays in your mind.

A few summers ago you told Gracia never, but you're not so sure that you couldn't be easily persuaded if the right person asked.

"You're ignoring me." Jimmy flicks your coffee cup. The tinkling noise pills you from your daydream and you shake your head.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said," He repeats himself, "I'm a free agent in the fall… maybe I'll end up on the East Coast and we can do this more often…" he smirks, "you know, having breakfast and you ignoring me."

Desperately you wish you were annoyed at his teasing, but you can't find it in you, "That would actually be awesome. Is that a possibility?"

Stirring too much sugar into his coffee he looks optimistic, “Anything is possible.”

#christmas fic #jimmy vesey imagine #jimmy vesey fic #ny rangers imagine #ny rangers fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #reader insert #writing #toronto maple leafs fic #vancouver canucks fic #mutual pining #idiots in love #idiots in denial

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 2 years ago

Text

13 Days of AUs- The Sixth Day of Christmas: A Future TokoDeku AU

Summary: On the 13 days of Christmas, Music gave to me… 13 different POTSOD AUs! Each contains a different pairing and different plots but within: a collection of plot line that will appear in the main series… though have fun figuring them out! (Including a few pairings that will appear~)

ON AO3

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A teenager sits in her room, looking down at a piece of paper. The girl has green hair and eyes and freckles covering her face. She taps a pencil o against her desk and sighs. She leans back in her seat, obviously thinking.

“Izumi?” A maternal voice asks. The door to the room opens to let in an older green-haired woman who smiles at Izumi gently. She smiles back. “I was checking to see how you’re making out,” the woman says kindly.

“Alright, mom,” Izumi says. “Just struggling with this essay. UA is supposed to be the hardest school to get into, and their prompt for this essay feels… so big and confusing.”

“You’re probably overthinking it,” Izumi’s mother informs her daughter. “I trust you’ll figure it out, but you have a tendency to assume the worst or to complicate things.”

“I know,” Izumi says. Her mother suddenly turns and laughs. “Wha-“

“Mama!” A toddler comes into the room. She wears a cute shirt with Gang Orca on it and looks a little like a patchwork doll. Her skin is two different colours, stitched together blockily, and her hair appears like ribbons, button-like eyes blinking as she walks to the teenager.

“Hi, Tomoe!” Izumi says, picking up the girl.

“Mama! Work?” The little girl asks, pointing at the paper. Izumi nods.

“I am, baby. I have to write a paper on two heroes dear to me and why. But only one can be a pro.” Izumi tells her daughter. Tomoe makes a surprised noise.

“Ah, then you are overthinking it,” the eldest woman laughs. “Come on, Tomoe, let’s leave your mother to work a bit longer. We have cookies to make.”

“Cookie!” The toddler cheers, squirming out of her mother’s arms. Izumi laughs and lets her go before turning to her work. She pauses, a look of thought crossing her face as the door closes. She looks at it, and then a smile crosses her face. She turns to begin writing.

“My name is Midoriya Izumi, and I was diagnosed Quirkless at age five,” her voice echoes as she writes. “My life became hell after that. I was bullied, scorned and lost my friends.”

The screen flashes pictures of a green-haired child crying and whimpering as she faces off against a blonde boy, teachers and even what looks like a neighbour.

“I only had one comfort during this time: All Might,” the screen morphs to show the girl watching the infamous debut video of the number one hero, switching to show her running around in a onesie of him and then her gushing over hero merch. “All Might was a god, someone who would think I could be a hero. I loved him, loved him so dearly it felt like life itself was being pulled from me. Then, I met him.”

Izumi is shown to be facing the hero, looking at him with hope in her eyes. A hope that seems to crumble, the screen focusing on her eyes.

“Be realistic.” the hero’s voice says.

“He told me I could not be a hero. That being Quirkless meant I could never be like him. In this way, I felt destroyed, ripped apart, and my pieces were no longer fitting.” the girl is shown walking down a street, crying. “Then, I met him again. It was after an incident at my school where one of the teachers turned out to be working for an organization called Humarise. They tried to kidnap me after paying a bunch of criminals to attack the school. I fought off the teacher and disabled one of the attackers.”

The screen shows the teenager doing what she claimed, slamming a teacher’s face into a wall before tackling a large and intimidating man, using a pen to stab at his neck, teeth bared.

“He told me something different. He said I could be one. I did ask about the change, briefly becoming furious when he mentioned he theorized I am a late bloomer and a false negative. How dare he, I thought, how DARE he try to claim I could become a hero then, with a Quirk. However, he told me that he had been wrong before.”

The screen changes to show All Might bowing to Izumi, the girl looking shocked before it changes to show her hauling trash off a beach.

“I decided to accept his offer of help, his secretary coming to check on me often. I unlocked my Quirk with their help, though I had been training with my friend Tokoyami Fumikage for some time before we met.” The screen moves to show Izumi and a bird-headed teen lifting weights in a gym together, talking. It moves back to show Izumi in her room, still writing. “All Might is my hero because he made a mistake and owned up to it later with me. He may have his flaws, but he’s a good man who is kind and generous. I could never ask for a greater hero in the pro ranks.” The girl pauses and looks around her room. It’s filled with hero merch but also contains pictures of her alongside her mother and daughter. The teenager sighs and nods.

“However, I learned that good people can do bad things young. When I was a child, my mother seemed to be against everything I did. She had an image of me that she wanted to see become a reality dearly. She would block out things she did not like and refused to back away from her ground. At first, anyway.” Izumi sighs, pausing in her writing. “I was once friends with a boy named Bakugou Katsuki. Or, as my therapist says, I was friends with the idea of him. He was a smart boy with a strong Quirk who quickly became the target of praise. My school at the time fully believed that might makes right, and he was praised backwards and forwards. My mother even saw him as a great hero in the making. At least until she caught him and his gang holding me on the ground as they tested their Quirks on me.”

The screen shows the image, the younger version of Izumi screaming as a blonde boy laughs, explosions coming off his hands. But there is her mother, watching this with horrified eyes.

“Mom cracked down, told the boys’ parents and started waking up. She stopped being so focused on image and what I should be. Instead, she allowed me to explore. She started going to therapy for herself and found me one. We began to make moves to a healthy relationship. Then…” The screen goes to Izumi again, the teenager hunched over her paper, shaking. She swallows and begins writing again. “We had a teacher named Yamanaka Hari for math. He was kind, the kindest teacher in school. I felt safe.

“I was eleven the first time he touched me. Twelve the first time he raped me. And thirteen when I gave birth to a baby. My mom knew something was happening, and when I told her….”

The screen changes to show a regular-looking middle school, with people talking and teachers working. A man is in front of a class, teaching math. The door flies open, and everyone jumps. Standing there is Mrs. Midoriya, her eyes almost glowing as she glares at the man.

“You fucking TOUCHED MY DAUGHTER!” she screams, the man suddenly screaming. The screen moves to show Izumi continuing her writing.

“My mom broke seventeen bones and castrated Yamanaka. He’ll never touch another person, and mom got off with a slap on the wrist for her actions. No one cared, not when more evidence of me not being the first came to light. Aldera had two former Quirkless students. And they had tried to speak up only to be ignored. Mom packed us up and moved as soon as the court case finished, my daughter Tomoe in tow. So, my hero, who is not a pro, will always be my mother. For changing for me and doing everything in her power to protect me.”

The screen focuses on the smile of Izumi before it changes to show Principal Nezu reading over the essays. He grins as he reads one.

“Why, Midoriya Izumi, you’re going to be a fun one.” he chuckles.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

-Alright, so in this AU- Inko wised up when she was confronted with the cruelty Izumi went through. It shocked her enough that she got a therapist because she wondered how she hadn’t seen this. Said therapist worked through Inko’s populationist ideals, and then Yamanaka attacking Izumi had her fully break away from her old ideals.

They moved and ended up near the Tokoyami family who Izumi became best friends with. They have mutual crushes, but while Izumi is more adjusted in this AU, neither has made the step forward yet.

-All Might met Izumi mostly the same way at first, and then after more thought realized he fucked up, but couldn’t find her until the attack on her school. (This also has a side effect of making people side eye Humarise more before the bombs)

#bnha #bnha au #boku no hero academia #fem midoriya izuku #tokodeku #tw mention of rape #pulling on the strings of destiny #13 days of aus

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prozac-shaped-urn · 6 months ago

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htotm notes 5/19

You are a traveler. You never sit still for long. Your spirit dies all over again every time you confront the past, the one you left behind. The child you left behind.

Why do I feel like I need to apologize to the world for my ever-changing body?

You don't text me back, you don't ring me up, you check your phone when we chat… I never get to have your full attention.

bring your body, and your mind will follow

stitch 'n bitch is an actual term used since the 1940s! i wanna use it and i wanna have a man in the group bc this is taos and i can do what i want in my own story.

I feel like it progresses too fast from beth and liss connecting to beth leaving to julie finding out about stella. make that slow down some. and make a fucking decision about stella or felicity. flip a coin. something.

OH!!!!!! STELLA INJURES HERSELF BUT IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL BUT IT'S ENOUGH FOR BETH TO TAKE THE STEP TO SPEND MORE TIME IN TAOS AND LESS TIME ON THE WEB

FELICITY I've spent decades learning to own myself. To own all of the things I've been told to hate… or told to love. What other people think of me is none of my business. It's that simple. But my perfectionism gets the better of me sometimes. Bobby Dean tells me that's the truest form of self-hatred. The mind on that boy… BETH You're a perfectionist? You don't look it. Felicity is mock-aghast. She motions to her high desert hippie garb. FELICITY Really? You couldn't tell? Beth appreciates the sarcasm. FELICITY I am. Very much so. It's part of why I live the way I do. It's a daily test of my patience and it keeps me from getting lost in the details. Perfectionism is like an abusive ex: It finds your weakest areas and exploits them. You'll never satisfy an abuser -- satisfy yourself instead.

BETH It's okay! Truthfully, I'm not sure. But I needed an escape, so I took the first one that came my way.

stella needs to break her foot and tell beth about it before she leaves for alaska

beth and liss need to stitch an embroidery together

feel like julie could be involved more

leave the satisfaction of stella and beth learning how to talk again for later in the story

beth needs to figure out why she's so hesitant to sit in the hot tub. it's bc she's afraid of being comfortable in taos bc of her losing maggie. she doesn't wanna get too attached and lose whatever she's attached to. have liss figure this out for her maybe????

beth needs to tell stella abt timothy at some point MAYBE HAVE TIMOTHY REACH OUT AND WANT TO MEET HER, MAYBE TAKE STELLA WITH IDK

the lead up to the inciting incident is chunky as all hell. FIX THAT.

Perfectionism is like an abusive ex: It finds your weakest areas and exploits them. You'll never satisfy an abuser -- satisfy yourself instead. BETH NEEDS TO LEARN THAT SOCIAL MEDIA IS AN ABUSER AND SHE WILL NEVER SATISFY IT, SO SHE NEEDS TO LET IT GO. or something like that

i keep going back and forth on how long beth was in taos so i need to make that firm and decide on the number.

maybe the reason beth turned to social media is bc she was triggered by stella being in rehab?? bc her dad was an addict??? figure that out.

"Warning" When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me, And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired, And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells, And run my stick along the public railings, And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick the flowers in other people's gardens, And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat, And eat three pounds of sausages at a go, Or only bread and pickle for a week, And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats and things in boxes. But now we must have clothes that keep us dry, And pay our rent and not swear in the street, And set a good example for the children. We will have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practise a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised, When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple!

Jenny Joseph

things E|L has learned living off grid for a year *Patience. stores are very far away like 30 min away. when you need something it can be a committment to go out and get it. if you have a single ingredient missing you won't go out and get it. you'll just do without. *accepting lack of control. can't control the weather (duh) so planning ahead of time doesn't help much. YOU HAVE TO BE EASILY ADAPTABLE. *plan ahead. make the most of every trip to town. *solving problems and self-reliance. if something breaks it's all on you. troubleshooting is a necessity. *learning from neighbors. share knowledge with everyone. networking is important.

need a sewing circle in there somewhere -- where we get to know more about julie and liss and their friends. one giant dinner table convo with multiple angles that everyone fucking hates doing. DONE

ok but where is felicity when she's listening to her grandma read bedtime stories like for real where tf is she SHE'S THINKING ABOUT HER CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND KATHLEEN (yeah i'm really going there) DONE

need a convo about beth's childhood bff kathleen and how she always felt super close to her until she moved away. make it very much queer coded and beth has to point out that liss is very much gay. DONE

julie needs to learn abt stella at some point DONE

have beth sit in the hot tub close to the end. maybe liss is there?? i like the idea of her being alone tbh. DONE

have beth send the embroidery to stella with a business card of liss's DONE

have beth try and fail multiple times to reduce her screen time DONE

need a solid lead-up to beth being wild and carefree. why is she so open with liss all of a sudden? need a backstory for that to make sense. ACTUALLY IT WORKS BECAUSE BETH IS BANGING JULIE'S DRUM SET PRIOR TO THAT

beth and liss need to TALK somewhere. beth calls liss and says she's gonna call again so that needs to happen. the convo needs to include fauna sounds being annoying to beth and something that would lead into them mutually pining in taos. DONE

need a carefree 12yo somewhere IN EAGLE NEST

maybe have liss show beth how to forage?? and then have them can the findings??? i like that idea. look more into that. DONE

why is slug comfortable in taos now MAGGIE ISN'T THERE ANYMORE

need a convo about body image between beth and liss so them examining themselves in the mirror makes sense. DONE i made it that scene where i stole from my own fanfic of deb and gerri

have beth buy a dumb phone but still use her computer for SPARING social media scrolling. we find the balance in this house. DONE

build up the need for beth to escape to taos?? maybe a series of shopping hauls???? DONE something where liss takes beth's phone and beth has an addict reaction. DONE

liss does laundry and gets weird looks maybe?? and that's what prompts her meltdown over not being enlightened??? idk figure that out. she needs to have a meltdown and know she's being hypocritical and beth needs to make that discovery in front of liss and tell her she's put two and two together. DONE

i dont think beth would so easily forget about liss. make her contact liss or smth. or maybe thats why she goes back to taos. incorporate something to do with the fauna sounds and how they're irritating so liss will have something to be proud of when beth's armor starts to fall. DONE

beth goes back to stay in taos with julie bc julie doesnt own a screen ????? something to do with julie and screens. BECAUSE SHE TRIES TO REDUCE HER SCREEN TIME WITH NO SUCCESS SO SHE DECIDES TO CUT IT OUT ENTIRELY AND THE BEST PLACE TO DO THAT IS JUILE'S DONE

beth needs to try and block out animal sounds IN FRONT OF FELICITY so that moment between them on the patio isn't out of nowhere SHE MENTIONS HATING THEM WHILE TALKING TO LISS IN BETWEEN TRIPS TO TAOS DONE

why are there no photos of anyone but bobby dean BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T WANT ANYONE TO GET CLOSE FOR FEAR THEY'LL LEAVE LIKE BOBBY DEAN ALMOST HAS

more of beth comparing herself to what she sees online / more comments on her life / figure out how stella plays into all that STELLA IS THE VOICE OF REASON

beth was a lively 12 yr old so make that come back MAYBE ALREADY DONE WITH THE DANCING AND CAREFREE NATURE GIRL MOMENTS

cut out some of the beth/julie shenanigans ACTUALLY NO I'M KEEPING THEM I LIKE THEM I THINK THEY WORK

why did beth's inner 12 yr old (slug) die BULLYING

A song that represents their childhood Jimmy Buffett - Margaritaville https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrF4nF8VUb4

A song that represents their general outlook on life

A song that would play over a montage of them getting ready in the morning Bob Dylan everybody must get stoned https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D42FPc67lks

A song that represents their happiest moment

A song they would listen to to cheer themselves up Carole King - Beautiful https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y77HwJzOv0o&list=PLG0W27j3Wle3UPTQfPJeys9K2h5q0gUJQ&index=5

A song that represents a struggle in their life https://youtu.be/-tn2S3kJlyU?si=O0e9yOs9MM-aRkHs Billie Eilish - idontwannabeyouanymore

A song they would dedicate to a loved one

A song that represents a current relationship/love interest Paul McCartney - Maybe I’m Amazed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdDPR8GzXy8

A song that represents a past relationship/love interest Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-fcIVTg_mfs

A song they would request a DJ at a party to play

A song that represents their saddest moment Simon & Garfunkel - Bookends https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Gh0zFVc6S8

A song that would play over a training montage

A song they would sing in the shower

#irl post #writing #hot tub on the mesa

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novasdarling · 2 years ago

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I just got an idea what if Feitan came home injured (like after his fight with zazan) and the darling had to take care of him a little (I love your writings by the way ❤️)

Thanks! Sorry, this is so short.

Tending To a Wound

TW: Past kidnapping, Wounds Mentioned, Stockholm Syndrome Setting in, Gender Neutral.

He had been gone far longer than usual. Feitan told you the longest he’d be away was only a week, two weeks if things went badly. Yet, here you were three weeks later waiting for him. It wasn’t like Feitan to be so late without any notice. He had even set up a phone for you to communicate. One that he could monitor from his, the only numbers it was allowed to call were his own and a few other troupe members. He would send a text or call if plans changed. However, there was nothing, he didn’t even pick up your calls. The panic that was building was a stark change from how you were when he left. You were upset at him, for kidnapping you and always leaving you alone. Pushing him away, while simultaneously wanting some form of human interaction. Now all you craved was his touch. His conversations. It wasn't right to worry and want him, but you did.

Finally, the door opened, revealing Feitan. Only something was wrong. Walking towards him you noticed one of his arms wasn’t moving like the other. Rather, it wasn’t moving at all.

“Feitan, I-is your arm bro-”

“Get the kit.”

You knew exactly what he was talking about. He kept an extreme first aid kit in the bathroom. It had the normal material, plus more. Material to make a cast, strong medications, materials for stitches. It had it all, considering his profession it was regularly needed. It was a logical choice. Rushing to the bathroom, you grabbed the box and headed back to him. He was seated on the couch. One arm clutching the injured. You sat near him, passing what was needed when he asked. Cleaning products for the wound, wipes, ointment, and bandages. There was nothing you could really do besides helping him with the products or cleaning the wound. It was all you knew how to do.

Your mind began to race as you watched him. It looked back, cuts and broken bones. This could have been the time he didn’t come back. You could have been left to die here in this place. The food would of ran out, you would have starved. It was doubtful that any of his ‘friends’ would come and get you. Even if they did, would they really let you free? No, you knew too much about the Phantom Troupe, you’d be dead either way. The thought made everything worse, you had worried all this time about him. The thought of him not coming home scared you, but you assumed it was the lack of human companionship when he was away. Not that it was from your own desire to live.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I won.”

Feitan needed to prove to you that it didn’t matter that he was injured. Instead, all that mattered was that he won, that he did what he set out to do. He never liked you to think he wasn’t strong, that he couldn’t protect himself. In other words, protect you. It was a matter of pride.

Before you could think, you leaned in and kissed his cheek. It was unexpected for both of you. You had never kissed him willingly. He was the one that initiated the intimacy. Although, as you pulled back. Seeing his shocked expression. You realized this was how things were going to be, you needed him to live. If he left you or died, you'd be nothing. Taking the bandages from his hand, you helped him tend to his wounds. Perhaps he needed you as well in some odd way.

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prettyyoungandbored · 3 years ago

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Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Eleven

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Warning: None

Taglist: dragonballluver, disgraceful-marvel-trash, barikawho, claudiahxrdy , @christianbalefanatic, @librarianafterdark, @rosegxoxo

“They’re planning a public memorial for Gillian,” Demetria announced, setting the newspaper on the kitchen island for Bruce and Alfred to look at. “My guess is they’re gonna have it in the middle of the city during the afternoon like they did for the former mayor last year.”

“The perfect event for him to attack Garcia,” Bruce remarked, setting down his latte cup.

“Do you think he’s going to be...” she pursed her lips as she tried to come up with the correct word. “I wanna say ‘subtle’ but that’s not exactly correct.”

“Considering his method of violence, it won’t be. Then again, his methods do vary.”

She let out a sigh. “I think it’s stupid to have a public funeral considering he’s going to find a way to attack there. I mean, I get they want to do the whole ‘Gotham Strong’ bullshit, but they’re really just putting themselves at risk.”

“Some people don’t let what others fear interrupt their lives,” Alfred pointed out. “Many have continued their lives through plagues and pandemics.”

“I sometimes forget how accustomed people in this city are to violence and murder,” she exhaled softly.

Bruce walked over, wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing her cheek. “It’s still home.”

Demetria pulled out her cell phone from her back pocket. “I’m going to see if Harvey can persuade them to cancel this thing.”

Bruce chuckled. “Good luck.”

“You underestimate my skills, Wayne.” She dialed Harvey’s number, pressing the phone to her ear as it rang.

“This is Harvey Dent, District Attorney for Gotham City. I can’t come to the phone-.”

She let out a sharp “fuck” as she hung up. “Ok, I need to go to his office.”

Bruce’s head perked up. “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea-.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, putting her hands on his. “I can get in there without being noticed. I just need you to trust me on this one, please.”

He glanced over at Alfred, who waved the white flag by turning away from the couple. He looked back at Demetria, who mumbled one last “please” before he gave in.

“Only if I drop you off.”

“I’ll take it.”

As she made her way to the bedroom, she dialed Grace’s number.

“Grace, hey, it’s Demetria. Listen, I need you to do me two huge favors.”

===================================

If running in and out of cars quickly were an Olympic sport, Demetria would hold the gold medal. The second Bruce stopped the car, Demetria ran out. She sprinted toward the side back exit of the building and knocked on the door twice.

The door opened, Hank poking his head out.

“Hank, you’re a lifesaver,” Demetria greeted as the old man let her in.

“For you, anything.” He pointed up the stairs. “You know where you’re going?”

“Always.”

She bolted up the stairs, using any and all energy she could muster. While athleticism was not her strong suit, the urgency of the matter fueled her. By the time she made it to Harvey’s floor, the pain in her legs and stomach became a reminder that she needed to workout more.

She paused for a moment, catching her breath and letting out a couple “Oh fuck”s and “shit”s as she tried to gain whatever composure she could without wasting any tine. When she was able to muster just enough to get her to Harvey’s office, her pace picked up.

She burst through the door, her entrance causing Harvey and Mayor Garcia to jump out from their chairs.

“Jesus Demetria!” Harvey snapped.

“You have to postpone the memorial,” she cut him off. She turned to Mayor Garcia. “You can’t do this. Not right now. You’re endangering yourselves and the city.”

Mayor Garcia stood up. “Mrs. Wayne, I can assure-.”

She rolled up her sleeve to reveal her stitches. “This is what he did to me. That same night, he threw Rachel Dawes out the window and killed Gillian and the judge. He will go after you and anyone else just to get to Harvey at any given moment. He’s more strategic than you think he is. I am begging you to wait out. Please.”

Mayor Garcia reached toward her. “I am so sorry for what happened to you, Mrs. Wayne. Truly, I am; however-.”

She stepped back, realizing this man was not going to budge. She turned to Harvey.

“Harvey, c’mon” she pleaded, slamming her hands on his desk. “You know it’s the right thing to do. You of all people know of what he’s capable of. Please.”

Harvey glanced over at Mayor Garcia before lowering his head. Hope built inside Demetria, when Harvey started walking toward her. “Mr. Mayor, please excuse us,” he pardoned.

Her eyes widened. “Harvey.”

He grabbed Demetria’s arm and led her out the door, slamming it from behind. He let her go, causing her to stumble back.

“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again!” he seethed. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I could ask you the same thing! Ever since you’ve gotten this job you’ve been so power hungry-.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re Caesar. You’re never giving up the power.”

Harvey let out a sharp scoff. “I’m Caesar? Really?”

“You took an oath to protect the city and its citizens. This memorial will put everyone in danger. You, the mayor, Rachel-.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he barked, pointing a finger in her face. He took a step forward. “You should take cues from your fiancé when it comes to dealing with matters city and just look the other way.”

His words knocked her out, her mouth hanging open. The man in front of her was no longer the Harvey she loved and adored. Instead, he was a stranger who bore resemblance to her best friend.

She shoved him viciously. “Fuck you Harvey!”

==========

Demetria went against Bruce’s wishes and decided to take a detour home in order to cool off. She didn’t want him getting upset or even involved in her and Harvey’s argument as it would only complicate matters even more.

She put on a baseball cap and sunglasses, blending in with everyone else in the city. She was grateful for the sunglasses that covered tears of anger and disappointment.

The Joker had managed to destroy more than the city and its residents. He took her fiancé’s sanity and her best friend’s moral compass. And for what? What was this psychopath’s endgame?

She went to a nearby bodega, figuring she’d grab a drink before calling a cab. As she made her way to the back of the bodega to grab a drink from the fridge in the back.

Picking out a peach Snapple, her eyes turned to find a grey tabby sprawled out on the beer boxes. She gave it a small smile and reached her hand out to pet it.

Stroking the top of its head, Demetria was able to smile as the cat’s purrs soothed her anger.

It reminded her of college when she and Harvey would pick up drinks for parties at bodegas. Harvey would tease her for trying to make the bodega cat love her.

“It’s gonna scratch you if you keep annoying it,” he told her.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she reached her hand toward the orange cat. The car hissed, causing Demetria to utter a “Jesus Christ!” as she stumbled back. Harvey burst into laughter.

She missed her best friend, wondering how long it had been since they spent any time together. Her heart weighed heavy as she realized that maybe their friendship wasn’t as strong as she’d thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a loud voice outside declare, “7 a.m.! This is where you need to be!”

She looked up to see a large group of Gotham’s cops gathering as their captain spoke to them.

“If you are even five minutes late to the memorial tomorrow, you will receive a write up,” he went on. “Do I make myself clear?”

Realizing what this meant, Demetria wandered around the store, eyeing around a security camera. Just when she was about to give up, she went to the register where it was on the shelves where the cigarettes were.

She smiled.

Gotham really needs to update its security camera system, she thought.

=================================================

The Next Day...

“Bruce, where’s my laptop?” Demetria asked as she searched through the desk drawers in the Batcave.

“I disposed of it,” he replied as he threw on his leather jacket.

She shot up. “You did what?!”

“From now on, I want you using this system,” he told her, motioning to his set-up. “It’s safer than your set up. Besides, I know you can handle it.”

“Yeah, babe, that’s not the issue here.” She folded her arms across her chest. “ I told you I needed it to get access to the bode-.”

“Screen 1, top left.” He quickly kissed her cheek.

She looked up to see the bodega. “Well, at least you listened to me.” She turned to him. “You wiped out the computer?”

“Not a trace left.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ve checked all the databases,” Bruce told Alfred as he began to make his way out. “There are four possibles. Cross-reference the addresses. Look for a hard side, overlooking the parade.”

“Try Melvin and White,” Demetria suggested, as she took a seat in one of the chairs. Her eyes met the computer screen where the bodge camera was. The officers stayed in place, ready to march.

Bruce turned to her as he rolled out his motorcycle. “Any sign yet?”

“No, they’re just about to leave any minute.”

“Keep watch.”

“You got it.”

“She’s right!” Alfred called out, looking at another screen. “Melvin and White. 1502 Randolph Apartments.”

Once Bruce was gone, Alfred turned to Demetria. “How'd you know?”

“That’s where the GCN media truck is.” She eyed him. “They always park there when covering events and there’s always police presence there protecting the van. The cops assigned to protect the van are fairly useless.”

She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV to GCN’s coverage of the funeral. Her eyes reverted to the bodega where she saw the officers march. “Any way, you can zoom in?”

Alfred pressed a couple of button and the camera zoomed in. Her eyes followed every office possible.

“Nothing yet unless he’s extremely good at blending in,” she mumbled.

“Are you suggesting he might be posing as one of the officers?” Alfred questioned.

“It’s one of my beliefs.”

Her eyes turned to the GCN coverage where the camera focused on Harvey taking a seat on the podium alongside Rachel, Commissioner Gordon and a couple other city officials. Her heart sank, their spat from yesterday playing over in her mind.

She didn’t tell Bruce about it, not wanting him to get upset over it. Throughout the night, her eyes went to her phone hoping and praying for two simple words. Two words that showed he didn’t mean what he said. Two words to make it all go away.

Nothing came.

She moved her eyes back to the bodega to find the ally empty. She sighed and turned to Alfred. “Anything from Bruce yet?”

“Not yet. Now, we sit and wait.”

She stood up. “I’m not waiting.” She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her back jean pocket. She unraveled it, revealing the city of Gotham. She grabbed pen and began marking several streets.

“City officials are taking the same route they did for the former mayor’s funeral. That means police are following the same safety protocols. The department will have police trucks in four intersections in the event something happens.” Her fingers pointed to the four dots. “We need to find cameras in these areas. If The Joker’s not there, at least his friends will be.”

“I thought you booked guests for shows?” Alfred questioned.

She made a face. “They had me do a lot of stupid shit that was above my pay grade.”

Alfred returned his gaze back to the computer.

“Which intersection first?”

“West 80 and 79th.”

She turned to see him type. The camera revealed nothing. Not even a police truck. “Try 65th and 64th.”

He typed and the camera came up with the intersection. Still nothing. “51st and 52nd”

Once again, disappointment. “The fuck is wrong with these guys?” she mumbled. “I would’ve though they’d been there.” She then eyed 70th and 71st.”

“Ok try-.”

She then heard a popping sound. Both her and Alfred looked up to see Gordon on the floor the podium floor, his body on top of Mayor Garcia. The camera dropped the ground, scattered feet running around.

“What the fuck happened?” Demetria asked, her stomach dropping.

The camera cut back to Alicia in the newsroom. “We apologize to our viewers for the disturbing video,” she reported. “As was shown, shots were fired during the funeral service, one of the bullets aimed at Mayor Garcia. It’s unclear if the mayor was hit as Gotham City Commissioner James Gordon jumped in front to protect him. We are trying to get a hold of Mike and our crew on the scene-.”

Demetria pulled out her phone and began dialing Harvey’s number. Her heart rate picked up, stomach in tight knots. Her mind flew in a million directions as the phone rang slowly.

“Please pick up, please pick up,” she begged.

“You’ve reached-.”

She hung up and tried calling Rachel, only to be greeted with another voicemail. Hot tears fell down her cheek as she tried Harvey again.

After hearing the voicemail greeting for the seventh time....she went to hang up when she saw Rachel calling.

“Rachel, oh my god!”

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” she assured calmly. “I got out of there as soon as I can. I’m headed back to the office.”

“Where’s Harvey?”

“He took off. He’s fine, but he took off. He told me to let you know he was ok.”

She exhaled, relief washing over her. “Ok...please get home safe and text me or Bruce-.”

“I’m going back to the office. Tell Bruce I’m ok, will you?”

“Of course. Text me when you get there.”

She hung up and turned to Alfred, sniffling. “Rachel’s fine. Harvey’s fine. I’ll wait for Bruce to get back so-.”

Her eyes turned to the screen where she saw the lower third bar read: BREAKING NEWS: GOTHAM CITY COMMISSIONER JIM GORDON KILLED IN SHOOTING.

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman #bruce wayne imagine #Christian Bale #christian bale x reader #batman x reader #batman imagine #the dark knight #the dark knight fanfiction #batman #batman fanfiction #the joker

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patchofsunlight · 4 years ago

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Hands | Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Bakugou learned from a young age to keep his hands to himself, even when his entire body longed for touch and his eyes filled with tears at the loss of a comforting habit.

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, angst, touch starved bakugou!!, kind of a character study? i think about him a lot, one kiss, cursing, consensual hand holding (PFFFT), mitsuki fucking sucks but what’s new

I hope you like this!! please remember feedback is always appreciated and all that. thank you for reading!! sorry if it sucks LMAO I DID MY BEST AND I KINDA LIKE IT

When he was a child, before he even cared about quirks or rankings or strength, Bakugou Katsuki loved holding hands.

No one knew exactly why, but that was just something he liked. He would hold Izuku’s hand while they talked and ran around the neighborhood, he would take his teacher's hand in his ever so softly whenever he walked over to their desk to ask a question. Katsuki would latch onto his dad with the most loving, tiny grip he could muster, and he would even interlace pinkies with his mom when she was having a good day and didn’t deem his manners “too soft”, “too weak”, “too foolish”. Those were nice days in the Bakugou household.

Bakugou Katsuki was five years old when he had his heart broken for the first time. It was a few weeks after his quirk manifested and he was just so excited to play hero (with a quirk, this time!) alongside his friends after school that he didn’t even hesitate before grabbing Izuku’s hand exactly like he always did, jumping up and down with energy and happiness, rambling about how he was gonna be the number one hero one day — until Izuku screamed, pulling his hand away with a painful expression. Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows, confused at his best friend’s antics, and then he saw it: the raw, burned flesh of his palm.

Katsuki had hurt his best friend.

It’s very easy to fix objects, his dad used to tell him while stitching up one of his ripped shirts, you just get a bit of glue or yarn and you put it back together, a smile graced his lips at the feeling of his son taking his hand immediately after he let go of the sewing needle, but people are a lot harder to patch up, Katsu. People can’t be fixed, sometimes.

He wasn’t exactly sure of when he started shoving his hands inside his pockets, when he started opening doors with his feet and touching people with his shoulders to get their attention. It took him a while to understand that that first occasion wasn’t an accident, and that controlling his quirk when he got too excited or just overly happy was too hard and the security he got from all those tender touches he so eagerly searched from everyone in his life wasn’t worth the risk. The best thing Katsuki could do, for himself and for others, was to keep his hands to himself, even if they felt cold and empty and his big red eyes filled with tears at the loss of such a comforting habit.

He told himself it didn’t matter. You’d have to overgrow that over time, anyway, his mom reminded him at some point. Such childish, silly bullshit. Only softies hold hands, Katsuki, and we both know you’re not a softie.

It was easy to pretend he didn’t miss it. After a few years, the lack of touch was simply another part of his life he consciously chose to ignore, another longing he conditioned himself not to think about. It wasn’t like many people noted his abrupt change in behavior either — there were other things about him that were much more worthy of attention than that, like his killer quirk and quick brain, like his determination and ambition. Who cared about the fact that little Bakugou Katsuki didn’t want to hold hands anymore? Who cared about the fact that little touchy and clingy Bakugou Katsuki now barely touched others?

Such childish, silly bullshit. Only softies hold hands, Katsuki, and we both know you’re not a softie.

He met her during his second year at UA. Y/N was mostly quiet, but still friendly and hardworking, fighting hard for her place as the number one student in Class 2-B. A project involving the two classes put them as partners, and project meetings soon became sparring sessions that turned into study group that led to study dates and then real dates and, by the beginning of his senior year, Katsuki had gotten himself a girlfriend.

He wasn’t certain if she noticed the way he purposely kept his hands out of reach when they walked side by side, or if she ever saw how he always made sure his palms were pointing away from her skin whenever they hugged or cuddled. He didn’t think anyone would ever pay enough attention to him to the point of perceiving his hesitancy. It didn’t matter that Bakugou had gained complete control of his quirk, it didn’t matter that he still felt his skin and his hands tingling with the urge, the craving for touch — the satisfaction wasn’t worth the risk, not the stupid satisfaction he didn’t even need. Such childish, silly bullshit. Bakugou Katsuki was doing very well with letting go of old customs, no doubt.

But Y/N noticed. God, of course she did — she noticed all the longing gazes, all the small flinches. She noticed how he never let his hands touch hers and at first it made her worried. Didn’t he want to touch her? Had she done something wrong? Her boyfriend wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, even though he had been putting in the effort to talk to her whenever he felt a bit under the weather or bothered.

However, this seemed like a bigger problem, like something he would never speak of unless she brought it up. It seemed deeper.

“Katsu?”

He lifted his scarlet eyes from the book in his hands and turned them to her sitting figure. They were both on his bed, despite curfew starting in less than an hour and the knowledge they shouldn’t be alone in his dorm. To be honest, Aizawa was quite used to watching the Class B girl sneak out of his student’s room every other night, wearing one of his many hoodies and those shorts that she always left in his closet. As long as they weren’t causing him any trouble, Eraserhead didn’t cause them any trouble, either.

“Yeah?” his voice was clearly tired after a day full of training and studying, a hint of sleepiness dripping from his tone.

“How come you never let me hold your hand?”

Katsuki froze on the spot, feeling his heart pick up its pace until it was beating so loud he could hear it by his ear, throbbing. He gulped harshly, sweat immediately gathering up on his hands from his own anxiety. She had noticed?

“What do you mean?” he tried to laugh calmly, but his chuckle sounded forced and nervous. He put the book away.

“You never let me hold your hand,” Y/N’s cheeks were tinted red with shyness. She had been pondering on how to talk to him about this for days now, yet seeing him so flustered made her surprisingly tense. “You avoid touching me with your hands in general, actually,” her chuckle sounded as forced and nervous as his, “is… Is there something wrong? Would you feel better if I stopped touching you so much? Does it make you uncomfortable? Because I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Katsu. You can talk to me about things like that, you know it.”

He couldn’t get himself to answer, unable to move or truly process her words. He really thought he had been slick, huh? He really thought she’d never notice, he really thought she’d never care. How would she feel if he told her he was afraid to hurt her, that he was afraid he would lose control of his quirk and burn her somehow, like he had done with Izuku all those years ago? Would she think he was childish and silly, too? Such childish, silly bullshit, Bakugou Katsuki scared of holding hands with his girlfriend, scared of touching her and holding her like she deserved to because what if it went wrong? What if he fucked it up? The best thing Katsuki could do, for himself and for others, was to keep his hands to himself, even if they felt cold and empty and his big red eyes filled with tears at the loss of such a comforting habit.

People are a lot harder to patch up, his father told him. He didn’t want to be guilty of screwing this up, didn’t want to destroy the relationship he cherished so, so much. Would she think he was weak for being this reluctant? Would she laugh at his stupid antics and tell him to grow up and stop being such a softie? Would she get mad? Should he even tell her?

“Katsu?” her soft voice relaxed his muscles like it habitually did, and he sighed deeply before meeting her worried eyes. “Talk to me?”

Y/N had always had this amazing talent of making him feel at ease. Ever since they met, so many months ago, she had this blinding quality that urged him to be quieter, calmer, less defensive. She didn’t even have to try tearing down his walls — they simply melted away when she smiled at him for the first time. He had never really talked about this issue with anyone else before, and he didn’t know how to even start, but Y/N made him want to try. Still, the words felt heavy on his tongue.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered so quietly that she leaned in to hear him, furrowing her eyebrows in disagreement.

“Come on, Katsu. Please?”

He inhaled deeply. She stared patiently, waiting for him to organize his own thoughts enough to explain the thousands of things running through his mind. When his eyes met hers again, he felt warm all over. Katsuki loved the way she looked at him — there was no fear, no ulterior interest, no nonsensical admiration. She looked at him and she saw… Katsuki. Just that. And, strangely, that seemed enough.

The boy averted his eyes from hers. “I don’t want to hurt you with my quirk.”

Oh. Oh? That, well, that was definitely unexpected. The crease in Y/N’s eyebrows deepened.

“Why would you ever hurt me, Katsuki?”

The future hero lifted his head to look at her instantly, confusion swimming in his red gaze as he answered, “I mean by accident, Y/N. I—,” he almost stopped himself right there, yet her expression caused him to continue, “I really liked holding hands when I was younger, you know? With my friends, teachers, family, and all that,” his ears were bright pink with embarrassment that subsided when she smiled softly at the new information, “it made me feel safe or whatever. Then I—then I got my quirk and, sometimes, when I held hands with people it just—,” he exhaled heavily before letting out a sad, defeated laugh, “I have burned a nasty amount of people. I don’t want to do that with you, too. I’d never want to hurt you.”

Katsuki was hardly a vulnerable person. He tried to be, yes, because he wanted this to work and for it to work he had to meet her halfway somehow during certain moments, but it was so, so difficult. It was so difficult for him to open up and talk about one of his biggest insecurities of all time, about one of the things he most craved for. He didn’t want to scare her away.

“Katsuki.” Her tone was serious and she stared at him with such intensity that he lost the ability to breathe for a second. “I understand where you’re coming from, but that’s bullshit.”

Bakugou blinked. “What?”

“You’d never hurt me, okay? I know you wouldn’t. I trust you, Katsu, so much. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you about this before,” she bit her lip thoughtfully while he could only stand there, dumbfounded with her reaction.

Out of all his imagined worst-case scenarios, this was a surprise.

“Katsu,” the girl called to him again, smiling lovingly in that way that made his world spin in its axis when they first met, “do you trust me too?”

“Of course I do,” there was no hesitation this time. Of course he did.

“Can I touch your hands?”

Once again, he froze on the spot. She looked at him expectantly.

People are a lot harder to patch up. She was trying, though. She was really trying to fix the ripped pieces of himself he tried to bury under anger and seclusion, pretending there was nothing wrong and that this was just how things were supposed to be.

Bakugou looked down at his own hands, studying them carefully. With a last shaky exhale, he nodded.

She took his hands in hers, letting her fingers interlace with his cautiously so as to not startle him. Her thumb caressed his palm ever so softly and he fought the instinctive flinch that threatened to push her away. After years without it, this type of touch felt too intimate, too close, too new.

He liked it.

He smiled.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” Y/N smiled back, grinning when he took it upon himself to squeeze her hand in appreciation. “You’re fine, Katsuki. I like holding your hand.”

His smile grew wider and he leaned in to kiss her, living for the feeling of her fingers squeezing his while their lips moved slowly. They had kissed a million times before, yet this felt different. If given the chance, Katsuki probably wouldn’t mind being stuck in that moment forever, with her lips on his and his hands on hers — Y/N had melted away all his walls and defenses from the start, and he was incredibly glad. He was incredibly glad for her.

His heart was beating fast inside his chest, especially when she pulled one of his hands up slightly to let it cup her face. A shiver went down his spine as he felt the curve of her jaw under his fingertips, the softness of her skin touching his. When there was not any air left in their lungs, they parted from each other. She turned her face to kiss his palm affectionately and his entire face seemed to burst with love and gratitude.

“I like holding your hand, too.”

She giggled, and, for the first time, Bakugou felt like it’d be alright if he decided not to keep his hands to himself. Such childish, silly bullshit, waiting around when he could’ve been holding hands this whole time.

A/N: so that was it!!! i hope you liked it!!! hehe hello

taglists

all: @kiedhara @wingeddemonclub @thedemigodsarealivebitch @ray-ofmoonlight

also tagging @tsuhika bc i am: a fan and you gave us permission to tag you in shit SOO KJSFBIUEFB LMAO SORRY

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader

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leetotters · 3 years ago

Note

could you do a peter parker x reader where she can control her hair? and it can be any length she wants but prefers the length mid thigh and its and its unbreakable? so like fury asks if anyone in the team knows anyone they could recruit and he suggests her and all the avengers go meet her at a tailors shop she owns while she's cleaning and she shows her powers? please and if you do it, thank you

note: i hope you meant the powers to be reader's hair bc that's what i used it as lmao. also i used the gif because this is kinda how rocket got smacked with your hair. thank you for requesting<3

warnings: kissing, curse words

peter parker x reader

summary: something like request^

The swooshing of the broom and the melody of a random song played through the speakers of your tailor shop while you swept the floor. The small lengths of wool and silk thread tangling on the broom bristles as you scooped it up. The racks and unwanted pieces of cloth laid on the marble floor making you let out a sigh of exhaustion.

A knock on your glass showcase window made you jump. The movement making your hair disentangle from the neat twist plait. You lowly cursed as your hair touched the floor, the belly laugh behind the window noted you that your bestfriend was the person responsible for your little mishap.

"Couldn't you ring the bell like a normal person!" You annoyingly exclaimed, closing your eyes and controlling your hair to stop at mid-thigh length. Your preferred length. You picked your broom up and teasingly shook your head when Peter told you open the door. "I think I'm gonna leave you outside tonight, just for scarring the life out of me and my hair."

You resumed your previous activity, counting the numbers in your head until you heard the lock on your ceiling window open. The sound of Peter's displeased voice and childish complains filling your storage room.

"Can't keep me outside Y/L/N, I'll always find a way." He proudly dusted his shirt, taking the scoop from your hand while you grabbed the racks and placed them in your extra closet.

"Thanks to your super spidey powers." You teased, thanking him when he returned the dustpan. "Anyway, why are you here?" You inquired, curious why your best friend decided to stop by your little, tailor shop.

"Well I- wait," Peter scrunched his brows. "Can I not drop by to visit my bestfriend?" He sassed, hand on his hip giving you a quizzing look.

"Oh please Peter, you only stop by when you need something." You remarked, returning a pointed stare before you began to reorganize the formal wear you were currently adapting. "And that something is usually to stitch those huge ass holes in your spidey suit."

Peter didn't respond immediately, because you were right. He did stop by your shop for you to mend his suit. Because one, he loved your company. And two, you were the only person who knew his secret other than the avengers, Ned and MJ.

"Fine! fine!," He huffed. Not so discreetly looking over his shoulder as if he was giving someone a signal. "You're right-"

"I always am Parker." You boasted, using the ends of your hair to move the sewing machine and pins to there rightful place.

"Yeah- okay, but I really came to tell you life changing news!" Peter amazed, a gasp leaving his lips when he saw the movement of your hair. It never ceased to amaze him how your hair was basically magical. Being able to move stuff with your command, grow at whatever length you wanted, heal others and even be unbreakable. Epic, really.

"And what is this so great news-"

The words didn't leave your lips properly as your tailor shop entry door was suddenly yanked open. Your door handle and lock was surely broken, at the loud eerie sound of a metal crunching noise.

"Get out of my way Tony!" Stephen scowled.

"Shut it wizard dude, I'm the leader here not you." Tony rolled his eyes, removing the pair of expensive shades from his face.

"Since when? Fury sent all of us Tony." Rhodey said, dusting his shoulder.

"I wonder how much she makes in this shop, not much I bet." Steve scrunched his face, eyeing your little shop.

"Did we really have to bring Groot?" Clint groaned, flicking baby Groot off of his shoulder when he tried to grab one of his arrows.

"He's a baby, Clint. We can't leave him at the compound alone." Gamora remarked, tickling Groot's tree stomach as she picked him up.

"Okay if she does joins us, we will have to ask her to design new clothing! Look at this!." Wanda marveled, showing off the mid thigh silk dress.

"I should get this for the recruiting party Tony is planning for her." Natasha thought out loud.

"What the fuck!" You yelled, glaring at the talkative avengers standing before you. Looking mighty and high as always. "I just fixed that lock dude!" You whined, sighing gallingly when you saw the chunk of metal by Thor's feet. "You're repairing my lock, hammer man."

"Ah yes, I will have the Man of Iron restore your brittle lock Lady.."

"Y/N."

"Lady Y/N." Thor smiled.

Peter let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his ear and looking at you sheepishly. "Surprise?"

"Surprise my ass Parker! Why are the avengers in my tailor shop and why is this raccoon trying to cut my hair?!" You moved your hair with your mind, smacking the animal avenger with your y/h/c locks.

"Woah, did she just-" Bucky froze, mouth agape.

"Control her hair to hit Rocket, yeah." Peter Quill laughed at his co guardian misfortune.

"Okay her hair is very much un- unbreakable," Rocket coughed out, holding his stomach. "And strong."

"I am Groot." ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈᵃˢˢ

"You can not say that word Groot, but I do agree with you." Gamora smirked, finger bumping the cute tree.

You were mad, really fuming. You spent two hours cleaning and by the looks of it you'll have to do it a second time. So yeah, you wanted an explanation.

"Okay don't get upset." Peter spoke calmly. Holding his hand out and gesturing towards the superheroes infront of you, who had the same impressed expression on their fanciable faces.

"This is the life changing thing I was talking about," He paused with a smile. "You're joining the Avengers!"

"What?" You were officially bamboozled, with everything. One minute you were simply tidying your shop and next, half of the avengers are occupying your shop. Quarreling and interfering with your stuff.

And not to ignore the fact that your best friend just blurted out four questionable words to you.

"You're going to be an Avenger, Rapunzel." Tony repeated, strutting to you with short steps. "If you want to of course, sidey here told us your hair power thingy and though I was a little iffy about it at the beginning, it looks like your power is truly powerful." Tony patted your shoulder. Looking over at Rocket, who was being assisted by Drax.

"As much as I would like to say it's an honor to be in your presence," You said. Controlling your hair to grow back at mid-thigh. "Why?" You faced Peter, inquiring him with the plain word.

Peter shrugged, giving you a bashful look. "Fury asked if we knew anyone who could be recruited, and without thought I suggested you." He sighed, feeling completely awful for the situation he put you in.

"And I know, I should've asked you first but I know how much you adore helping others and the money here isn't enough for your college tuition Y/N." Peter ignored the awkward silence in the room that was loud seconds ago before continuing. "I thought this would be a way to assist you."

You physically softened at his words. He was too kind and caring for his own good. You could never be upset with this idiot boy.

"I'm sorry-"

Peter didn't finish. His apology was muffled by your lips pressed deeply to his frowny pink ones. He was slighty awestruck, the feeling of your lips were breathtaking. He swore he could kiss you forever. His hands found your waist pulling you in closer, even including a little tongue movement inside your mouth.

As if reality kicked in, a teasing 'ohhh' sound came from a few avengers. Causing you to shyly pull away from Peter, who loudly groaned at the lost contact of your plump lips.

"Looks like Spidey is getting a little too handsy." Sam quipped, chuckling when Peter told him to shut it and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

"So is this a yes?" Peter hopefully asked.

You feigned ponder. "Yes."

Peter pecked your lips, mumbling a short 'yay' attempting to deepen the kiss.

"That's enough smooching spiderling." Steve uttered, obviously not enjoying the PDA.

A beeping sound came from Tony's watch altering the team about an upcoming mission.

"Looks like we gotta go," Tony spoke with a serious voice before turning to you. "Glad to have you on the team Rapunzel."

"It's Y/N." You corrected.

"Okay, I'll send some people by tomorrow to pick up your stuff. See ya soon, Rapunzel." Tony winked, exiting your tailor shop.

"He's not gonna give that up." Peter laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I oddly don't mind." You responded, waving bye to the others. "Thank you Pete."

Peter grinned. "I didn't quite hear that, say it a little louder baby."

"Thank you mister Parker." You kissed his lips, playfully rolling your eyes. But you weren't that distracted to miss Thor stealthily trying to leave your shop.

"Hey hammer God! Don't forget to fix my lock."

"I will have Stark right on it Lady Rapunzel!"

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter fanfic #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #avengers x reader #peter parker x you #peter x reader #avengers x you #lee writes short fics

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

The Perfect Fit | Bucky Barnes x reader (part 2)

(part 1)

summary: after getting fitted by you, bucky’s going to try on the custom-made suits he’s bought. unless he makes his move now, he may not get to see you again, and he can’t let that happen.

word count: 6.5k

warnings: smut!!, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), a little d/s energy, mirror kink, stomach bulge kink, slight pain kink?, creampie kink, pussy spanking, light bondage, bucky being jealous

Bucky had a bone to pick with Tony, which was usually true but this wasn’t work-related for once. It wasn’t hard to find him in the same place he’d seen him last— eating his lunch in the kitchen, with Sam nearby chowing down on lo mein with a spring roll.

“Hey lefty, what’s cracking?” Tony greeted, mouth full but talking loudly anyways.

"I went down to that tailor you recommended—" Bucky began, but Tony was quick to interrupt.

"You went there? Dude, it's a really nice place, you can just call and she'll come to you instead, way more convenient."

"So now you say 'she'?"

Realization dawned on Tony’s expression. "Ahh, I get it. You're not used to a female tailor. Adds a little spice to getting fitted, huh?" he grinned, elbowing Bucky playfully.

Bucky’s throat felt a little dry when he heard that. "Don't tell me that's why you use her…"

"Hey now, I'm not a creep, I use her cause she's the best, and those house calls are great for discretion— you know, being a celebrity and all. The eye candy part is just gravy."

"Gravy candy sounds disgusting," Sam chimed in, missing the point entirely.

"Yeah, well, she mentioned some stuff that sure made you sound like a creep."

"Okay, well, you can't blame me for getting caught staring when I'm surrounded by fucking mirrors. Makes it hard to be stealthy."

"You could try not staring,” Bucky suggested flatly.

"Is that what you did?"

Tony smirked when Bucky failed to reply immediately. "Okay, so it's easier said than done,” Bucky admitted with a frown, “but still, I hope these house calls were strictly professional."

“What’s it to you, man? I think somebody’s jealous,” Tony purred.

“What? No, it’s not that,” Bucky denied.

“You love her,” Tony sing-songed, completely ignoring Bucky. “You looooooove her!”

"You are so immature," Bucky rolled his eyes, even though his heart was racing and he was pretty sure he was blushing.

"No, it's good for you! She's a catch, you're all brooding and stuff— maybe she can melt the Winter Soldier's frozen heart, hm?"

Sam laughed heartily. "Stark, you read too many comic books."

"You're saying you don't wanna see Icy Hot here shoot his shot with my tailor?" Tony asked, turning his attention towards Sam.

Sam pondered that, much to Bucky's dismay. "Depends. How hot is she?"

"Mega," Tony smirked confidently. "Legs for miles, and she wears these skirts that make her ass look—"

"I think I've heard enough," Bucky groaned. "I'm leaving. And don't ask when I'm going to see her again," he instructed, interrupting Tony just as he'd opened his mouth to speak, "because I won’t tell you.”

As Bucky left, he could hear Tony calling out into the hall: “But I’d be such a great wingman!”

Truth be told, Bucky had put off mastering the use of his smartphone. It wasn’t just that new technology made him feel old, but that he knew nobody would be calling or messaging him anyways; if the phone didn’t work, he would spare himself the embarrassment of waiting up for nothing.

But once he knew you were going to call? Suddenly, he was motivated to figure the sucker out.

A few hours later and now all he had to do was stare at it to make sure he wouldn’t miss you. Luckily, you didn’t make him wait too long. He recognized the number and decided to let it ring a few times before picking up, so it would seem like he had other things to do besides talk to you.

“Hello?” Bucky asked when he answered, so it would seem like he had other people calling him besides you.

You introduced yourself so formally that he was a little afraid that all that fun energy between you two would be gone. Thankfully, once he asked what you were calling about, you were back to being cheery and casual again.

“I was just calling to schedule when I could come by with your new suits!” you explained, sounding chipper.

His fingertips were a little tingly just from hearing you talk, nervousness making him antsy (in a weirdly good way). “I know you said it’s a one-person operation,” he responded smarmily, “but I figured you would outsource delivery.”

You scoffed, though it sounded more amused than irritated. “It’s not just delivery, I have to check the fit and make sure everything’s exactly to your liking.”

“Oh, well, I’m free all day tomorrow— and I think you already know my address.” Was it too forward? Too obvious? And why did Bucky spend half the time when he was talking to you second-guessing himself?

“Yes, Stark Tower is a relatively common destination for me. If he doesn’t mind us using it, Tony has a dressing room with plenty of mirrors so you can get a good look. But, I’d be happy to just go up to your quarters if that’s easier.”

He was not at all ready for you to see his room. No way he could clean it enough in the next twelve hours; and even then, lots of the team had made fun of how empty and plain it was, so he knew it would just make you think he was boring.

“I’m sure Tony won’t mind you using his dressing room, but he might mind me using it,” Bucky chuckled.

“Well, if he makes a fuss I’ll be sure to set him straight,” you decided confidently. Somehow, imagining you cursing out Tony was almost hotter than imagining you doing anything else. “Be sure to bring down your dress shoes so you get the full look and everything.”

“Uhhh…” he trailed off as he scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if he owned anything other than combat boots. “Not sure I still have those, to be honest.”

"Okay, you'll need shoes too,” you noted aloud, your voice a little distant; he figured you were writing things down, which was why you sounded distracted. “What size are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I'll bring a selection tomorrow,” you announced firmly. “And socks, of course. And some watches, maybe? And pocket squares."

"Is that it?" he asked sarcastically.

“Oh right, I’m bringing the ties you picked out, too. I’ll throw in some alternates in case your original choices don’t match the way you were hoping.”

“You really are full-service,” he chuckled.

“I get that a lot,” you replied, a hint of coyness to your tone.

There it was again; that jealousy. He hated it because he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop it either. As much as his mind was completely aware that you were an independent, modern woman capable of handling herself, his heart was equally determined to protect you, and spoil you, and do whatever was necessary to make sure you were safe.

Worse, his gut was less innocent. Mine, it demanded, all mine. Nobody else’s.

He pushed it down and just tried to get through the rest of the call without saying something he’d regret. You confirmed the date and time with him, and he tried not to be too aggressive when he said he was looking forward to it.

He hung up his phone and sighed, staring off into space. Now all that was left to do was wait, and be overwhelmed with anxiety. Thankfully, he was good at the second thing.

"So, what do you think?"

I think you look so damn good from every angle. I think I might spend all my money on suits just to be sure I can see you again. I think you need somebody to love you the way you deserve. I think you’d look like an angel waking up in my bed.

You waved your hand in front of his face for a moment, calling his attention back to reality. “Helloooo?”

Drawn out of his trance, Bucky finally looked in the menagerie of mirrors surrounding him and admired his reflection, amazed by the perfect fit of his first suit. The difference in quality between this and something off the rack was beyond apparent. Most of all, your talent was undeniable. "I think it's beautiful."

You smiled proudly. "Of course it is, but do you like how you look in it?"

"Honestly? I feel a bit… out of place. I'm obviously not classy enough for a suit like this."

"Oh, nonsense," you dismissed.

He frowned, convinced this was all flattery. "No, seriously, this is… maybe I should just wear tactical gear to every event."

"Well, you'd still look good, but you're not always a soldier. Sometimes you're only a man. And every man should own a fine suit."

It was much too profound of a thing to say while you casually straightened his jacket, only to pop out from behind his reflection to smile at him in the mirror.

“Let’s get the next one on you,” you decided, helping him lose the jacket but having him move into a private dressing room to switch trousers and shirts. “I put a turtleneck in there instead of just a regular button-up,” you explained through the door as he changed, “in case you wanted to see it that way.”

Once he’d put it on, he stepped back out and you were looking at him so proudly— well, you were looking at your handiwork with pride, really, but he could pretend it was for him and hope actually impress you that much one day.

“I went with a shawl lapel on this one, as opposed to the last one which was notched,” you explained as you traced the line with your finger. “Spoiler: the next one has a peak lapel. But enough about that one: what do you think of this one?”

“This looks like something my friend Sam would wear,” Bucky decided as he looked at himself in the cranberry suit and black turtleneck. The shoes you’d had him try on with this were intricate as well, with subtle stitching in the leather and a shine so immaculate he could almost see a reflection in them.

“Well, is your friend Sam stylish?” you asked.

“He would certainly say so,” he smirked.

“I’m inclined to agree, because you—” you gave him a thorough glance up and down, so thorough in fact that he felt a bit exposed under your gaze, “—look marvelous.”

“Not pretentious?”

“No, no, it works on you,” you assured, “you’ve got the looks for it.”

“And what looks are those?”

“Um… good? Good looks?”

He definitely remembered a time when that seemed like the obvious answer, because he had relied on being good-looking for a lot of things in life, but that felt very far away now. Maybe it was just that people who didn’t know what he’d done could still think he was good looking, but everyone else saw the evil within beginning to leak out the way that he did.

But you knew what he’d done, didn’t you? You had to. You knew Tony, you were here at the Tower… unless you were intentionally not up-to-date on current events, you must have heard of the Winter Soldier.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you huffed, “as if it’s a big secret or something. You’re obviously very attractive.”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, thanks.” He wanted to return the compliment, but thought it might be inappropriate or rude somehow. You broke the silence quickly as you held up two pocket squares in front of him.

“Which of these do you prefer?” you prompted. He selected the solid gold one, making you smile. “I knew you’d pick that one.”

“How?”

“I dunno, just fits you,” you shrugged as you folded it and gently placed it in his pocket. Even through so many layers, your touch on his chest made his heart flutter. Your fingers brushing over his as you slipped a watch onto his wrist was enough to cause palpitations.

He looked better in this ensemble than he expected. This version of himself looked much more likely to be invited to parties than any other version. If only he actually wanted to go to parties.

You put him in the pinstripe suit last, after putting a few pins in the cranberry suit to indicate minor changes you would make later, and stepped back to ponder your work.

"Hm, unbutton those top two buttons for me?" you requested with a raised eyebrow.

I will if you do, he thought to himself, but silently unbuttoned his own shirt anyway.

"I mean, it definitely works like this, but I wanna see you in a tie. And I've got juuuuust the one," you smiled. Soon you were approaching him with a red paisley tie, and helping him button up his shirt and tying the tie for him— you explained something about how it was a unique knot he likely couldn't do himself, but he was too lost in having you so close to notice. It would be so easy to just reach up and grab your waist, pull you into a kiss, finally tell you how bad he wants you.

Well, it would be physically easy, but it would be very scary. Just imagining it had his heart racing.

“I heard from Tony this morning,” you informed him suddenly, slipping the tie around his neck and popping his collar up for him.

“Really? Is he in need of a wardrobe update?”

“Yes, but he hasn’t realized that yet so that wasn’t what he called about.”

He laughed a little at the jab, though it also made him a little worried what secret opinions you held about his own style (or lack thereof).

“We talked about you, actually,” you added.

“O-oh,” Bucky stammered, “uh, he’s not exactly my biggest fan. So whatever he said probably isn’t true.”

“He said that you have a crush on me,” you replied nonchalantly, not even looking up from your work on his tie.

Bucky gulped, and he knew you saw the bob of his Adam’s apple because you were staring right at his neck.

“Like I said, Tony isn’t a very reliable source,” Bucky replied, but his voice cracked in the middle and he cringed internally.

“I’ll write it off as another one of Tony’s off-color jokes then,” you dismissed, perfecting the knot of his tie and stepping back to observe him. He always felt nervous when you looked at him like that, like he couldn’t hide anything from you.

“What… what did you say, when he told you that?” Bucky asked nervously.

“I asked him what he was smoking and if I could have some,” you laughed. “I thought it was totally impossible— and don’t worry, I didn’t tell him that you got hard when I did your inseam.”

Bucky’s throat became dry at the same moment that his palms got clammy.

“I— um, I was just—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you dismissed quickly, still talking about this all so casually which only made him even more confused, “you’re not the first, it happens.”

“I’m not the first?!”

“Yeah, if anything you were one of the few who didn’t say something creepy about it, which is always appreciated. It’s just a bodily reaction, you can’t control it.”

“Did Tony ever say something creepy?” Bucky pressed, his hands involuntarily tightening into fists— another bodily reaction he couldn’t control.

“You know, Tony said you were really worried that he had been inappropriate with me, or even that he and I had a fling or something,” you added as you stepped back, giving him a quizzical look, “and now it’s sort of sounding like he was right.”

“No, no, it’s not that, I just—”

“Was he right about anything else?” you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“I was being nosy, I’m sorry,” he sighed, “it’s just that… and I know it’s none of my business, but the idea of him and you… it isn’t a pleasant mental image.”

You laughed a little, in a way that made him feel kind of small. “Why not? You know how he is. Definitely has a wandering eye… and occasionally a wandering hand.”

Bucky winced. “I swear, if he ever put his hands on you, I’ll go find him right now and beat him senseless.”

“What if I wanted him to?”

He nearly saw red, but he knew he had no right to be angry. You were a grown adult and he had no ownership over you… he just sort of wished that he did.

“So it’s true then? You and him…?”

“No, Bucky,” you laughed, “it’s not. Nothing’s ever happened between us. I generally don’t get involved with clients like that.”

“Generally? Is there an exception?”

You chewed your lip, seemingly a little thrown off by his question. “Uh, I mean, no— I’ve never been involved with a client, no, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why would you say ‘generally’ then?”

“Uh, I guess I just… I wouldn’t want to rule anything out, that’s all. Never say never.”

And for a moment he almost wondered if you were flirting with him. Certainly not, with him having come across as both a jealous hot-head and a bumbling dweeb who pops a boner faster than a randy teenager, but just for a second the way you looked at him was… questionable.

“I mean, who knows,” you continued, “what if, hypothetically, some gorgeous guy walked into my store one night— a sensitive guy, who made me laugh and put up with me rambling about ties for the better part of an hour— and I was supposed to dress him up when all I wanted to do was undress him?”

Your finger started to trail down his chest lightly, tickling his skin through the dress shirt.

“I wouldn’t want to think he was off-limits just because he’s a customer… right?” you asked quietly, looking up at him and biting your lip.

He was afraid to make the wrong move, but he really really hoped this was flirting.

“I don’t think anyone would object to being dressed or undressed by you,” Bucky responded, hoping he could stay neutral until he was sure what you were talking about.

You chewed your lip, looking away as if you were thinking about something.

"I know I certainly haven't. And wouldn't," he added, feeling the need to say something.

You nodded, placing his tie inside his jacket and seeming happy with your work.

“You know, the fit looks great," you announced, "but I’m a little worried that one of the measurements was wrong. Mind if I do your inseam again?”

His throat was dry all of a sudden, but he responded quickly anyways. "Uh, go ahead…"

You looked up at him as you started to sink to your knees, very slowly. That little move looked real good in the mirror behind you. “Last time I did this, there was something getting in the way, made it difficult to know if I was doing it right…”

"M-my apologies," he whispered.

"Oh no, I'm not complaining," you purred as you slowly began to run your fingers up the side of his leg, keeping searing eye contact until his knees felt a little weak.

When your hand reached the top of his inner thigh, the back of it brushed against his balls and he shivered. Delicately, and so excruciatingly slowly, your hand moved higher and gently rubbed his erection through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

It must have been all the anticipation that made it so intense, made shivers run up his spine every time your hand moved over his length, made his toes curl inside the ridiculously fancy shoes you’d put him in.

“I’m gonna take it out now, okay? I promise I won’t measure you here,” you winked.

"You can if you want," he shrugged, deciding now was the time for feigned confidence if there ever was one. “I mean, if you’re worried about fit…”

You bit your lip, and he was proud to see the effect his words had on you. “I’ll be honest, I am a little worried it won’t fit…” You were quick with his belt, but slow with his button and fly, apparently having more fun teasing him. “Fuck, Bucky,” you groaned softly as you took his cock out.

“Don’t look so excited, doll, you’ll give me an ego,” he purred.

“Can’t help it,” you sighed, “looks delicious.”

You licked a long wet stripe up from the bottom all the way to the tip, making a show of licking up the bead of pre-cum before taking his head into your mouth, and Bucky blinked a few times to be sure that this was actually happening.

"Been wanting to do that since I first saw you," you admitted, grinning as you stroked him right beside your face, which only helped to illustrate how big he was compared to you.

"Dirty girl," he praised with a smirk.

Flirting, he wasn’t so good at. Conversation in any form typically stressed him out. But this? This he was still pretty good at. And he’d never wanted it so bad before.

When you took him in your mouth again, you didn’t stop until you started to gag; he couldn’t stop himself from moaning through his teeth when you did it.

"Look up at me, princess," he instructed softly, grinning when you obeyed quickly. "Now look over there at that mirror. Look how good you look on your knees for me, choking on my cock."

You moaned around him when you made eye contact with your own reflection, and it felt so fucking good he almost lost it right then and there. He held your jaw, almost too tightly, and guided you as your head bobbed on his length. Your mouth was so warm he thought he would burn up— and it only got warmer the deeper he managed to get. God, he was so ready to pump his load right into your throat, but he wanted to do so much more to you first.

In one quick motion, he pushed you off of his cock, pulled you up to face him, and flipped you around, holding you to his chest with the metal arm and letting the flesh one start rubbing your thigh. This way, both of you were looking at the mirror in front of you, and he loved watching you gasp and moan as you felt and watched his fingers move higher and higher.

“I think it’s time to find out if you really are ‘full-service’,” he purred right against your ear, making searing eye contact with you in the reflection. “You’ve seen so much of me, but I haven’t seen nearly enough of you yet. Been daydreaming about what you could be hiding under these tight little skirts.”

As he pulled up the plaid-patterned fabric, he saw that you were wearing white, lacy panties and he groaned deeply.

“What are you wearing these for?” he teased, rubbing along the edge but never getting where you wanted— and he knew you were getting desperate, because your hips were starting to buck up into his hand. “Were you expecting something would happen today, sweetheart?”

“I— I was hopeful,” you stammered; instantly, he slapped you right on your barely-covered pussy, just hard enough to make you yelp and squirm in his grasp.

“You’re so shameless,” he chuckled darkly, “and I love it. I just hope this isn’t your usual routine— acting all innocent and batting your eyes so your clients will fuck you.”

“No, I swear, it’s just you, Bucky,” you whimpered, “there’s nobody else, please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to… to touch me more,” you whispered, as if it was a secret and not patently obvious.

He slipped two fingers underneath the thin fabric, finding your clit right away (not difficult at all with how swollen it was) and rubbing it in gentle circles.

“Oh god,” you sighed, “Bucky…”

WIth his hand on your hips, it wasn’t hard at all to push you back into him so he could rub his aching cock against you.

"What material is this skirt made of?"

"It's a silk blend," you answered breathlessly, "about 30% cotton."

"It's soft," he purred before yanking your skirt up higher and pressing his cock against your ass instead, "but not as soft as you."

Next to go was your blouse, which he tore open to the sound of buttons flying every direction and bouncing off of the mirrors and floors.

"Bucky!" you yelped, but he could see your nipples harden through the lacy white bra. If there was any doubt that you had intended to seduce him today, the matching undergarments dispelled it.

After teasing your nipples between his fingers for a moment, he reached back down between your legs— and when his fingers slipped through your folds and moved down to your opening, he actually moaned just from how wet you are.

"Fucking hell," he growled, "you are drenched, princess. You liked sucking me off that much?"

"Not just that," you clarified, "you look really good in my suits."

He gave you a toothy smile in the mirror, using it to nibble on your ear a bit. "You deserve most of the credit for that," he purred.

"No, no, I don't," you whined, "you'd look sexy in a paper bag, honestly… you turn me on so much, Bucky."

“Did you… think about me? After I left your shop the other night?” he asked playfully, already foreseeing your answer from the way your thighs clenched and your lips let out the subtlest gasp.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“You’re smart enough to know I want you to be more specific than that,” he chuckled.

“I thought about you that night… after I got into bed…” you elaborated slowly, clearly distracted by the way he was moving his fingers: delicately, but with obvious intentionality. “I thought about what it would’ve been like if you had grabbed me and kissed me, shoved me against the wall, fucked me right there on my desk… in front of the glass wall, where anyone could’ve walked by and seen you claim me…”

His cock was throbbing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the image itself or from the knowledge that you’d been fantasizing about it. “Were you touching yourself?” he growled.

“Yes,” you sighed, your thighs starting to visibly shake, your knees bending towards each other in the mirror.

“Show me how,” he demanded. “Show me exactly how you were playing with your needy little pussy while you thought about me.”

Your hand found its place on top of his, your fingers starting to move his to the specific place, guiding his movements to be faster and rougher.

“Oh, I see,” he grinned, “you don’t like to tease yourself, do you? You like to jump right into it, come as many times as you can and rub yourself raw in the process?”

You nodded feverishly, panting and whining and writhing in his grasp.

“You’re so desperate, honey… such a shameless cockwhore for me.”

“For you,” you repeated through your trance, “Bucky, ‘m close… keep touching me, please…”

He kept his thumb on your clit but gently slid one finger inside you, both of you gasping at the sensation (if for different reasons).

“So tight,” he hissed, already pulling it back out, “fuck, and just for one finger…”

“More, please,” you begged mindlessly.

“More? Sure you can take it?”

You bit down on your lip as you nodded, and he pushed a second finger in beside his first. He felt you struggling with it, both in your walls and in the way you winced a little, but you softly begged him to keep going so of course he couldn’t stop. You adjusted quickly, your wetness starting to run down his hand.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, “now, please, can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes you can,” he encouraged, “and you will, cause I need to taste you first.”

Pulling his fingers out of you, he flipped you around again, finally kissing you the way he’d been dreaming of since he first saw you. It was intense but not too dominating— in spite of everything. It was a romantic sort of kiss, maybe too romantic for the situation (that being his cock out and hard and pressed against you, and his fingers covered in your arousal) but perfect nonetheless.

“That’s not what I thought you meant when you said you wanted to taste me,” you giggled when he pulled away.

“No, I meant it the other way,” he smiled, “I just wanted to do that first.”

He picked you up suddenly, making you gasp a bit, but knelt down to lay you on the floor pretty soon after. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he lifted your leg and kissed his way up. He could smell your need, and he worried it would drive him wild before he reached his destination.

Pulling your soaked panties aside, he realized he could probably come just from looking at you. “Such a gorgeous pussy,” he growled his praise, leaning down to plant a few more teasing kisses over the inside of your thighs. Finally, he started with one long lick, just like you had with him, but you weren’t so patient to tolerate it. Nearly instantly your fingers pulled his hair, clearly trying to guide him to tease you less, but he couldn’t be swayed to go easy on you.

“I hope you’re not forgetting who’s in charge,” he smiled hungrily.

“And what if I am?” you returned, clearly looking to get on his nerves so he’d get rough with you. He was happy to oblige.

Bucky sat up and loosened his tie, slipping it off of his neck with a smirk. "Now, this is 100% Venetian silk, so it should feel nice around your wrists," he cooed. You offered your hands willingly, and he got a chance to show off a few complex knots of his own. "Now be a good girl and keep those hands above your head, alright?"

You did as he asked, freeing him to hold your legs open as he devoured you, alternating between teasing your bud with the tip of his tongue, and fucking you with it.

"You taste like heaven, doll," he growled when he came up quickly, "and the way you moan when my tongue's inside you? I swear I could die happy right now."

"I wish you wouldn't though," you whimpered.

He laughed a bit before he got back to it, letting his tongue focus on your clit while he filled you with his fingers again. Your walls clenched down on him occasionally, and when it became more frequent just as your moans became louder, he knew you were close.

"Stop, stop," you sighed suddenly, pushing him away.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nervous he'd done something wrong.

"No I'm fine, I just… I don't want to come yet. I want you inside me first."

"And what about what I want, hm? What if I want to watch you come just from my tongue?" he offered instead, though he was definitely still very persuadable in this regard.

"I know you wanna fuck me, Bucky, don't make me wait any longer,” you moaned, your back arching up a little from the floor.

Not needing to be told twice, he flipped you onto your elbows and knees, making sure you could support yourself with bound wrists before letting you go. His hands running over your exposed ass and thighs made you shiver, and he smiled down at you. At this point, he was probably more desperate than you were, but he was doing a much better job of hiding it, even taking the time to reach up and undo a few of the buttons of his shirt, because wow suits are warm and not meant for his level of physical activity.

Still, he figured he had waited long enough— he needed to fuck you while he still had at least a shred of patience left. He was going to need it if he was going to give you time to adjust to him.

Holding his cock and rubbing it through your folds, he chuckled when you whined and dropped your head down in a pout. He loved watching your expression shift into a gasp as he pushed in.

He went slow, but he didn't stop either. He wanted to test you just a little. He wanted to stretch you open.

"Fuck," you cried, "god, you're so… you feel so…"

"Look in the mirror," he instructed coldly, although the coldness was just a front for the way he was holding himself back as your body swallowed him so beautifully.

You moaned again, higher-pitched and weak, just as he finally got all the way in. He waited until he felt your body relax a bit before he asked if it was okay for him to move yet. You answered with a quick nod, a breathy "please," and he didn't need any more encouragement.

It was probably too fast to start off with, but god, he'd been waiting so long to fuck you like this.

"Baby," he whispered, "you're so perfect."

He held you steady and thrusted deep, so deep that it made you gasp each time. You looked incredible, and you felt incredible, but the way you sounded was just… divine. He could never have imagined the beautiful way you would sound when he was bringing you pleasure like this. Having heard it, he wanted to make you sound like this as often as possible from now on. Technically he couldn’t even be sure he’d get another chance to, but surely sounds this perfect meant you had to be having a good time, right? Ideally a good enough time to call him again?

He was snapped back to focus when he saw your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"Don't look away from that mirror, honey," he growled, "don't close your eyes. Look how pretty you look like this."

He could tell you loved it from the way your channel fluttered and flexed.

"You like watching yourself get fucked, princess?"

"Yes," you sobbed as he grabbed your hips harder, hoping to leave a bruise, "it feels so good, Bucky, please don't stop!"

"I won't stop, pretty girl. Not until you cream on my cock," he grunted.

"Fuck, I'm close," you whined, "Bucky, I'm gonna come— oh god right there!"

And he was sure it couldn’t be fake from the way your body tightened and released so many times, the way you quivered and your breathing seemed to stop for a moment. Even though he could barely take it, he kept fucking you through it until you were shaking so violently that he worried about your health.

“You feel so goddamn good when you come, princess,” he moaned softly. “Tryin’ to milk my cock for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

You laughed a little, sounding exhausted, but as he kept fucking you he could feel how sensitive you had become. When he reached down to push your skirt back up to your waist after it had started to fall down a bit, he felt his own movements in your gut and it took so much not to lose his cool in that moment. Instead, he pulled your upper body into his so that you could see in the mirror the way your lower stomach was bulging a bit each time he pushed in all the way.

"F-fuck, Bucky," you whimpered.

"Anybody ever been that deep inside you before?"

"No, not even close," you moaned.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked gently, kissing up and down your neck slowly to match his lazy, teasing thrusts.

"A little," you admitted, "but it feels good. Don't stop."

He wasn’t so brutal with his thrusts, still deep but with a patient, measured pace. It staved off his orgasm a bit longer, and it made you moan all slow and throaty which was not better or worse than the needy, high-pitched moans, but enjoyably different. You didn’t sound as desperate anymore (probably because you’d already come), instead seeming relaxed and calm— if still arching your back and biting your lip nonetheless.

"I wanna come inside you," he whispered right against your ear; he could feel the way you shivered as a result.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Is that what you want? Wanna be full of my come?"

"Yes," you sobbed, "yes, please Bucky I need it so bad!"

"Fuck, gonna fill you up so good, doll," he promised gruffly. "Want me to make you mine, beautiful?"

He knew it was a risky thing to say, but his risks had paid off so far, and he wasn't in his most cautious mood.

"Already yours, Bucky," you sighed, "I'm yours, please come in me…"

It hit him suddenly when you said that, and harder than he expected. He hadn't come like that in… he hadn't come like that ever. He preferred not to think about the sudden, wavering moan he let out in that moment because he wondered if it sounded unsexy, but thankfully his mind was distracted by the overwhelming sensation of his softening, sensitive cock still within you.

He managed to maneuver you in the way he needed as he pulled out, leaning you back into him and holding your legs open to the mirror in front of you.

"Look in the mirror, sweetheart,” he instructed, his whisper a little labored as he was still catching his breath, “watch my come leak outta your pussy."

You seemed to be in awe of it, despite it being the obvious outcome of what had just happened. To be fair, he was in awe of it in a sense, too; a thick, slow stream of sticky white come dripping down from your swollen hole and onto the floor… it was mesmerizing.

Your body was limp in his arms as he finally allowed you to rest, your eyes falling shut as you melted into his embrace. He took a moment to untie your wrists, tossing the garment aside with an exhausted sigh. “Bucky…” you mumbled sleepily, apparently just to say his name.

“Was that… sort of what you were hoping for today?” he asked softly, kissing your temple.

“And more,” you giggled. “Oh my god, I… I don’t even know how to describe that… you’re so… fuck, I don’t know, my brain is totally jelly right now.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He smiled, admiring your vacant-yet-pleased expression and feeling satisfied with his work. You turned over to lay your head on his chest, and he gladly draped his arms around you in response. Holding you like this felt so purely right, in a way so few things did to him. Funny enough, even just having fucked you on the floor and already holding you afterwards right now, he felt nervous again that he would say something wrong. You were a modern woman, after all, and maybe this was this ‘hook-up culture’ he kept hearing about.

“Was that true what you said, doll?” he asked gently, feeling you stir a little and slide a leg up to rest over his. “Did you mean it when you said that you were mine? Or was it just, you know, the heat of the moment…?”

You smiled a little, looking kind of embarrassed. “Um, yeah, I meant that… I’m yours, if you want me to be.”

He didn’t feel as guilty for feeling so possessive over you now. Clearly it was appreciated, in the right context. And he was now at least 75% sure that this wasn’t a hook-up. “Well, I’m yours, too,” he replied with a soft laugh, “whether you want me or not.”

“I want you,” you confirmed.

You laid in silence together for some unknowable amount of time, but it was a purely unawkward silence. A peaceful silence, and one filled with possibilities, but not uncomfortable. Maybe it was uncomfortable in the sense that the carpet, while still being very plushy and expensive, was still the floor and not as forgiving as a bed… but it was completely worth it.

Part of him feared to ruin the moment by speaking, but much more of him feared that you would slip out of his grasp if he didn’t say something. "This may be the wrong time to ask this— or maybe just the wrong order to do this stuff in— but I wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner sometime."

You laughed, but cuddled deeper into his chest. "Um, yeah, that would be nice."

"I just hope I'll find something nice to wear," he grinned.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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