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whumpshaped · 1 year

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Beck being sick with the flu and Helle not caring?

-- @oliversrarebooks

this is actually something i wanted to write thank u for reminding me. well i mean just beck being sick in general, but yea we'll go w the flu, thats a bitch of an illness

coming back to add this after finishing: well this wasnt what i was going for, but apparently we unlocked some more tragic backstory

masterlist

tw some magic mind scrambling, but honestly?? not much- it's a sickfic, so fever dreams and the like... emotional whump, maybe- vampire carewhumper

Beck had never felt so sick in his entire life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but this was definitely among the top five grossest illnesses he had ever come down with. His entire body was like a furnace, and yet he was shivering uncontrollably, even under two thick blankets.

He desperately wished there was someone to take care of him. He could barely keep his eyes open all day, could barely walk with the dizziness, the fatigue, and the muscle pain, and he couldn't even refill his water bottle periodically, let alone make himself some soup. He mostly just slept, slipping in and out of consciousness.

He'd considered calling his mother, briefly. She had always been so kind. Doting. She would've made him toast with honey and butter and cut it up into the smallest pieces for him to eat. He missed her a lot, he realised. But she couldn't come to his apartment after he'd made it so unsafe. He would just have to tough it out like an adult.

He knew there was no way Helle would just skip a visit. Skip dinner. They would barge in, rip the blankets away from him, and feed. He would just have to put up with it, as always, and maybe... maybe then, he could ask them to refill his water bottle. Would they actually do that? Or would they laugh and leave him to figure it out on his own? His eyes fluttered closed again, and he drifted into another two-hour nap.

"Oh, that is a sad sight. Oh dear..." Beck forced himself to look up, his unfocused eyes settling on the blurry outline of the vampire. He didn't have his glasses, and he was too tired to get them. "What do we have here?"

"'m sick," he croaked out, immediately made aware of his dehydration by how dry his throat and mouth were. "S-sorry."

Helle walked inside, and Beck had to close his eyes again. He was so exhausted. He'd done nothing but slept all day, and he could barely tolerate being awake for a minute. "I can see that," they said quietly. "Do you... have everything you need?"

"Water... I'm so thirsty, please..."

"Have you not drunk all day?" It almost sounded accusatory, in a way. Were they scolding him? He could hear Helle pick up his water bottle from the nightstand and leave the room, and he had never felt more grateful to them. He would've gone the whole night without drinking if they hadn't come, probably.

He tried to sit up against the headboard, but it proved more difficult than he anticipated. Especially with the two blankets; they were heavy, but Beck couldn't imagine being without them for even a second.

Helle came back with a full bottle of fresh water, sitting down on the edge of his bed without a word and gently helping him drink. They placed it on the nightstand afterwards, watching as Beck slid back down into a more horizontal position.

"Thank you," he said earnestly. Helle didn't even respond.

"Have you eaten?" He shook his head, and the vampire scoffed. "Alright." They stood up and left again, closing the bedroom door behind themself. Beck could pick out the faint sounds of a phonecall, but he had no idea what it was about. He fell asleep before Helle came back into the room.

For the next hour, he didn't even know what was or wasn't a dream. He felt something cold on his forehead, then also on his hand. He heard some gentle murmurs and whispers, too quiet to make out the words. He saw his mother for a split second, and he reached out towards her. The vampire, he wanted to say. Get out of here, mom. There's a vampire here. It's not safe. The image disappeared before he could've reached her.

"Beck," someone said softly, and he opened his eyes. "Come on, dear. Sit up."

Helle was holding a tray, but he couldn't really tell what was on it from where he lay. With great effort, he pushed himself up against the headboard again, letting the vampire please the plastic tray in his lap. There was a bowl of still steaming soup sitting on top, along with a cup of tea and some medicine.

"Where did you get the soup..?" he asked slowly, looking up at them in awe. Confused, definitely, but in awe.

"I ordered some. I took money out of your wallet." Well, that was a bit less considerate. Helle grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and handed them to him, then sat on his bed again. "Contrary to what you may be inclined to believe, I do not wish for my bloodbag's untimely death. So eat."

"It's just the flu," he mumbled, and he could've sworn he saw a flash of... something, in Helle's eyes. Anger? "I'm gonna be okay. But, but thank you. Really. I'm... I'm incredibly grateful for this."

They rolled their eyes and looked away from him, letting him eat his dinner in peace. They seemed restless, Beck noted while he sipped on his tea. There was a generous amount of honey in it, and for a moment, he wondered how Helle used to drink their tea back when they were still alive.

"Is... is something wrong?" he asked eventually, and Helle shook their head.

"Are you finished?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

They took the tray and disappeared, and Beck found he was feeling a little less dead with all that food in his system. His fever was still making him disoriented and hazy, but at least he could make a trip to the bathroom without feeling like he was going to pass out.

At some point during the night, he could feel Helle crawl into bed with him, pulling him flush against their refreshingly cold body. Half-asleep as he was, it didn't even freak him out a lot. It just felt good.

"You are way too warm," they murmured.

"'m sick," he responded, as though Helle didn't already know. Spurred on by a sudden burst of feverish courage, he took their hand and placed it on his face, enjoying the cool.

"You are so sick," they said insistently. "This can kill."

"The flu won't kill me."

"You have no way of knowing."

Beck frowned a little, unsettled by this sudden interest in his well-being. "Why are you so worried?" he asked quietly, hoping it didn't come off as too rude. He didn't mind the care. He wished Helle would care so much about him on the regular.

They didn't respond for a while. Beck was starting to think they never would, given they had already ignored the question once.

"I was going to die from it," they whispered, and Beck got the sense they might be holding back tears. It was a surreal image.

They didn't say anything else, but Beck could hear how their breathing changed. Helle frequently stopped breathing altogether, under normal circumstances, sometimes specifically to freak him out — now it felt like they couldn't stop drawing shuddering breaths one after the other, only stopping for brief moments as they... choked back sobs?

"Helle..?"

"They told me I was going to die," they went on. "We had no money to spare for medicine or- or doctors. Except one, of course. The mysterious faith healer Lady Marie Brandt, who offered her services to those in need; free of charge."

It wasn't too difficult to piece together what had happened. It was... frankly, terrifying. He was sure his own mother would've let in anybody who promised to heal him, had he been in such a dire situation. And to have that doctor turn out to be a vampire– he couldn't even imagine.

"Go to sleep, Beck."

He was knocked out cold by a sudden wave of magic, plunging him into a dreamless sleep for hours.

He woke up the next day feeling a lot better, and he let out a contented hum as he stretched out. As hellish as the previous day had been, he felt a little comforted by the idea that Helle cared. Maybe it would be worth it, in the end, if only for this piece of knowledge.

As he was making his morning cup of tea in the kitchen, parts of his dreams began popping into his head. Most of it was utter nonsense, and then... there was a conversation with Helle. Something about being sick.

He sat down at the table, warming his hands on the side of the cup and trying to focus on the dream. Of course, the more he chased it, the more blurry and incoherent it got, as was often the case with dreams. Still, he wished he could've remembered... Fever dreams were always a lot of fun to type into online dream interpreter sites.

Oh well. Maybe it would come to him later.

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight

#at my beck and call #whump #whump writing #helle #beckett #vampire caretaker #??#carewhumper #sickfic #emotional whump

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udretlnea · 1 year

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The Interesting Inazumans

Prompt: Inspired by this post

A/N: I love writing shenanigans. Also, happy birthday to me AND I’m quite excited to play Honkai Star Rail; I meant to have this up earlier, but I lost motivation 75% of the way through and that was quite annoying to deal with. Furthermore, this is more or less set-up for what I have planned next. Nothing too exciting I’m afraid, but think of it this way: if I kept writing exciting action scenes, then it would slowly lose its charm. Thus, it’s better to space things apart to keep things interesting. (By the time of writing this, my birthday will have passed.)

Words: 1386

Part two to, “An Idealized Image”.

Tags: @iruiji , @kamiyadidi

Kamisato Ayaka stood on the sidelines watching Yoimiya and Itto with confusion and interest; Kuki Shinobu merely looked down in shame, a hand covering her eyes. Heizou was standing on the side as well, looking at the beetle battle with interest and a hint of amusement. Gorou and Kirara were barking and hissing at each other, respectively; Kokomi tried to calm him down to little effect.

The scene was pure chaos. Truly, this was an embarrassment to your pride as the Divine Overseer; nothing could make you feel worse.

Two weeks since your arrival

It hasn’t even been a month, yet you are beginning to get accustomed to your new life as “Divine Overseer”. You were resting on your bed, recovering from your sword training with Ei.

Let’s recap: After waking up in Chinju Forest and observing your appearance, you walked all the way to Inazuma City; when your stomach growled, you grabbed the first edible thing you saw which just so happened to look like raspberry, but yellow. Nobody paid attention to you when you arrived; the ones that did notice usually stared for a little and then went about their day. That suited you just fine since you couldn’t come up with a backstory to save your life.

You wandered around the city, eventually making your way to the Statue of the Omnipresent God. You felt drawn towards it, like something was calling to you something deep inside of you.

Then, Kujou Sara appeared behind you before you could get a chance to examine it further. With how much you suspiciously resembled a divine being you were brought into Tenshukaku. After answering some rather fascinating questions thank goodness they spoke something similar to English because you were dead if they spoke Japanese about a being called the Primordial One and passing a blood test you still remember the awe you felt when you bled silver instead of dark red you automatically were given a room in Tenshukaku.

The news spread like wildfire until even those from Watatsumi came to profess their faith and wishes. At first you felt unworthy of such a title, and who could blame you? You were some no-name nobody who appeared out of nowhere; not that you weren’t ungrateful for this cover, but still, if they ever found out the truth they’d probably have your head. Best to keep it to yourself for now.

According to your individual research, this “divine overseer” was charged with making preperations for the return of some being called the Primordial One; they sounded quite important from the title alone. You weren’t terribly worried, not when you had an entire nation to assist you in this endeavor.

You adjusted to this sudden schedule rather quickly, in no small part thanks to Kujou Kamaji being assigned to help ease you into this…fascinating position. You were given a routine to follow: Calligraphy in the morning, bow training with Sara in the afternoon, and learning how to wield a sword with Ei at night. You didn’t know why you had to wield a weapon, let alone know how to fight with one, but any knowledge is useful and who wouldn’t want to know how to wield two weapons?

Your eyes began to feel heavy, and before long you drifted off to sleep.

Okay, the domain’s ready. Dropping it in 3…2…1…now.

Hey, update. Apparently Honkai Star Rail’s releasing later today. We’re not gonna finish in time.

…Okay. That’s bad, but we do have a protocol for that.

Understood. I’ll execute it now.

/////

The next afternoon, you found yourself sipping tea with Ei. Normally, you would be practicing shooting a bow with Sara, but the entirety of the Shogunate seems to have been gaslit by the sudden appearance of a new domain. It just appeared near Tatarasuna in Kannazuka Island. With it being so close to Kujou Encampment, Sara was the first to be informed and quickly led an investigation of the area.

All of this, Ei told you as she poured another cup for you, was because all of Narukami had dreamt the same thing last night: A dream involving you.

“Oh…I see. Did they say if they remembered any details?” You press gently, but Ei shook her head.

“Nothing clear. However, Kujou Kamaji has stated that the only consistent thing each person remembers is of a person whom they recall has hair as white as snow and yellow pupils…”

“I see…” You finish your tea rather quickly, earning a mean look from Ei. You set your cup down and cross your arms. “Then…I suppose there’s only one thing left to do.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“To take control of the situation, gather members for an exploration team, and then plan for the exploration itself,” you casually stated. You stood up from the mat and walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Ei asked. You heard a mixture of concern and confusion in her voice, despite her attempt at hiding it. You turned your head to address her.

“Huh? I thought my plan would have informed you? I’m going to go find some willing volunteers to explore the domain.”

/////

It took an additional amount of time than you would’ve liked because Ei argued it, “wasn’t the Overseer’s duty to attend to such trivial matters when she could get a servant to do it”. Some back-and-forth banter later and a compromise was reached: gather some of Inazuma’s Vision holders plus some adventurers from the Guild to create an exploration team with.

A couple days later, the meeting was held inside Tenshukaku in the main room where the Shogun usually resided; Ei went to the Grand Narukami Shrine to speak with Miko, but she reassured you she wouldn’t take long.

Something you kept telling yourself even as Arataki “Numero Uno” Itto gave a come-at-me gesture to Naganohara Yoimiya; the two engaged in an Onikabuto battle then and there to decide who would accompany you, which begged the question why did they have Onikabuto with them?

Meanwhile, Kamisato Ayaka stood on the sidelines watching in confusion and interest; Kuki Shinobu merely looked down in shame, a hand covering her eyes. Heizou was standing some way off, looking at the beetle battle with interest and a hint of amusement. Gorou and Kirara were barking and hissing at each other, respectively; Kokomi tried to calm him down to little effect.

The scene was pure chaos. Truly, this was an embarrassment to your pride as the Divine Overseer; nothing could make you feel more ashamed.

And then the doors opened. Almost comically, everybody paused to see who had arrived. They were basked in the light so only their silhouettes showed; then they casually strode forth, revealing a blonde female with a flower in her hair and a white haired…fairy(?).

“Uhh, Paimon’s confused. What’s going on here?” asked the white-haired fairy. She looked at each and every Vision holder. “Why are you all acting so out of character?”

“If you ask me, this bonehead over here is acting like himself.” Shinobu crossed her arms and glared at the oni.

“Oh! Lu-Lumine! What an unexpected surprise!” Kamisato Ayaka put a hand on her chest. “It’s been so long since we’ve last seen each other…”

Lumine? You mean the same Lumine that managed to defeat a dragon, help stop a god that could command the ocean, and abolish the Vision Hunt Decree? You think to yourself with a growing sense of horror. Oh great, they’re definitely gonna judge me harshly. Somebody kill me now.

“Hello Ayaka. It’s nice to see you too,” she said plainly yet with a friendly tone. Then she put a hand to her chin. “But Paimon’s right. What happened here?”

“Well…you see, we all arrived here when the Divine Overseer put out a request to help with this Domain…” Yoimiya began.

By the time Yoimiya finished the explanation, everyone had cleaned up their act and was now kneeling on the tatami mats; they faced you with a neutral expression as if they hadn’t engaged in shenanigans earlier. The firework girl took a spot next to Kamisato Ayaka. Lumine stood in the back, and Paimon floated beside her.

At last, you can get to building a team. You pray that nothing bad would happen.

Excellent. I think we can let it go here. Come on. It’s starting soon.

#genshin imagines #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin fic #yeah you're not quite the creator here #mixing things up is healthy for the sagau-verse #at least that's what I believe so...#fyi i'm may or may not play Honkai Star Rail #after this upload I mean everything's planned already #everyone here in the sagau-branch has stuff outside of writing #my point is I'm gonna take some me time #but expect some minor memes/sketches/imagines soon

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fordchen · 7 months

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Chenford + are you jealous?

Not too sure how I feel about that one so I might delete it soon...

Prompt: Lucy took Tim’s advice and went to Undercover School, meeting Noah Foster. The two get close and when coming back to Los Angeles, Tim finds out about Noah…

Lucy watched Tim walk away after having a conversation about UC school. When Tim just wanted to support her career, she took the conversation as a professional break-up. Tim’s way of hinting that they needed to move on from what had happened during their undercover mission. She snapped back to reality when she heard Chris calling for her, walking back into her apartment and deciding it was time for her to have a conversation with her boyfriend. She needed to tell him the truth and admit that despite all her efforts, their relationship was in a dead-end. Surprisingly, Chris felt the same way and after a little talk, he left after wishing her the best of luck for UC school.

Lucy left the next morning to Sacramento. The anxiety creeped in her as she walked into a crowded room, meeting other officers. Yet, she clicked with a person in particular, Noah Foster. They were close in age and had similar backgrounds which allowed them to open-up and feel comfortable spending time together. They found themselves hanging out before and after classes, debriefing and talking about their lives outside of work. It had been a week since Lucy and Tim last talked and she missed him deeply yet never truly spoke to Noah about him besides a few stories now and then. She was trying to just make sense of everything that happened between them, trying to stay hopeful about what the future had in store for them.

Noah and Lucy partnered up and created undercover personas together, deciding that they would act as a married couple with children for one of Noah’s missions. They had rehearsed their backstories before they finished UC school, promising that they would always have each other’s backs when needed.

—

It had been a few days since Lucy came back from Sacramento. When she got back to the station, she kept to herself and kept some distance between her and Tim. Being back to Mid-Wilshire after a month away felt different, and the day continued getting weirder when she saw Noah walk into the station, giving her a smile. “Hot pants!” Noah called out, a wide smile on her face as he reached Lucy. He gave her a big hug. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. I’m here for my mission, I’m gonna need help. I almost got ambushed yesterday…” He began explaining to her before their conversation drifted towards more personal topics. They shared some laughs and hugs, being close.

Lucy hadn’t noticed Tim standing in the bullpen, watching the two of them in the distance. He had his hands resting on his duty belt, in his classic Tim Bradford stance. He observed the two of them carefully, noticing how close they seemed to be. It suddenly hit him, jealousy taking over his body as he observed Noah hugging Lucy once again, but kissing her cheek this time before they got into the roll call room. He did not realize he was late for roll call until he heard a voice behind him. “Hey Bradford!” Angela spoke, a smirk on her face. “Forgot you have a job? What’s wrong with you?” She asked, yet knowing exactly what was going on.

Tim immediately shook his head and glanced over at his best friend, rolling his eyes. “Mind your business, Lopez.” He growled before hurrying to the roll call room, sitting down at the back of the room. He found himself staring at Lucy, quickly looking away when his eyes met hers. They hadn’t had a chance to talk yet, something that was to change as Grey assigned the two of them together. Noah would be riding with them as he knew Lucy and she was familiar with the case he was working.

—

Lucy and Noah chatted as Tim drove, causing him to be tense and rather grumpy. He desperately wanted Noah to shut up and get into someone else's shop, yet he knew damn well he had to tolerate the situation as he had no other choice at the moment. Noah’s phone suddenly buzzed, receiving a call from his station to provide him information about his targets.

“Hot pants, give me a few seconds…” Noah said as he grabbed his phone, immediately answering the call.

Tim glanced over Lucy when he heard the nickname, feeling his heart drop. He gave her a rather disgusted face, trying to contain the rage he felt deep down inside. “Hot pants?” He repeated, his tone down as to not disrupt Noah’s call. Lucy immediately turned her face to meet Tim’s eyes, giving him an innocent look. “That’s an inside joke.” She laughed before noticing how tense Tim looked. He had a tight grip on the steering wheel which accentuated his arms muscles. Her smile slowly faded as she slowly realized that Tim was jealous. “Tim…” She began saying before Tim cut her off. “Later, Chen.”

—

After a long day, they successfully helped Noah’s mission. Tim and Lucy walked into the station, knowing that they had to talk. They went to get changed and met in the parking lot. Tim’s eyes were darker than usual and he remained as tense as he had been in the morning. “Tim, let me explain…” Lucy tried before Tim cut her off once again. “Lucy, I have eyes. I get it. I made you go to UC school and you met someone else. It’s fine. I’m happy for you.” He said without meaning the ending. “Noah’s probably waiting for you, I don’t know why you’re standing here with me.” He added as he headed towards his truck before he felt Lucy grabbing his hand, stopping him from getting away. “Tim.” She said again, this time her tone was more firm. “Can you let me talk? Noah is just a friend. We bonded at UC school but nothing happened between the two of us… In fact, he knows about how I feel for you. He was quite pleased to meet the Bradford I kept referring to.” She admitted, a blush spreading on her face. “Yes, I thought you were pushing me away when you came to encourage me to go to Sacramento. Being away from you just made me realize you are the one I want, Tim.”

Tim listened to Lucy attentively, noticing how close to one another they were. He searched Lucy’s face, feeling his heart rushing in his chest. He suddenly felt stupid for jumping to conclusions. Looking back, it had been clear that they were friends and not lovers. He could also tell that Noah sensed Tim’s jealousy and played along to tease him. He let out a deep sigh, looking quickly around them before kissing Lucy softly, keeping the kiss short to not get caught. “You’re so hot when you’re jealous though…” Lucy teased Tim, laughing with him as they headed to their cars.

#chenford #the rookie #chen x bradford #lucy x tim #lucy chen #tim bradford fic #tim bradford #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #answered #tucy #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic

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karizard-ao3 · 1 year

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Sneak Peek at my Eremika single parent WIP

Why not? Only, like, three people even look at my tumblr and I could use a little boost to keep me excited about this fic. I'm going to share a little of their backstory, one section from Eren's pov, and the other from Mikasa's. Keep in mind, this is the rough draft and subject to change.

They had met in 3rd grade when Eren’s elementary school was re-zoned to include her end of the neighborhood, and, together with Armin, they had become inseparable. He wasn't sure how. It had happened so long ago and their transition from classmates to friends had been so seamless that the details had faded away to make room for more pressing matters than exactly how he had found himself spending all his free time with Mikasa and Armin.

He had also taken their continued presence in his life for granted, the way young kids do. He hadn't expected that he and Mikasa would drift apart in middle school, her to her advanced classes and art club and he to his sports. There was barely any time to see each other, and, while it also rankled him that Armin was too busy and smart for him, too, it really pissed him off with Mikasa. He was sour and dismissive on the rare occasion they actually spoke, and, by the time eighth grade graduation rolled around, they didn't talk to each other at all. It infuriated him.

So then why had he been so happy when he needed to sign up for peer tutoring due to his absolute shit grades and Mikasa was the one who ended up tutoring him? He had been surly about it at first. "Sucks you're stuck with me," he'd snarled, slumping back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

"I requested you," said Mikasa, with matter-of-fact crispness, straightening her papers and refusing to meet his eyes.

Eren straightened a bit. "You did?" he said, surprised by the sudden lightening in his chest.

She nodded, folding her hands on top of the table. "So I guess I'm sorry you're stuck with me," she said, tapping her fingers.

"I don't mind," said Eren, sitting all the way up. "I'm looking forward to it."

Mikasa's eyes flicked over to him. He stared back at her, his heart rate ramping up with each silent second that passed. Then she smiled, her lips shifting into the faint curve he still remembered so well. "That's good," she said, soft-eyed and pleased. "Because, based on your grades, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other."

Eren couldn't even find the will to pretend to be pissed about her mild jibe. He was just so inexplicably relieved that from then on he would be seeing her at least one afternoon a week, guaranteed.

It took him another year to realize why he was so invested in being around her. She was going over his essay, tapping her pencil against her lips as she read it, and he was staring at them, fixating on how pink and soft they looked, wishing he could be her pencil, and wondering why it was he always had such weird thoughts about Mikasa. One of his soccer friends had just gotten his first girlfriend and he said the same kind of junk about that girl that Eren thought about Mikasa, but Eren and Mikasa weren’t going out. He wasn’t even sure they were technically friends. They only saw each other during his tutoring sessions, but, oh, he lived for those afternoons. His favorite was when she moved her chair next to his, and they looked at his work with their heads together, so close that their shoulders touched and he could smell the mild scent of her shampoo and the minty bite of her gum. His arm always itched to find its way around her when she was next to him like that, and his lips would tingle knowing that hers were so close. He had even started hugging his other friends hello and good-bye just so he had sufficient justification to do the same with her, and he knew it was ridiculous, but he sure wasn’t going to stop. He supposed all his silliness was because he held her in such high regard compared to the other people they went to school with. Although by that logic he would also spend some fraction of his time ogling Armin’s lips, and he had never done that even once. The mystery of her hold on him continued.

“You look a million miles away,” she had said then, pulling him from his musings. “What are you thinking about?”

“Stuff,” said Eren. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

“We can go over your essay if you’re ready, then,” said Mikasa. “I made notes.”

“Okay,” said Eren, scooting his chair over so she could put hers next to his. She slid his paper across the table for him to look at while she brought her chair around. She had written several comments in the margins, but one in particular grabbed his attention. “I ❤️ your/ quote selection!” she had written, but, for a brief, mad, exhilarating moment, his dysfunctional brain had stopped reading at “I ❤️ you”, disregarding the R and the second line entirely. He was ecstatic for those two seconds until reality came crashing back down on him.

That's when he had realized with sudden, unexpected clarity why it was exactly that he lay in bed at night and tried to recreate her face from memory while he faded away into sleep. He turned to look at her, gawking as she settled into her chair. Holy shit. He was in love with her. He was in love with his childhood best friend. How long had this been going on for?

“Are you okay, Eren?” she asked, catching the stunned look on his face.

He gulped and nodded. Now that he knew, he wanted to tell her. To lay it all out and get her to love him back, but he couldn't. What would she want with him? She was so cool, with her ripped fishnets and oversize band tees, her pierced nose and her combat boots, and the way her art kept getting recognized at school. She was such a good artist. And she was so smart. What did he have to offer? All he was good for was kicking a ball around. She'd want someone better than him. Definitely. Someone like that Kirschtein guy he always saw her talking to. He was older; he played tennis, which Eren considered to be a gentleman's sport; he was so good at painting that he was granted an entire panel of his own for the school mural project; and - oh! So that's why it made Eren so miserable and angry every time he saw them together. He was jealous. Because he loved her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, touching his arm. "You look really upset."

"Nope, I'm all good," said Eren. His arm was turning to putty beneath her fingers. "So, what's up with you and that guy, Kirschtein?"

***

She’d hoped that time would heal her wounds and tighten up her morals, but she still wasn't ready to see him when her trip was over, so she didn't come home, opting to go straight to her new school instead. She just didn't know how she could look at him now that she didn't know who he was anymore.

Of course, time did heal her wounds, but it took more than just a summer to stitch them shut. Still, by the time Mikasa wrapped up her final year of undergraduate studies by getting pregnant and subsequently engaged, she could think of Eren without any nausea or heartache, although even her fondest memories of him came with a dour footnote: "but he was a liar". Like the time she helped him study for finals. They'd done it at his house, going over the review questions and trying to make sense of his illegible notes and doing flashcards every night the week preceding the tests. He'd been grumbling and groaning and whining one night because he was tired of studying, so she'd started rewarding him for every right answer with a jelly bean, tossing the candy for him to catch in his mouth, except the jelly beans kept bouncing off his face and then he'd scoff and she'd laugh and pretty soon their study session had devolved into them chucking jelly beans at each other back and forth, giggling hysterically and dropping far more candy than they caught. It had been so fun. But, he was a liar. And that's not something she could forget.

It was at her wedding that she discovered her error. She was four months pregnant and still not really showing, but she was tired and cranky nonetheless. Armin's date was a girl they'd gone to high school with, but hadn't hung out with back then. She'd run with Eren's crowd, and the first thing she'd said when Mikasa went over to say hello at the reception (aka the BBQ in Eduardo's parents' backyard, since Mikasa's wedding was a surprise development, just like, and thanks to, the baby) was, "Your husband looks just like Eren Jaeger from high school."

"No he doesn’t," said Mikasa, sipping her non-alcoholic sparkling cider.

Armin and the girl exchanged a glance. “Right, of course not,” said Armin.

“How is Eren, though?” said Mikasa, who couldn’t help but be curious. "I used to tutor him. Did he and Historia keep seeing each other after high school?"

"I think they still talk sometimes," said the girl.

"They broke up?" said Mikasa, raising an eyebrow. Maybe Historia had found out about the cheating.

The girl's eyebrows furrowed. "They never went out," she said.

No, that wasn’t true. Mikasa frowned. "But, back in twelfth grade… Mina Carolina said…"

The girl laughed. "Mina Carolina was talking out of her ass, then, like she always did. Eren wasn't dating Historia in twelfth grade because I was. He was the only one who knew it."

Mikasa was stunned. "Oh," she said, looking at Armin, who actually looked kind of like Historia: blond haired, soft featured, and petit. He shrugged at Mikasa, not understanding why she was so flummoxed. She had never told him why she’d stopped talking to Eren, just said that something had happened and she didn’t want to get into it. She was on her own dealing with this new revelation, just like she had been when Mina had turned her world upside down in the bathroom. Oh, god. Eren hadn’t been cheating on his girlfriend when he’d kissed her. She’d written off her first love/ third-best friend for nothing. “Well,” she said, trying to laugh off her regrets and shift the subject away from Eren, "If you were dating Historia then and Armin now, I guess you have a type."

"I really do," agreed the girl, then mumbled to Armin, "Looks like I'm not the only one."

Mikasa ignored her, excusing herself to go find her husband. He barely even glanced at her when she took a seat beside him. His hand finding its way to her knee was his only concession to her presence. She studied his profile. It was maybe possibly true that he looked a little like her old high school crush, but that’s where the similarities ended. If you didn’t count that they also had the same initials. But that was just coincidence. And, anyway, Eduardo was her future. She had lost Eren to the past and her own mistakes. Even if she wanted to, how could she contact Eren now? What would she say? "Hi. Here's my new phone number, like I promised. Sorry it took me so long to get it to you"? Yeah, right. It had already been too long. She didn’t know how to rebuild the bridge she had burned, and so she left it behind, returning only sometimes to view the wreckage and wonder what could have been if she hadn't been so hasty.

And then Eduardo had removed himself from her future. Or, rather, repositioned himself inside of it, abdicating from the role of husband. Family life wasn’t for him. It was too much pressure. He couldn’t make her happy. He loved her but he wasn’t in love with her. He had plenty of excuses but what it really boiled down to was that she had made another terrible life decision when she had agreed to marry him just because they were going to have a child. She had hoped that maybe the magnetic attraction between them that had led to Mason’s conception could bind their hearts together as well. What a joke.

And so Mikasa raised her child and tried to co-parent with Eduardo and ended up moving the several hours back home when Mason was three, so she could get an advanced degree and save up money to buy them their own little house near her family, since Eduardo was so bad at contributing or remembering to pay child support and barely saw Mason anyway.

She'd decided to go to her high school reunion a couple years later for the same reason she'd gone to grad night: she was hoping Eren would be there and she could talk to him one more time. Being home again, seeing their old stomping grounds, being surrounded by memories of him… She wanted to return to those days when she had been happy. And she wanted her friend.

#eremika #fanfic #fic writing #fanfiction #attack on titan #eremika fanfic #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #eren x mikasa #current wip #sneak peek #single parents au

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scarrypossmscribs · 1 year

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Scars ~ BLD Mini-Fic

[SPOILER WARNING FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN'T READ ANYTHING ON THE BLOG]

content warnings: tw scars, tw abuse (could be interpreted that way) tw self harm (tried to make it ambigious to fit with whatever oc you imagine to be in this fic) tw bad accidents (could also be interpreted this way) (Y/n in this has scars)

While this mini-fic doesnt have any NSFW things, this fandom is still heavily 18+. Please respect the author's wishes and DNI.

You yawned, the early morning sun and subtly refreshing breeze filling you with a sense of calm. It was so rare to have a perfectly nice day to enjoy. Work taking up a lot of your life, now that you'd moved into this small, but bustling town.

As you thought up ways to fully enjoy your day off, a shadow loomed over your shoulder. The finger poking you sending your heart into a split-second coma, shoulders jumping in confusion and fear. "Heh...", A slight chuckle escaped from your mystery stranger.

"Morning, Y/n. It's just me." Mr. Mystery stranger- Your new friend James, teased. His voice reverberated next to your ear, sending your head to snap in his direction. "Holy fuck-" You exclaimed, heart once again stuttering in your chest as you stared at the green eyes in front of you. Your expression must have been funny, from the way James seemed to smirk. It was a bit hard to tell from his mask, but the amused chuckles that followed made it clearer.

You let out a relieved breath, "Jeeze you asshole...", his laughter infecting you as you let out a small chuckle of your own. Your thoughts quickly turned to confusion, though. How did James know where to find you? You'd just stepped out of your apartment complex...

"Morning to you too, James. But eh.. How'd you know i was here?" You asked curiously, looking up at him. James was a pretty attractive person. His black and red hair, long and wild, was eye catching, reminding you of the night you both met. His dark green eyes seeming to pierce through anyone who met it's gaze, unraveling everyone's intentions onto a silver platter for him to see. Snapping you out of your daze and replying to your question, James gave a noncommittal shrug, "Just looking for somewhere to get breakfast.", he blinked, gaze turning back to you, "Why?You live here?" Ah...that made sense. Jeeze.. look at you overthinking things again.

Your mouth formed into a smile as you nimbly dodged the latter question, "Why not get breakfast together!", you offered cheerily. He glanced at you for a hearbeat before responding. The feeling of being read crawling up your skin. "Sounds good to me." James finally replied. And you felt like you could hear a smile in his tone as a shiver of relief washed away that eerie feeling.

You and James went to the local diner. Nothing super fancy, but it was full of familiar and comforting smells, which made it good enough for you and James to grab a quick bite. Well...more like for you to grab a quick bite, and James to grab something to drink. James never took his mask off around you... or anyone as far as you could tell. Putting down the menu after choosing what you wanted to order, your thoughts drifted, as you waited for a waiter or waitress to come over. Your thoughts inevitably decided to focus on James. I wonder why he never takes off his mask around me... You mumbled wordlessly to yourself, trailing your fingers on the spine of the menu. Weak immune system, maybe? Or... perhaps.. facial scars? What ever it was, though, you promised yourself not to pester him about it. Having a weak immune system was personal medical stuff. And you'd had first hand experience with the shame that came with scars. Your gaze trailed down to your hands, which had some cuts here and their. All from different life experiences and situations. Some from accidents. Some with...different backstories. "Are you okay?" The words brought you out of your haze. You looked up at James, and then noticed the waiter at the side of the table, eyes nervously flitting between you and James. "Oh... oh yeah I'm alright!" You said, waving your hand in dismissal, as you took the chance to relay your order to the waiter. James ordered a mint choc chip milkshake, one of his go to drinks. "A milkshake at this hour?" You lightly teased, watching him roll his eyes in response. A beat of familiar silence rose up, as your gaze trailed back to your hands. Tracing them with your eyes. "Y/n." James called out. Once again pulling you out of your thoughts. "Huh-? Yeah?" You responded, half confused...until you saw him glance at your hands for a second, before his green eyes landed on yours.

"I want a real answer this time. Are you alright?" Jame's tone was stern, but held a genuine softness inside it. "Pfft...", You let out a small laugh, "I'm fine. I really am." But with one glance at his face, you could tell he didn't take any of your words seriously. Your eyes shift back down to your hands, the second time today. Taking a small breath in, you add, "It was a long time ago. I don't see them the way I used to.", you pause, searching for a way to articulate your feelings, "To me now...it's proof that I survived. That I was able to move forward." You look back up, looking in Jame's eyes. They were slightly unfocused, but still trained on you. He let out a soft, but ambiguous hum of acknowledgement. Smiling, you looked to ease the heavy fog of awkward gloom. "So yeah..I guess you could say these are battle scars from duking it out with life and coming on top." You chirped, your smile turning into a satisfied grin. His gaze softened at that. An amused eye roll telling you that your efforts were at least slightly successful.

James stared at you as you ate, the conversation from earlier... despite bringing up some bad memories...making him feel a soft fuzzy feeling only you could give to him. Maybe you wouldn't question his scars once he revealed them to you. Maybe you wouldn't look at him like he was...disgusting. Maybe you wouldn't judge him. He could feel his patience starting to thin. The deepest part of his mind telling him, yelling at him, to take you away. He had to make you his. No... you already were his. And he would never let you go.

NEVER

James belongs to the amazing -> @hotpinkmoon aka Moonie!

#tw scars #tw sh #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw bad accidents #BloodLust Devotion #bloodlustdevotion #Murder sim #Yandere x you #Yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #turned this on for mature so minors hopefully will not see #moonie if you see this you're amazing and tell the murder boys i love them <3 #possum scribs #!PossumSpeaks #edit for spelling mistakes hhh

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scarletterose-art · 1 year

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Harley and Hybristoplila

tldr: I think season 4 of The Harley Quinn Show, which is not complete as of time of writing, is beginning to broach the idea of Harley and Ivy may be growing apart. Harley’s sleepwalking, obvious discomfort of harm being done to innocent people (assholes can still suck an egg), as well as her struggles with Ivy is leading me to believe that the show will finally develop Harley and have her confront some uncomfortable truths about herself, regarding her habit of ending up with villains.

Okay, so Harley has always had a thing for villains. That was just baked into the earliest conception of the character. She works for the Joker as a henchwoman because she loves him! As the character grew, her backstory was developed, making Harley a psychiatrist, who was studying the Joker and fell head over heels for him before dedicating her life to him. However, the love would always be one-sided. And abusive. Harley would be the Joker’s punching bag, left at the wayside until he found her useful again.

Fast forward to current day Harley, where she’s free of the Joker’s abuse, doing her own things, dressing the way she wants, and is dating… Poison Ivy. I wont say this isn’t an improvement. Harley went from an abusive man who treats her like shit to a very lovely plant lady who showers her in affection. The sapphic energy between these women was always present, even before officially getting together. As a result, their coupling felt like a forgone conclusion.

The problem lies not in the coupling, but with the stories often told with Harley. It’s either one of the two choices for popular media to gravitate towards. Either Harley is the Joker's victim or Harley is Ivy’s girlfriend. She is always defined in relation to how others treat her and who she is currently with. She’s never just Harley. And The Harley Quinn show is the culmination of this.

With so many characters finally getting their time in the sun to shine and show their fullest potential, Harley… wasn’t one of them. Season 1 is the usual story of Harley getting away from the Joker, Season 2 is Harley realizing she’s in love with Ivy, and Season 3 is Ivy and Harley as a couple. (This is a little reductionist of the season-long arcs, but bare with me here.) In between all this we have Ivy learning to work with a group (as well as the audience being reminded that she is, in fact, a scientist), Clayface killing it as an actor (particularly in his role as Stephanie), the Joker becomes a step-dad and major of Gotham, and so much more. But Harley feels, if not directionless, then at the very least like she is at the whims of the writers who were painting-by-numbers with her story.

She has a clear cut plan of eliminating other villains and entering the Legion of Doom so she can be taken seriously as a villain, but ultimately gives up on that goal in Episode 8, Season 2 because she realizes she loves Ivy more than ruling the world. Season 3 is Harley realizing she’s not as evil as she wishes she was, and Ivy cluing in, thanks to the Joker of all people, that Harley will do whatever Ivy wants her to because Harley wants her love and approval. Season 3 ends with Harley saving Gotham from Ivy, and becoming a part of the Bat Family.

These are all the plot beats usually hit with Harley. She’s a victim, a villain, a partner and lover to Poison Ivy, and now a Hero/Anti-hero. While everyone else gets to feel fresh and fully developed, Harley feels like she was being put through the motions… until Season 4.

Season 4 introduces the idea that Harley and Ivy are drifting apart. Episode 3 has them going to Vegas and Harley is trying to be cool about the villain activity going on around them. She’s cool with assholes getting fucked up, but the staff and innocent civilians is where is clearly most uncomfortable. She has to create a half-baked alter-ego called Hargrett in order to continue having fun with Ivy. She can’t keep up the alter-ego, because in her heart of hearts, Harley is a hero and she ends the episode saying she’ll be moving into Wayne Manor for a short while, until the hero act becomes second nature to her. Ivy says she understands, but tells Harley not to take too long. It's a very cute and sapphic ending with them sharing baby carrots.

This physical distance being introduced between them, however, is paired with a repeated theme of Harley asking Ivy for help, but Ivy either can’t help because Harley is now a hero, or Ivy is off doing her own thing and can’t be reached. They’re still cute, still love the absolute fuck out of each other, but I could not shake the fact that Harley was being slowly isolated throughout this season.

She’s a hero now, so none of her former villain friends can talk with her without losing villain street cred. The only villains Harley can talk to are King Shark and Poison Ivy. She isn’t close with the Bat Family, because she’s a former villain and still has a lot of villain tendencies. She gets close to Alfred, before he gets carted off to jail. She begins to bond with the Bat Family by teaching them how to rely on their bodies and surroundings to fight crime, but the very next episode Nightwing dies and Barbra, aka Bat Girl, goes on the hunt for the killer.

The evidence leads Barbra and Harley to the Legion of Doom HQ, where Harley, once again, asks Ivy for help. In particular, asking Ivy if she killed him. Ivy assures Harley she didn’t do it, but not without following it up with the lines, “Honestly, babe, if someone who works for me did, then, I don’t know, good for them. You know I run an evil business and Nightwing would be a pretty big get.” (This is the biggest disconnect between Harley and Ivy.)

youtube

[2:43 - 3:12 for above quote and reference]

At the end of the episode, Harley sees a double of herself, making her think she might be dreaming. Throughout the season, the growing isolation and stress seems to be getting to Harley and as a result, has caused her to sleep walk. Babs' roommate, Alysia, comments on how she used to sleep walk before she started transitioning. She wasn’t living as her true self, so she walked in her sleep and asked Harley if she was running from something. Harley never answered. So what is Harley running from?

I would argue it's the reality that Harley is growing, and that might be into a person who cannot be with Poison Ivy. I said earlier that Harley’s story is very paint-by-numbers in terms of how she changes within the show, but that might be the necessary foundation for Harley’s final evolution. Harley may very well be confronting her hybristophilia (the phenomenon of an individual being sexually aroused by a criminal offender.) She’s evolving into someone with a deepening well of empathy, and she isn’t glorifying the casual violence that happens to civilians anymore. She’ll laugh when an asshole gets his comeuppance, but when Ivy and Clayface get into a fight inside a casino in Episode 3, Harley’s immediate thought was to take the fight outside so the innocent bystanders don’t get hurt. She spends that fight mitigating the damage caused by her two friends and saving everyone she could with her usual flare.

youtube

[1:54 - 2:53 for above scene referenced]

I have no doubt Harley loves Ivy, that is made very clear throughout the show. However, her current path as a hero and Ivy as the CEO of the Legion of Doom is shown to not be gelling. There are conflicts of interest, and both women are developing wildly different values. They can’t support each other like they used to because Ivy’s not gonna rat out her co-workers, even to her girlfriend, and Harley isn’t comfortable as a villain anymore. Harley is growing into someone who doesn’t fetishize violence or criminality anymore. Whether or not she can maintain the relationship with Ivy is up in the air. We won’t really have an answer until the season ends.

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

Thank you to any who took the time to read this. Sorry the clips are shotty and the format may be wonky. I've been sitting on this for a couple days and just wanted to get my thoughts out there and I really love Ivy and Harley as a couple. I hope they stay together! And it's nice Harley is getting some growth out of the same-old same-old.

#harley quinn #poison ivy #the harley quinn show #season 4 #Youtube

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

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Let Me Show You - Bucky Barnes x F! Reader (smut)

Gif by @buckysbarnes

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for a few months now, and the man has given you everything - literally. One night, Bucky encourages you to let go of your anxiety and let him show you just how sinful that mouth of his can truly be.

Warnings: 18+!!! Brief mention of drinking, Swearing, smut!!: Oral - f receiving, fingering, praise kink, arm kink, (Bucky kink?), unprotected PinV sex, fluff, encouragement

Word Count: 4k+ - I got carried away.

A/N: Aaahhhh, my first ever request from @kaylee-krystal I hope I did your idea justice and this is what you were hoping for. I added my own ideas for backstory and such, so I hope it’s okay 🙊thank you again, so, so much for requesting!!! I have reread this a couple times, but I’ve no doubt missed something somewhere, so apologies in advance.

Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood

James Buchanan Barnes.

Now there was a topic you could talk about day and night.

And probably even in your sleep.

You’d been dating for a few months now, and everyday was better than the last, even it did sound cliché.

You’d met in a local Brooklyn bar, having frequented it now and then with your friends for relaxed nights out or after work drinks.

The first time you’d seen the soldier, he’d been sitting at the bar alone, brooding over a beer.

It had taken you a few moments, but you’d suddenly realised who it was.

Bucky Barnes, ex-Winter Soldier, Avenger and now often seen with Sam Wilson.

THE Bucky Barnes was sitting in your local.

And instantly he had taken your breath away.

A set of cheekbones that could cut glass with a jawline to match. Plush lips that looked irresistibly soft - and sinful.

A tangle of dark hair that was begging to have a pair of hands run through to mess it up.

You could see the broad line of his shoulders from where you were situated in the booth, and you went home that night imagining everything else about him.

The next time you saw him, it was about a week later. You were waiting for your friend to arrive and had gone up the bar to get drinks ordered.

And there he was, just like the last time.

Only now, you saw that he had a pair of gorgeous eyes, a blue like the Arctic Ocean and just as deep.

And they were settled on your face with a cheeky little smile, which only grew when you looked at him.

Moments later, you were seated next to him, lost in conversation about whether the Hobbit was better than Lord of the Rings.

After laughing at one of his jokes, he’d asked you out on a date, instantly enamoured with the way your eyes lit up like the Brooklyn Bridge and you radiated goodness.

And the rest was history.

One date fell into two, and then three, and then just like that... you were dating.

Boyfriend and girlfriend.

Picnics in Prospect Park and afternoons at the Smithsonian.

Nights watching all the movies and tv shows he still needed to catch up on and mornings where you joined him on a run.

It was beautiful. Sure, you had a few tense moments where you might disagree, or he might have a bad day where memories crept up and he lashed out, but you never backed down. Never ran from him or looked the other way. And he did the same for you. Holding you when you needed him to but firmly expressing himself if you ever went too far.

It was healthy, enriching and you had both grown so much in just a few months.

Especially in the intimacy department.

You weren’t lacking knowledge or experience, not by any means but it was just... some things you were a little uncomfortable with.

It wasn’t that you had bad memories of the past or had been hurt, it was more a personal thing.

And you had explained some of these hang-ups to Bucky, who’d taken them all in his stride and been amazing about it.

When you were in these moments, he would ask if you wanted to try something and if you said no, he respected it and moved on. And if you said yes... well. Then you got a lesson in just how good he could make you feel.

Bucky had learnt your body in no time at all and... He was mindblowingly good. He knew exactly how to make you cry out his name like a plea, a prayer and a sin all in one.

It had gotten to the point where you’d drift off in the day, your mind taking you back to the way his lips mouthed over your skin, the way his fingers arched and curled inside your walls just right to reach that spot that hard you arching from the bed all the whole those baby blues were locked onto yours, watching you fall apart with an adoring fire blazing in the blue depths.

The man only had to give you that killer smile and you’d be instantly soaked.

He was going to be the death of you one day.

“Bucky!”

The sound of his name bounced around the walls of your bedroom, high and keening as the fingers of his vibranium hand stroked your inner walls with a relentless rhythm and pleasure.

“C’mon baby, that’s it..” he mumbled the sweet nothings against your chest, his mouth pressing kisses across your hot skin, over your collarbones and breasts.

His hair tickled your neck as your tipped your head back, eyes squeezed shut and mouth parted in pleasure.

He was working you to your second orgasm of the night already.

The man had practically pounced on you when you walked through the door of your shared apartment and you were only too willing to drop everything - underwear included - and lose a few hours.

Your hips jerked against his hand, bucking in time with his fingers. The heel of his hand was pressed to your clit, applying delicious pressure with each pass of your hips as you chased down your release, feeling it coil tighter and tighter in the base of your spine.

You slid a hand up into his hair, knotting your fingers in the silky chocolate locks “Fuck-“

God, you were so close, so, so close-

Bucky already knew, and he scissored his fingers inside you, sucking at your nipple and triggering your orgasm, gently pushing you over that edge.

Pleasure tore through your body, making your blood sing and his name bounce through the room again. Every single orgasm he gave you made your body catch fire, and you felt it from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Through the haze, you heard his lust roughened voice, cooing those praises that only succeeded in making you come harder, “Good girl. Look at you... you look like a goddess. A fucking goddess that deserves to be worshiped every single day.” His hot breath fanned over your skin, “Make me want to do this all the time, give you everything, baby.”

He kept moving his fingers inside you, the noise filthy and almost forbidden as your slick coated his vibranium fingers. He moved and moved until you pushed lightly at his hand, the sensation almost too much.

Bucky met your eyes when they opened, and he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking at them and he moaned low at your taste, a wicked grin spreading around them when you groaned. “I’ll never get tired of this.”

Of your taste.

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, feeling your body hum still as you beheld the sight of your boyfriend sucking your juices off his fingers, all dark eyes and ruffled hair. “You will be the death of me one day, you know that right?”

His chuckle was husky and he kissed your neck gently, “Oh, I know. But you will too, so the feeling is definitely mutual, doll.”

His lips brushed over your belly button and a ripple of apprehension tickled down your spine and you struggled a little to focus on his words. “Every day since, you just blow me away. Everything you do. The way you’re so determined, the drive you have.” His kissed above your hip bone, tracing his tongue over the skin and he drew a little heart with his saliva, “You make me want to be a better person. You make me feel brave enough to make amends, to let go of my past and accept it.” His words were so heartfelt, so meaningful that they threatened to bring tears to your eyes.

But then his lips brushed lower, and you knew where this was going.

He had tried before, a couple of times now in the last few months and each time you’d stopped him.

And each time, he did so without hesitation and just moved on.

Your eyes snapped open, spine locking up, “Bucky.”

Instantly, he stopped. His head lifted as he heard the hesitancy in your voice, the apprehension, “What is it, baby? Are you okay?” His lust-blown eyes were wide, a frown between them as he looked over your face for the cause of you stopping him. He realised what he did and his face softened, “Shit, baby... I’m so sorry.” He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Your heart was pounding through your chest and you were convinced he could hear it. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not you... I just... um..”

Oh, you wished the ground would swallow you up.

Bucky’s warm, broad hand rubbed soothingly over your thigh and he felt the tremble in your body, “Hey... relax. It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me... .”

You swallowed, shame tinting your cheeks and you stared at the ceiling light, too afraid to look at him. But he had shared so much with you... and you wanted to share this with him, “No one... no one has ever...” a cringe took over your features, “Gone down on me before.”

Silence.

Oh, god.

Your voice came out quiet, hesitant, “Bucky...?” Gathering your courage, you peered down at him.

He was staring at you, that frown still between his eyes as he looked over your face. He had his suspicions as to why you didn’t like it, but he was never sure. “Is it because... Have people refused to? Because if they have, they were not worth your time. You are beautiful, completely and utterly beautiful and deserve to have someone worship you like that.” there was a tone to his voice, like he would go and tear into anyone who refused to give you such pleasure.

Oh.

Shaking your head quickly, you sat up on your elbows, “No! No, it’s not that. They’ve asked to it’s just... me.”

It was true.

You had partners who asked to go down on you all the time but... something in you just couldn’t. You weren’t sure entirely why.

Whether it was the idea that someone would be so close... there.

What if you weren’t... pretty enough?

What if you didn’t taste good?

What if.... you did something wrong?

It had always been a bit of a hang-up, and even when your friends described how unbelievable good it felt... you just couldn’t do it.

Bucky’s eyes danced between your own, as if he could read all of this in your expression. He let go of your thigh, crawling up your body and he slide a hand around your jaw, his fingers resting behind your ear, “Baby... you have nothing to worry about. You are absolutely gorgeous, so, so beautiful. Every single thing you do, it blows my mind.” He stroke his thumb over your cheek, “You can walk to me in sweatpants and my hoodie and I’m struck dumb.”

You laughed a little despite yourself and he copied you, eyes lighting up when you did, “Having someone go down on you... it’s like the ultimate act of worshiping. You are in control. You tell me when to stop, pull me closer or push me away... On my knees for you, tasting you and taking you to that edge.” He cocked his head, “It’ll feel a little odd at first but when you’re used to it... Oh, doll, it’ll feel so good.”

His words filtered around you, moving through you.

You knew he was good at his craft, at reading your body. And you also knew he would never make you feel uncomfortable and he would always stop if you asked him to.

And god, there was a part of you that so desperately wanted to feel it, to feel someone’s tongue between your folds, moving inside you, between your thighs...

An image came to you, his dark locks nestled between your thighs, rumbling moans vibrating against you as you arched above him...

“Okay.”

He blinked, perhaps not having expected you to accept so quickly., “Are you sure? If you’re not-“

You swallows, lifting your hand to his on your cheek, “I... I want to. Show me. Show me how good it feels.”

Bucky looked deep into your eyes, checking for himself and when he seemed satisfied, he nodded gently. “Okay... Okay. If you feel uncomfortable, if it hurts or it’s too much, please tell me to stop. Use the safeword, hit the top of my head, kick me, anything. Okay?”

God, he just cared so much didn’t he.

Heart melting, you nodded again, a smile mixed of anticipation and a little bit of nervousness on your lips, “Okay. I promise.”

Sndjcidks djcocks djckc

The approach of your impending third orgasm was almost painful, the heat in your belly tightening impossibly, every single muscle in your body locking up and screaming for release.

Bucky was there, already reading it in your body and his free arm lifted from across your waist, reaching up and sliding through yours.

You tightened your fingers around his cool metal ones, your hips now free.

An instinct came over you, and you began to rock your hips against his face-

Heat and shame flushed your cheeks and you opened your mouth to apologise, to try and stop your hips from moving -

But then Bucky let out a rough moan that reverberated through your walls, through your clit and you realised - he liked it. He liked you fucking yourself on his tongue, smearing your slick over his chin and lips.

Holy fucking god.

You wanted this, you wanted this all the time, him all other time.

Bucky rubbed harder at your clit, running tight circles and his tongued slide over your folds and then speared inside you, like white hot fire. The tip of his tongue stroked that spot, that spot that he seemed to have a direct route to and then - you were falling apart.

Your orgasm barrelled down into you relentlessly, searing through your body and turning you to light and stars and something entirely ethereal.

It felt like every cell in your body exploded, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you that just didn’t end.

Bucky took it all, took every ride of your hips, every clench of your thighs around his head and he worked you through it, tongue lapping up your juices like a man starved as you came apart above him.

He didn’t let you go, holding you steady in the whirlpool of pure sensation as you ever so slowly came down back to Earth.

You panted softly, your eyes slowly opening to the familiar ceiling of your bedroom.

Fucking hell.

Fucking. Hell.

A stunned laugh escaped your lips and you unclenched your fingers from Bucky’s hair, rubbing over your face.

He pressed soft kisses to your thighs, trailing up your body and then lightly pressing his lips to yours.

You could taste yourself on him, and it was intimate and a little filthy and god - you loved it. You loved him.

Kissing him back with equal fervour, you couldn’t stop grinning.

Bucky matched your wide smile, his body held up over yours and he brushed back your damp hair, “How do you feel?” Always looking out for you. He pulled away gently from your lips, trailing his mouth over your jaw.

You chuckled again, breathlessly, “I feel... amazing. Like my body is singing.” You shook your head just slightly in awe, “I don’t know how I’ve gone so long without that. You’re fucking good...”

You felt his shit-eating grin against your jaw, his teeth lightly nip your skin, “See... I told you. You deserve to be worshipped, baby. And I plan on doing it again and again, on my knees, under you, over you... like the goddess you are.” He brushed his lips over the shell of your ear, his voice a rough, husky whisper, “And I plan to carry on right now.”

The rest of the night fell away as he slipped back inside you effortlessly, and you climbed to the sky together again and again, and all you could think was... This was it.

You’d only been with him for a few months but in that time he had shown you more than anyone ever had. He had lovingly and carefully peeled back your layers and revealed such a shining light beneath, the light that had always been there and he had seen since that first meeting.

You wanted this forever, all the time. His love, his trust...

And his lips and tongue.

#my first ever request 🥺#oh god I hope this is okay #*nervously waits*#you just know I had to put the vibranium arm in there #look we all have an arm kink and that’s okay #we are nurturing not shaming #Bucky barnes smut #Bucky barnes x reader #Bucky barnes x reader smut #Sebastian stan x reader

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mintaka14 · 4 years

Link

This is a bit of something that got in my way while I was working on the ML ballet AU. Turns out I still have a grain or two of Lila salt in me. Quickspinner’s Out of Your League (from the All That Remains collection) needs the credit for a bit of backstory that I had in mind here. And yes, this is Lukanette. Always.

Lila wasn’t above using her mother’s sense of guilt to her own advantage. She also had no problem with feeding that guilt. A few sighs and teary comments when her mother (yet again) had to cancel on Lila to deal with something at the embassy, or a subtle reminder about all the times Lila had been left on her own in their apartment was all grist to the mill, and Lila had to admit that it had paid off in a big way this time.

Her mother had pulled every string and favour at her disposal for Lila’s birthday party, and Jagged Stone himself was going to be putting in an appearance. Lila was jubilant.

She watched the ballroom at the embassy – how her mother had managed that one Lila didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care – filling up with her classmates and everyone she’d ever met, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile.

Of course, Marinette wasn’t there. Lila had had an enjoyable month of it, tormenting the goody-two-shoes over it, and the beautiful part was that no one had even caught a hint of what she was really doing. She hadn’t been so crass as to leave Marinette out of the party invitations, oh no! She had handed the girl a gilt-edged invite with her most charming, and insincere, smile as she made a point of telling Marinette how much she hoped that Marinette would be there. Their classmates had eaten it up with a spoon, falling all over Lila to tell her how generous and forgiving she was, given the way Marinette had been so hostile to her, and all the while Lila had smiled sweetly and watched Marinette twist in the trap.

If Marinette begged off the party, she was the bad guy for refusing Lila’s olive branch. If Marinette came, then Lila won, and she would get to watch Marinette swallow her pride and suffer all night, or crack and create drama. Either way, it was all good, and Lila had had fun making little digs and comments about the party in front of Marinette for the weeks leading up to it.

As Lila accepted everyone’s tributes and praise, greeting each new arrival with becoming diffidence and subtly trying to gauge the worth of each gift that they piled on the table at the entrance, she came to the conclusion that Marinette had decided not to put in an appearance. Her smile grew wider.

“Lila!” Alya had arrived, and swept her into a hug, surveying the ballroom, and the tables of food, with an impressed eye. Behind her, Nino grinned and bobbed his head in greeting. “Amazing party, girl. And I can’t believe you got Jagged Stone to come!”

Lila gave her a modest smile. “It’s all about who you know, and Jagged was more than happy to come when he heard it was for my birthday.” She looked around as if searching for something, and made her eyes wide and hopeful. “Did… did Marinette come with you?”

Alya shifted uncomfortably. “Er… Marinette couldn’t make it. But she asked me to wish you a happy birthday.”

Oh, no, she didn’t, Lila thought, suppressing the smirk that pulled at the corners of her mouth. Alya, you liar.

She forced her face into a sorrowful pout with just the right touch of hurt. “It’s okay. It would have been nice if we could put aside whatever this grudge is that Marinette has against me just for once, but I guess not…”

Alya and Nino smiled awkwardly. And then her mother touched her arm, a harried expression on her face as she drew Lila away out of earshot for a moment.

“Lila, sweetheart, there’s some bad news,” her mother said anxiously, and Lila felt her smile slip a little. “We’ve just had word that Jagged Stone had to cancel at the last minute.”

“What do you mean, Jagged Stone cancelled?” Lila almost shrieked. A few heads turned towards them, and Lila brought herself back under control before they could overhear. “Mama, you need to fix this. Get him back!”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. His agent said it was unavoidable, and they’re paying the late cancellation fine in the contract. At this late notice I can’t get anyone else to come instead.”

Lila let her eyes fill with tears – she’d practised tearing up in front of her mirror, but in this case the tears were very real.

“Mama,” she insisted, and the harried lines on her mother’s face deepened.

“You’ll still have a lovely party,” her mother said weakly. “The food is wonderful, and you still have the DJ for entertainment.”

“But I told everyone that Jagged Stone was coming!”

“I’m so sorry, darling.” Her head turned towards the doorway, where an aide was waving a phone at her. “I have to go take this call.”

The moment that her mother had turned away, Lila’s mouth pinched with anger and frustration, and she barely stopped herself from stamping her foot.

“Hey girl, is everything okay?”

She heard Alya’s voice call out to her, and she smoothed out her face, spinning around with artificial enthusiasm. Several of their classmates were clustered behind Alya, and she turned a smile on them as well.

“So,” Alya continued, “we’re all really excited! When’s Jagged getting here?”

Lila gave a moue of only slightly exaggerated disappointment.

“Can you believe it?” she sighed, one hand fluttering up to her chest. “Jagged had to cancel. It was last minute, and I’m so worried it’s because that awful throat condition of his has flared up again.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh no! You can’t tell anyone about it, no one is supposed to know, but that was why he couldn’t do the zoom call with the class last month like he’d promised.”

There was a ripple of sympathy and concern through her classmates, but then Alix made a sceptical noise at the back of the group.

“Throat condition? But you said it was sunspot interference with the internet connection.”

“No, I was trying to keep his throat problems secret-“

“It was Clara Nightingale you said had a serious throat condition, and that was why she had to cancel helping out with the charity auction like she’d told you,” Alix interrupted.

“No, that was Jagged-“

“If recall accurately,” Max spoke up, “and I do, Clara Nightingale had the throat condition. I could have Markov replay the conversation,” he added helpfully, and Lila spun around in dismay.

“No, that’s not-“

“There have been a lot of cancellations,” Alix said in growing suspicion. Lila could see the faces around her registering confusion, and there was a growing murmur as her classmates tallied things up. She had to stop this before they came to the realisation that…

“What about that interview you promised me with Ladybug?” Alya was asking her, her voice sharp. “The one that got cancelled because of an akuma, except I could never find anything about that akuma, and you never rescheduled. And that meeting that Nino was supposed to have with that director?”

Nino wasn’t saying anything, his face hidden by his cap as he stared at the floor. The muttering was growing louder now as more people were working things out and the number of promises mounted up.

“Oh my god,” Juleka mumbled behind the fall of her streaked black and purple hair. “He was right.”

“Who?” Rose asked, but Alix was talking again before Juleka could answer.

“You didn’t need to fib about Jagged Stone being here to get us to come to your party, Lila,” Alix said as the expressions turned to disgust and disbelief.

“But I didn’t!” Lila protested, and for once she had been telling the truth. “I swear, Jagged really was coming. You have to believe me!”

“I said it was a bit hinky that Jagged Stone would have agreed to play a teenage party like this,” Alix told the group around her.

“I’m not lying!” Lila insisted, her voice growing shrill as the expressions turned to disgust and disbelief. “He did a signing for Chloe.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Chloe, and the mayor himself roped him into that.”

“But my mother works for the embassy! And I saved his kitten!”

Again, Alix snorted, and Alya had her arms folded now, frowning.

“You know, I couldn’t find anything about that online, or about Jagged even having a kitten. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why I believed that in the first place.”

“You believed Marinette,” she couldn’t help the slight snarl at that name, “when she said she designed stuff for Jagged and he came to her house.”

“But she didn’t say that,” Nino pointed out. “We saw all of that for ourselves. But now I think about it, I haven’t seen anything that proves you’ve even met him.”

“But I have! He really was coming, and he was going to sing Happy Birthday to me! He just had to cancel.”

“Sure, Lila.”

After all the stories Lila had spun, and the lies and embellishments, how could it be the truth that they refused to believe? The group drifted away from her while Lila stared after them in open-mouthed shock. She was left in a spreading circle of isolation at her own party.

The only person who acknowledged her existence was the tall boy with the blue hair over near the buffet table. Lila frowned, trying to work out where she knew him from. He was older than her class, and the ripped jeans and scruffy hoodie were out of place among the smartly dressed guests, but he looked familiar, and what was he doing at her party anyway? He raised the vol au vent in his hand in an unsmiling salute.

Lila made her way over to him.

“Now, where do I know you from?” she asked with an attempt at coyness, in spite of the fury still seething through her at her classmates’ revolt. His expression didn’t change.

“We’ve met before. I’m Juleka’s brother, Luka.”

Juleka’s brother. Marinette. She had a sudden memory of the steps outside the school and an older boy with blue hair and a guitar slung over his back, coolly warning her about what would happen if she messed with Marinette or his sister. Her eyes narrowed.

He said, “I just wanted to say Happy Birthday, and I’m sorry to hear that Jagged fell through on you.”

“Jagged?” Lila sucked in a breath at that. “What do you know about Jagged Stone?”

“You underestimated Marinette,” the blue-haired boy said calmly. “It’s all about who you know, isn’t that what you said, Lila? It’s all about connections. Except Marinette’s are real.”

She let out a smothered shriek.

“Marinette did this! How could she-“

Luka was shaking his head. “Marinette didn’t do a thing. She’s been trying so hard to take the high road, and she’s not vindictive. I did warn you, though, what would happen if you threatened someone I care about again – just because I don’t want to play your kind of games doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t.”

“Then you turned them all against me! You-“

“I didn't even need to do that,” Luka said, and gave her an infuriatingly composed smile. “In the end, all I really needed to do was tell my dear old dad how you treated his favourite designer. I didn’t even have to bend the truth to do it, and the music just played from there.”

Lila’s mouth fell open. “Jagged Stone… is your father?!”

“Surprised the hell out of me, too,” Luka muttered, and finished the pastry he was holding. He dusted the crumbs off his hands.

“Connections,” Luka said, and shoved himself away from the table. “I have them too, and I’m more than willing to use them for Marinette’s sake. Thank you for the lovely party.”

He gave her a little wave and walked away, leaving her standing there in the ruins of her reputation.

#Lila salt #Lukanette endgame

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Follow Me Through (Part Four)

Y/N L/N doesn’t hate anyone the way she hates Peter Maximoff. When Peter vanishes one day and Professor Xavier asks her to travel through the dimensions to find Peter in a town called Westview, she’s sure it won’t end well.

previous / masterlist

a/n: wasn’t planning on doing another part but @elaineygrace had a good suggestion so you know we had to keep going 🤩

You’re still kissing Peter when you hear the voice in your head. It’s not much, barely a gentle nudge at the corner of your mind, but it’s enough. Peter’s hands pause on the small of your back, and after a moment, he leans away. “They’re trying to find us.” You groan, calling up some remnant of your abilities so Professor X and Jean can’t see you. As much fun as it would be to explain to them why you were suddenly kissing Peter, you don’t much enjoy the thought of that discussion.

Peter pulls you close, still unwilling to head out the door despite the growing urgency of the mental nudge. “They’re probably wondering where we are and what happened.” You frown up at him. “Didn’t you tell them?” Peter shakes his head. “I ran out the second you left. I wasn’t thinking about them- you were my main priority.” You flash him a grin. “That’s cute, Peter.” He rolls his eyes. “It was a moment of weakness. I’ll try to avoid it.”

You glance between the two of you, at the way his arms are still around your waist and his lips only reluctantly away from yours. “I’m sure you will.” Peter laughs quietly. “Maybe not.” He presses one last kiss to your forehead, then steps slowly away. “Want to head back? I think they’ll start tearing the school apart if they don’t find us.” You nod, walking towards the door. “Let’s go explain ourselves.”

Xavier, Jean, and Hank are still in the lab when the two of you drift back into the room. The Professor has two fingers raised to his temples, evidently still attempting to find you. He sighs in relief and consternation when he sees the two of you. “You could have given us some warning before running out.” Jean turns to you, but her shared worry starts to melt away into confusion when she looks at you and Peter. Her eyes dart between the two of you, at the way you’re standing so close to each other without making any efforts to avoid one another. Her brow furrows, but before she can say anything Hank raises a hand.

“So, did everything work?” Grateful for the distraction from Jean, you step forward. “Yeah. I used my powers on the transporter and I found myself in Westview. After a little bit of searching, I found Peter. He was under some sort of spell, but I was able to break it after a while.” Xavier frowns. “What kind of spell?” You shrug. “Some sort of mind control thing. I think it was meant to keep him in the town. It wasn’t the best thing to deal with.”

Peter shudders. “Never again. It was awful.” Hank straightens up from the transporter in his hand with a look bordering on bewilderment. “Did you two just agree on something?” You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so strange to you?” Hank waves a hand dismissively, but that doesn’t stop him from turning to Xavier with a did you see that question burning behind his eyes. Peter looks between Hank, an equally confused Professor, and a fascinated Jean before a gleam starts to dance in his eyes.

Peter leans over you, casually draping an arm around your shoulders. He acts like it’s nothing at all, but from the way the three other mutants are staring at you, he might as well have broken into a song and dance routine. He glances over at them. “Do we need to do anything else, or are we free to go?” Jean stares at him. “Are you sure you’re not still under mind control?” Peter laughs. “No, I’m good. I’ve got Y/N, right? Everything’s going great.”

The Professor remains silent, and Peter takes that as his cue to leave. He guides you to the door, opening it for you before returning his arm to your waist. You can practically feel Jean burning holes into the back of your head as you walk away. You turn to Peter once the door closes behind you, eyebrow raised. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were enjoying this.” Peter just grins. “Maybe I am. Are you going to tell me you aren’t having fun?”

His grip tightens slightly around your waist, pulling you close to his side so he can press a kiss to your cheek. Your irritation disappears entirely, replaced by a swooping feeling in your stomach. “I’m not going to respond to that.” As the two of you walk through the hallways, you notice with an amused smile that Jean, Xavier, and Hank aren’t the only ones to be utterly bewildered at the sudden reversal in your relationship with Peter. A few students who know you well and know how much you used to hate the silver-haired speedster look at you like you’ve gone mad.

You glance over at Peter, noting the usual mischievous glint in his eyes. “We’re attracting stares.” Peter contemplates Storm, who’s practically stopped walking in shock at the sight of you. “We always did. We’re devastatingly attractive.” This is enough to make you choke on laughter, and the victorious grin on Peter’s face tells you he said it just to mess with you. “I hate you.” Peter doesn’t hesitate for a second. “No you don’t. You love me, remember? You kissed me in the middle of Westview.” You swat his shoulder, although you can’t shake a smile. “We all make mistakes.” Peter tilts his head to the side, considering this. “Maybe, but I don’t think this was.” It isn’t- not for a second.

Your paths have to part soon after that. You still have to go to school, even after jumping into another dimension to rescue your arch rival and fall in love with him shortly after that. The Professor timed the Westview mission so that you would arrive just before the school day started, ensuring that you wouldn’t miss a minute of your classes. Sometimes, you wish he wasn’t the head of the school just so he could cut you a break, but unfortunately not. So, you reluctantly leave Peter behind for the droning of your history teacher, although it would be lying to say that you paid attention to a word of the lesson. You happen to be thinking about other things, like that alternate New Jersey suburbia and the boy you rediscovered in it.

You have a fairly long break in your schedule after lunch, and make your way through the grounds during the afternoon. The sun drenches everything with a golden, hazy glow, especially the tousled silver locks of the boy you stumble upon outside. Peter is lying on a grassy hill, far enough away from the school for a little peace and quiet. He cracks open an eye when he sees you, then reaches out an arm. You have to laugh. “You look like you died an hour ago.”

Peter pouts. “Mean. Traveling between dimensions takes a lot out of you, you know.” You roll your eyes. “You’re forgetting that I made that trip too.” Peter waves a hand dismissively. “I was under mind control. Got you there.” You laugh. “Is the strain of having someone force you to forget me so exhausting?” Peter stretches out an arm to you once more, and when you ignore him a second time, he pauses for a second before a blur of silver envelops you.

Suddenly, you’re lying on the grass next to Peter, one of his arms draped casually across your back from where he’d carried you over. You prop your chin up on your hands. “I guess you’re not tired enough to drag me over here?” Peter doesn’t respond, just leans forward to kiss you. You’re still not used to this, to the casual displays of affection that proves he loves you, so you lie there, feeling a blush creep over your cheeks. Peter grins at this. “I just like being able to kiss you without being stopped by the mind control.”

You laugh, feeling the wind blow cool air against the heat in your cheeks. “You’re a terrible flirt.” Peter shrugs. “Maybe. Do you know how many times I wanted to kiss you in the middle of that town and I couldn’t do anything about it? It was awful.” He kisses you again, letting his hands linger on your back and across your shoulders. Between the sun, the warm summer air, and his lips on yours, you feel like you could melt away into the day and never surface again.

You lean your head back against Peter’s chest, feeling the gentle tickle of his breath on your forehead. “You know, I keep thinking about what that Agnes woman said. Something about how I was a ‘child of the Infinity Stones’ or whatever. Did you know what she was talking about?” Peter ponders this. “While I was under the mind control. I kept feeling like I was living with two sets of memories. She gave me some backstory that I think belonged to the real Pietro, and some information about her dimension. It was strange- I think their version of us is called the Avengers, and they had to deal with the Infinity Stones a while back. They gave people a lot of power or something. There were six of them- mind, reality, soul, time, power, space.”

You nod slowly. “I guess that makes sense for me, why I keep being able to do different things. Like, I can stop Jean from reading my mind but I can also summon magical energy. It never made sense before.” Peter thinks this over, then reaches out and grabs a rock from the hill beside him. He tosses it once in his hand before holding it up. “Can you move it? One of the stones was reality, right?” You furrow your brow, focusing. You hold out your hand, and the rock shimmers slightly in the air before rising, changing color like a chameleon. Now it is black, then sapphire blue, then an all too familiar silver.

Peter beams. “You’re thinking of me.” You give him a look before shifting the rock’s color to blue again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your reward for this act of rebellion is a kiss on the forehead instead of the lips. You’re about to chastise him for this, but then you hear the sound of footsteps stopping right next to you and you freeze, looking up as casually as you dare.

Jean stands before you, mouth slightly open as she stares with unabashed horror. You realize how this looks- Peter lying on his back on the grass, you curled up next to him in the crook of his arm. She points a finger between the two of you, moving it back and forth as she struggles to comprehend what she’s seeing. “You- Peter-” Her voice breaks off. “I thought you wanted to kill him!”

You shrug. “I guess I changed my mind.” Jean squints at you in confusion. “What does that mean? How is it that you disappear for a second to another dimension and then come back like-” She gestures wildly between the two of you- “Like this? What happened in Westview?” Peter flashes Jean a cocky grin. “It’s a secret. We’ll never tell.” She gives him a look before turning back to you. “Are you sure you’re not the one under mind control? I mean, you couldn’t stop complaining when the Professor asked you to go help Peter in the first place. Now you’re what, spending quality time together?”

Peter looks over at you, amused. “You complained?” You glance over at him, feeling a self-conscious smile starting to drift over you. “Yeah. I tried to make Jean do it but she wouldn’t let me.” Jean shudders. “I’m beginning to think I should have agreed. I think something seriously wrong has happened in the world.” You laugh, waving a hand at her. “You hated Scott for the longest time before you let him get close to you. Is it that surprising that someone else might do the same?”

Jean looks at you plaintively. “Yes, obviously.” Peter sits up slightly, careful not to move you. “Are you here for a reason, or just to gape at us? We have quality time to get to.” Jean seems suddenly swarmed with regret that she came over here. “I am going to leave now. If the world begins to fall apart, at least I’ll know that there was a warning sign.” You wave a cheerful goodbye to your friend as she turns and walks back to the school.

Peter watches her go. “I’m not sure she approves of us.” You laugh. “I’m not sure she’s come to terms with it. I mean, the last words I said to you before you switched dimensions were a death threat.” Peter leans back against the grass. “Yeah, but you didn’t mean it. Anybody could tell that.” You look over at him. “Anybody?” Peter nods. “Anybody. Even me.” When he kisses you again, you let all thoughts of other mutants and alternate dimensions fade away. The world shrinks away to only feature you, and Peter, and the fact that for the first time you finally get to fall in love with him. Nothing is in your way.

peter maximoff tag list: @enchantedcruelsummer, @awaywiththe, @amourtentiaa

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff imagines #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff series #quicksilver #quicksilver imagines #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver series #wandavision #wandavision series #wandavision imagines #xmen #xmen imagines #xmen x reader #xmen series #mcu #marvel

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refinedbuffoonery · 3 years

Text

Broken Like Me (1)

masterlist.

THIS FIC IS NOT INTENDED FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. Please see the masterlist for content warnings.

Here it is, the long-awaited dark!MacRiley AU! First, I want to thank my lovely beta readers and my life-saving brainstorming/workshop buddy. You all know who you are. ❤

This fic adheres to canon through 5x05 and then goes off the fucking rails. Backstory and other important tidbits of information revealed in the latter half of season 5 may be used, but timeline-wise anything after 5x05 does not exist in this fic. Also, Jack is dead and is staying dead, so don’t get your hopes up for a happy ending.

I will do my best to update this regularly, but hanging out in and writing such dark headspaces is HARD. I will definitely be taking breaks to write fluffier fic, because a big chunk of this story is all hurt and no comfort.

Without further adieu, let’s get this party started. (It’s not a party. In fact, it’s like...the opposite of a party.)

*****

They say he was a good man.

A good soldier.

A good father.

A good friend.

They say they are sorry for her loss, sorry he was taken from this world too soon.

They say Jack would be proud of the legacy he left behind, would be proud to have gone out in a blaze of glory.

Riley is sick of it.

It’s like she’s a teenager, and Jack is leaving her all over again. Only this time it’s worse. This time there’s no coming back.

The guests at the wake gaze at the folded up American flag on the fireplace mantle with deep respect, but Riley only feels anger every time she glimpses the piece of fabric the government sent back in his place. A flag and a life insurance claim feel like a mockery of the kind of man Jack Dalton was.

Was. Past tense.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

*****

Mac has never been afraid of Riley before.

He’s seen her angry and upset, but the rage-filled woman he stopped from killing Anya Vitez with her bare hands back in Croatia is someone he does not know.

The frightening part is that Riley isn’t a hot-headed person. In work mode, she is cold and calculating, so for her to go after Vitez like that...something inside her snapped.

Three weeks have passed since then, and every time he looks at Riley, Mac remembers holding her back, fingers digging sharply into her waist until she stopped fighting him. He sees the fury radiating off Riley’s body like heat waves off asphalt—sees the way she clings to it, finds purpose in it, letting it consume her so there’s no room for guilt or grief. Mac knows the feeling all too well. And he also knows there will be a very loud thud when she finally comes crashing back down.

But he also knows that the woman is like a loaded gun, safety off and desperate to fire at something.

Which is why he worries when Matty calls them in for an op and Riley isn’t there. She’s at Vitez’s trial, Matty informs them, but that doesn’t make Mac feel any better. Whenever there’s downtime during the mission, and Mac’s mind is free to wander, he can't stop thinking about her. This new Riley is becoming obsessively vengeful, and if someone doesn’t reel her back in soon, she might do something she can’t come back from.

The thought plagues Mac every second there aren’t bullets whizzing toward his head.

After the op, Mac drives to Riley’s apartment. Upon arrival, his ears are assaulted by Riley’s upstairs neighbor blasting Macklemore’s greatest hits. Mac hears the lyrics clear as day, even though both his truck windows and the apartment windows are closed.

Riley really shouldn’t have moved out of Mac’s house, not if this is her best option. He still doesn’t understand why she did.

It doesn’t take long to notice the GTO is missing. Riley should be back from the trial by now, but Mac has a sneaking suspicion where she is.

The drive to Jack’s apartment seems to take forever. The brick building is in an older neighborhood, one of few affordable ones with trees planted along the sidewalks—a luxury in LA. Sure enough, the GTO is parked on the curb, not far from the fire escape that connects to Jack’s living room.

Looking up, Mac spies a familiar body perched on the stairs.

Riley sits on the fire escape, soaking in the last rays of sunlight. Her eyes are closed, head resting against the brick wall. Mac doesn’t say anything as he sits beside her on the narrow metal stairs, their hips and thighs just touching.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug her? Hold her hand? Leave her alone? Riley isn’t a super touchy person. Mac decides on the latter, picking at his fingernails while his gaze drifts west to study the sunset.

Several minutes pass before Riley says, “Hey.” Her voice is low and scratchy, like she’s been crying.

“Hey,” Mac repeats. “How long have you been here?”

Riley shifts beside him, sitting up. “I don’t know. A while.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve come here, is it?”

A sigh. “No, it’s not.” Mac figures as much. Aside from the constant clamor of the city, Jack’s apartment is relatively quiet. It’s not in the greatest neighborhood, but it’s safe enough for Riley to sit alone and think. Or not think. Whatever she feels like doing.

Riley rests her head on Mac’s shoulder, and a wave of protectiveness floods his system. It’s new, this need to watch her back more than the others’. It came on so gradually that Mac doesn’t know when it started or what triggered it, only that he feels it all the time now. Especially after Jack’s…

He avoids examining the feeling too closely.

Without warning, Riley says, “If you hadn’t held me back, I would’ve killed her.”

Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Mac glances down at Riley in surprise. He knows it’s true—thinks so himself—but hearing it come out of her mouth makes his stomach turn. The last, and only, time Riley killed someone...it took her months to piece herself back together afterward. And that death was in self-defense.

This one would’ve been murder. Intentional and vindictive.

Mac isn’t sure Riley could come back from that, at least not as herself. The woman who would emerge from that would be a total stranger inside his best friend’s body. Mac suppresses a shiver. “I know,” he says.

“Thank you for stopping me.” Riley’s voice is quiet. So, so quiet.

“You would’ve done the same for me.” Gingerly, Mac wraps his arm around Riley’s shoulders, ready to let go at the first sign of her discomfort. When she doesn’t react, he relaxes and holds her more surely.

The sky is painted in vibrant oranges and reds, fading into deep blue overhead. Subtle strokes of pink outline the scattered clouds hanging above the horizon. Out of all the sunsets Mac has seen, all over the world, nothing quite compares to the ones here at home. He wishes Jack was here to see it.

Mac spends far too long debating whether to bring it up before asking, “Why did you go to the trial?” Agents, especially secret ones, don’t go to trials, mostly to keep their identities safe. Publicly tying oneself to a case is never a good idea, for more reasons that Mac can begin to name.

“I swore I’d be there every step of the way. I meant it.” Mac tries not to bristle at the snarling, defensive edge to Riley’s tone. “Eventually, she’ll make a mistake, and I will be there when she does. And then I’m going to rip out her entire organization from the roots up.”

Fear wraps its ugly hand around Mac’s heart. Until every single person associated with Tiberius Kovac is behind bars, there will be a target on Riley’s back, and Riley will have put it there herself. Losing one person to Kovac is more than enough; Mac refuses to lose Riley too.

“How can I help you?”

Riley looks up, eyes wide like she’s expecting him to try to talk her out of it, not offer to help. “You don’t have to do that.”

“And miss out on all the fun?” Mac almost smiles as he quotes her. Almost.

She sits up. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to hack Interpol first, to see which of her colleagues might also be dirty. So unless you secretly picked up hacking…”

Mac huffs. “Sorry, I only hack hardware.” He expects some insane, crackhead plan, not something so…reasonable. Maybe Riley isn’t as off-the-rails as he thought.

But only maybe.

A seagull perches on the railing below them, honking and squawking for seemingly no reason at all. Gulls are just like that. It glares at Mac, pinning him to his spot with a beady yellow eye, challenging Mac to shoo it away.

Go find some tourists to harass, Mac wants to snark at it. Leave us alone.

The seagull cocks its head, as if to say, I know something you don’t.

Mac narrows his eyes. I bet you do.

He swears the seagull shrugs before taking off, flying low over the GTO before sailing over rooftops on its way back to the ocean. It passes a billboard advertising a new blockbuster spy thriller, the product of millions of dollars and Hollywood plot recycling. Mac saw the trailer. The movie is about a soldier who joined the CIA in a quest for retribution after his best friend came home in a box. Usually Mac likes watching spy movies—mostly to make fun of them—but this one hits a little too close to home.

It takes a monumental effort to tear his gaze away.

When his eyes finally meet Riley’s, Mac understands the silent ache in them—the ache that’s surely reflected in his own eyes. He and Riley are drowning, but at least they’re drowning together.

Mac frowns. That must be the dimmest “on the bright side” thought he’s ever had.

Riley doesn’t say anything more, so neither does Mac. They sit on the fire escape until long after the sun sets and the temperature drops, and the city's nightlife stretches its limbs as it wakes. Mac shivers, but Riley seems oddly unaffected by the cold. That or she’s too numb to notice.

He threads his still semi-warm fingers through her icy ones, letting their joined hands rest on his knee. It seems like his last tether to the Riley he knows and loves, one who’s slowly slipping away from him and being replaced by a woman who might very well bring the world to its knees as payback for all that it’s done to her.

Mac has no interest in ever meeting that woman. Mostly because he refuses to lose his Riley, but also because Mac knows he won’t be able to resist that other Riley. She will slash his restraint beyond repair, and Mac will follow her to the ends of the earth.

He will find a way to keep them both afloat. He has to.

Or else the Phoenix may very well be hunting him and Riley again, and this time, they’ll deserve it.

*****

Entering her apartment later that night, Riley realizes too late that it isn’t empty. Bozer is still there, and he’s making dinner. Locking the door behind her, she hears a rushed, “Got to go, Matty. She’s home.”

Bozer crashed on her couch the night they got the news and never left. I don't want you to be alone, Bozer keeps saying, despite her insistence she doesn’t need a babysitter. Other than that, they don’t speak to each other much. In fact, Riley wouldn't have noticed he said anything at all if not for the way he stares at her, standing at the stove and twirling a wooden spoon between his fingers.

"What?" she snaps.

Carefully, Bozer asks, "How was the trial?"

"Fine." Riley knows he cares, and that he’s hurting too, but nothing he says or does is going to help her. The sooner he figures that out the better. She drops her keys and jacket on a chair before heading for her bedroom.

“You hungry?” he calls after her.

Riley yanks off her boots, chucking them into the closet with too much force. “No.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Her fuse is running short these days, and she’s just about had it with his incessant smothering and questioning. Riley marches into the kitchen, rolling her shoulders back and bracing her hands on the counter. “Last I checked, I still have a mother, so if you’re just going to keep nagging me, then I think it’s time you get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Bozer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Get out,” Riley snarls.

Still struggling to regain his ability to speak, Bozer stammers, “At least let me finish making you dinner first.”

“Fine.” Cracking her knuckles, Riley retreats to her bedroom once more. “I’m taking a shower. You better be gone when I come out.” She doesn’t wait for a response.

When Riley emerges, her dinner is cold, and Bozer is long gone.

She doesn’t eat.

*****

On the second day of Vitez’s trial, Riley sits in the back of the room long after the trial adjourns for the day, thinking. She didn’t recognize the witnesses who testified today, and as the prosecutor called each one forward, Riley wished she had her laptop so she could look them up. Now, as she stares over the rows of empty wooden seats to the section where the jury sat, Riley can only hope that the witnesses’ testimonies are enough.

Riley knows there’s more than enough evidence to convict Vitez—especially since she recorded the confession herself—but obsessing over the trial is easier than facing the reality waiting outside the courthouse doors.

Her mom invited her to visit his grave today, after the trial, but Riley declined. Facing that slab of granite will make it real, make it…permanent.

She knows what it says. Jack Dalton. Beloved. Gone too soon. Someone asked for her approval before it was made. It doesn’t say nearly enough to encapsulate all that he was, but at the time Riley couldn’t think about it—couldn’t look at it—long enough to suggest any changes. She still can’t.

Chewing her lip, Riley anxiously toys with her rings, spinning them and moving them from finger to finger.

At the wake, one of his old Delta buddies joked that the gravestone should read “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers,” but Riley didn’t laugh.

Riley hasn’t laughed since Matty broke the news. It’s like the part of her that knows how to feel joy died in that explosion too.

Instead, she wants to scream at the universe until her voice gives out, cursing it for taking her dad away too soon. Because that’s what he is. Her dad. Riley doesn’t even know when she started calling him that again, but if she has to guess, it was sometime between the first “I’m proud of you, honey” and him kicking her ass at skee-ball for the millionth time.

Tears leak from Riley’s eyes without her consent.

It feels like she failed him, in a way. By not being there. By not keeping him alive.

Now the best she can do is make sure his death means something.

Vitez will go to prison for the rest of her life, that Riley is sure of. But the rest of her organization is still out there, and Riley intends on putting every single member behind bars. No amount of justice will even begin to heal the Jack-shaped wound in her heart, but at least the world will be better for it. Safer.

But she’d rather live in a more dangerous world with him still in it than a safer one without. That way they could save the world together, like they always did.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Anger rumbles through her body, like a Texas thunderstorm in her veins. It’s the only emotion Riley feels anymore, ever since the sadness gave way to numbness.

A woman in a security uniform pokes her head in the room. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to lock up for the night.” When Riley doesn’t respond, the woman adds, “Are you okay?”

Are you okay? Riley hates that question more than all the others. How are you? Have you eaten today? What can I do to help?

She feels like she’s dying. She can’t eat. Nothing will help.

But that isn’t what people want to hear. Even Mac asked that last question, yesterday on the fire escape, although Riley didn’t automatically despise the question like she usually did. It’s different coming from him than anyone else; his offer was genuine, not coming from pity or obligation.

She isn’t surprised Mac recognized her need to do something. After all, he had been the same way after his dad was killed.

Coldly, Riley finally says,“I will be.” The woman doesn’t deserve her abrupt answer, but Riley can’t quite bring herself to care. She lets the anger the questions bring up fuel her, lets it hold her together.

The anger is all she has left.

Riley stands, her heels clicking on the floor as she exits the courthouse.

She’s coming for all the monsters who hurt him. She’s coming for the ones who rendered him nothing more than ashes on the wind, the ones who turned her life into a nightmare she can’t wake up from.

Because she doesn’t need to wake up to become theirs.

Want to be tagged in future chapters? Send me an ask.

#beth writes #dark!MacRiley #macriley #macgyver #angus macgyver #riley davis #mac x riley #macgyver fanfiction

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ladyyatexel · 3 years

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I Went On A Manga Binge

So you don't have to

For those of you who have wisely avoided the shreds of it I've left around the blog thus-far, I had some weird notion to go re-experience Yu-Gi-Oh uuuuuh a week ago? We'll go with that. Time is meaningless.

I'd been able to read a good portion of the early manga at the end of highschool, and somewhere in my stacks and stacks of paper is fanart from this dark time, so you know I cared. I also still own a Dark Magician action figure somehow, so. I'd also watched a large portion of the anime with my brother because it had been laced with some kind of crack and we couldn't look away? I remember when we both were just like shit, wait, don't change the channel, I can't stop looking at it. And the next thing we knew we were waiting for new episodes and I was doing research on the Japanese original because I was that kid.

Anyway, unnecessary backstory out of the way, here are some... let's call them Observations and Consequences of having read somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 chapters (and growing) of a manga primarily hinged on card games from a spectrum of sources ranging from boringly lawful to sketchy as fuck.

Surprise actual character that develops in typical shounen fashion being Jounouchi. My limited experiences with the 4Kids dub and only early manga had not painted him in a particularly good light. I don't know if episodes were being aired out of order or if I had just missed the ones that established that he was making shit up as he was going along, but Wow I liked him a lot more going through the manga than I ever did watching the (dubbed, heavily edited and censored and thrown into a slurry machine) anime. I'd managed to come out with the impression that he was just as reasonably experienced with the game as Yugi back in the day. Wild.

I'm now reading every single comic-style post on Tumblr backwards.

Striking inverse to first point, wow, I don't like Seto Kaiba. Though he gets points for his general philosophy of the future, and the line I read in my sketchy online combo of scans and scanlations in which he said, "If God is in your way, you run him down," was Metal As Fuck. I somewhat shame-facedly admit to enjoying him a lot more as an Abridged Series character. (I watched Abridged as it came out back in the day! The experience of watching the anime with my brother had been so fresh that I got all the in jokes about the way things were edited and dubbed, it was great. Series remains influential part of my life to this day, which is hella weird.)

I almost understand how Duel Monsters works now. I don't want this.

That said, wow a lot of the decisions made in the anime made everything a lot more ridiculous than the admittedly already ridiculous original. I got the distinct feeling in the manga that the Duelist Kingdom stuff we were seeing was designed to be used and exploited in ways that don't make sense in an actual cardgame just played on a table like a normal person and this was part of testing everyone to think higher, differently. Maybe this is obvious to everyone already, I don't know. I had always liked that it was very, 'Not so fast, I'm going to blow up the moon to change the tides,' but I'm not really sure the anime gave enough explanation that this was an extra layer added to things for that event? You can see people actively getting used to it in the books, and people who aren't considering the real or 3D nature of it getting owned, but my memory of anime version is everyone just like, 'oh, shucks, fuck me, I forgot to consider the phase of the moon before i played this card, can't believe I forgot.' No one calls Yugi on any of this stuff because it's valid play in that situation. Plus Yami Yugi had mad trickster energy in the beginning and it suited him to think of ways to do things inside these little simulation boxes the way it suited him to set perverts on fire. I imagine the real card game trying to emulate this element as something that would be to its detriment, but I neither know nor particular care haha

Ryou Bakura.

Really, though. I think he became kind of casualty of 'wow, we have a lot of characters who really aren't able to do anything in this story anymore,' despite the fact that his whole inner life could have been as interesting as Yugi's. I always like thinking about the possibilities of stories in which main character falls into magical world and is given magical item and told they're the hero and then they find out they've been the bad guy the whole time. The first several volumes of manga were about the quiet weirdo kid that no one talked to who was always blacking out and turning into a fucked up version of himsef because he was so attached to his ancient Egyptian jewelry, so like, Bakura could have much the same shit going on. I want to know what's happening with him so much. He clearly doesn't love being possessed, but he's also so drawn to the ring. Despite it having stabbed him at least twice and him knowing it's a danger to him and his friends, he keeps being pulled back into it. You see so much more of him being like, 'Oooh, a creepy thing, I love that! :D' in the manga than ever in the anime, which I'm all about. Also more blood. I'm very about that as well. Though my memory of the anime also made it look very much like normal regular daily Bakura was just a weird facade in places before he ever would have been. I think that was it trying to compensate for what people didn't see from the Toei anime, but okay whatever, that I love everything about this guy is not news, I don't need to talk about Bakura excessively here, I'm pretty sure that's gonna show up on my blog by itself

On a related note though, damn, more of these people need to talk to each other. Can we have some existential crisis support clubs or something. Can we get like some apologies or something? "I respect you as a duelist." "Cool, but you literally built a tower designed to specifically assassinate me and my friends? You were supposed to get Better after I retaliated by putting you in a coma, but you kinda didn't." "Why would the coma have made it better" "I just told you it didn't" ---- "Sorry I went along with the plan of your evil parasite stabbing you, misled you, and then also jumped in and took up some real estate in your head too." "I understand, I also have an evil thing inside me that does things while I'm blacked out." "...no, I was conscious for all of that." "Oh." "..." "..." "..." "Do you like Ouija Boards?" "sure okay" ETC. Like damn we are reading shounen manga because no one is talking extensively about their feelings here and I'm tapping my foot angrily.

Holy shit there are so many mythologies happening at once. The ancient family guarding the Egyptian Pharaoh has a surname that's a Mesopotamian goddess. None of the god cards make any Egyptian sense except Ra, and just like. Baaarrrrely. Somewhere either Evil Ring Bakura or Mar/lik makes a reference to cremation and spirits being taken to heaven with smoke which several things, but definitely not Ancient Egyptian. Marik/Malik meanwhile is clearly trying to head Arabic, along with Rishid, but then, hey, our sister is just Isis. Goddess McGoddess. Sometimes they're the same goddess! Her name could be Isis Isis or Ishtar Ishtar. Meanwhile, all the obviously 'occult because Christians think it is freaky' stuff. ~ancient egyptian pentagrams~~~This isn't a complaint, I guess so much as a 'Wow, I can kind of see the cultural spot the author was coming from and where he was aiming' kind of thing.

Wonder where things would have gone if the card games had not been latched onto the way they were.

Managed to forget how gross the pre-cardgames stuff was on the sexual harassment front. I'm glad there was a sort of explanation of everyone drifting away from being dick heads and that that decision was made. It got way more comfortable to read after no one was bringing Yugi p*rn on VHS.

Yugi looks better with a nose, glad we got that upgrade.

Interesting to watch the series style shift as it goes away from being horror to being over the top cardgames and friendship (with blood!). The first picture of Mokuba is fucking Jarring. Also noticed that the nicer a character is, the less their teeth are defined.

Glad manga did not go as completely off the fucking the rails about Marik's face. I never got as far as seeing him back in the day because college occurred, but I remember seeing pictures and stuff and being like, "what in the Fuck happened to that dude, I think the house style has collapsed in on itself"

Things the author Really Likes: motorcycles, belts, SHOES, holy shit the shoes. These are some of the most lovingly rendered sneakers I've ever seen. All the detail on his characters goes straight to their feet and then it's stretched upward until it forms stiff peaks. Gently fold in 3000 years of trauma and bake face down in a crumb coat of scattered mythology. Remove when you roll two zeros.

Where the fuck am I going to put the extremely large omnibus volumes of this comic I purchased in order to balance out how much I would be reading for free on the internet. I should have grasped that a three in one edition would be Thick and yet somehow I was still :O when it arrived. Have I strategically purchased volumes that contain my favorite parts, maybe, what's it to you will i eventually get the whole thing because incomplete book series gnaw on my soul? yes

Wish the transition from "I've murdered several people in delightfully karmic ways" to "all you need is friendship in your heart and cards in your hand" Yami Yugi/Pharaoh had been discussed more/transitioned better. Buddy, where did you get this approved for television high horse? Please go back to strangling people with yo-yos or at least tell me why you stopped.

I still can't tell anything that looks like a big robotic monster apart from any other big robotic monster. My dude, I can't tell cars apart, all these monsters look the same.

Yami Yugi fascinated me way more in highschool? Maybe because it was still super early and the anime was like 'we need to torture you about his origins WeEkLy. Now I'm just like 'wait hold on, can we go back to Bakura and Marik for a minute, there's some extreme unpacking to do here?' Those two are paying so much more in baggage fees here my guy wow

Violently uninterested in any of the spinoff media

#yugioh #yu gi oh #ygo #there you go i can't imagine any other way you would decide was necessary to tag this #perhaps now that i have thrown this up i can #something #i don't know how i was going to finish that sentence #shut up lady

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like-rain-or-confetti · 4 years

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Who Knew? (Demetri Volturi x Reader)

Who Knew - P!nk

You took my hand You showed me how You promised me you'd be around

Demetri came into your life with a charming smile. You had no choice but to be in awe of his beauty- he and his coven. Just like it stunned you with every other vampire you met. However Demetri told you why that was. It was apart of the vampire genes, to lure in prey.

He had said it was his pleasure to meet you but you couldn't help that the pleasure was yours alone. In fact, you were almost certain that Demetri said that to everyone. A charmer, just as his smile had told you when he first met you.

Slowly, he broke through any walls you set. Trickling into every crack of those walls until it was pointless to have the wall. He acknowledged your hesitation around him and his kind. He even pointed out you felt a little more safer with the Cullen's. It was understandable but he wouldn't hurt you. In time you'd see that. He told you more about his kind and his backstory. He was honest from what you could figure out. Just when you had begun to somewhat consider him a friend, there was talk about him and the other Volturi leaving. To your relief, he promised you it wouldn't be the last you'd see of him. You were still human after all.

I took your words and I believed In everything, you said to me

He told you the Volturi's perspective upon the Cullen's actions and suddenly the Volturi didn't seem so villainous as the Cullen's had made them out to be. It led to you questioning him as to why you were still alive. You were human and knew the secret. Demetri would simply smile at you. "Not for long, darling." It became apparent why Demetri was so truthful. In all honesty, he had no reason to lie. "Would you rather I lied to you?" Demetri asked. "No." You said firmly. He smiled. "That's good, I'd find it difficult to lie to you. I am quite fond of you." You scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm nothing special, especially to you." Demetri's eyes gleamed. "My dear, you are very incorrect but...there's another time for that."

If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong I know better 'Cause you said forever and ever Who knew?

"You know this can't last forever." Bella said quietly. She continued as you narrowed your eyes on her. "He'll have to go home eventually and you haven't got any intention to go with him." "Yet." You reminded her. "I will one day, just not now. If I leave now there will be questions." "I get that. I just...worry. I don't want you to get hurt." You scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous Bella, I'll be fine. Besides, it won't be for long." You smiled brightly.

You never anticipated how difficult it could be to leave your human life behind. Yet when their was an opportunity, you hesitated. Bella made it all look so easy and so hearing those words from her set a fire of anger on your chest. One you had to fight back every single time. You didn't doubt your feelings for Demetri, not even once. So why did it seem to be the case to everyone else? If anyone knew Demetri and yourself better than anyone it was you and Demetri. Demetri promised you forever, and forever is exactly what you'd get.

Remember when we were such fools And so convinced and just too cool

Many of the Volturi, Caius especially, thought you and Demetri were fools. Yet somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to care and neither could Demetri for that matter. No one could ever tell you two otherwise. In his eyes, the bond was too strong fight off and on your eyes, no one else understood. It was the perfect formula for you and Demetri against the world.

I wish I could touch you again I wish I could still call you friend I'd give anything

Now that you and Demetri had been apart for months. You wanted nothing more than to be with him again. You understood he was busy but how could you not miss him? You missed the way he held you, even down to the simplest of details as the feeling of his jacket against your skin. Sometimes, you couldn't help but wonder if it was gave been easier if you two weren't mates, if you were simply friends, would that have made things easier between both the Volturi and the Cullen's? Would you have been as separated for as long as you had been?

When someone said count your blessings now 'Fore they're long gone I guess I just didn't know how I was all wrong They knew better Still you said forever and ever Who knew?

You didn't anticipate being apart for so long. You tried to remain positive, anything to hold back the emptiness and constant reminder that Demetri wasn't around. You tried to acknowledge just because he wasn't, doesn't mean it's all bad. There was plenty of good things in your life other than Demetri. It was all about perspective, what you chose to focus on. Although you couldn't help but recognise that they were right in the end. The Cullen's, Bella and even the Volturi warned you that this was coming and you were too in love to heed their words. Only one thing mattered in the end. Demetri promised you forever.

I'll keep you locked in my head Until we meet again Until we, until we meet again And I won't forget you my friend What happened?

From the day you parted, Demetri would keep you in his memory. Locked away in his head, safe and with him. He'd often imagine you before him, dressed in the same clothes you wore that day with a heartfelt smile. He'd raise a hand to your cheek and feel the heat radiating from your skin. He'd hold you as you said the most strangest of things. Things that never always called for an answer. "If a dream is an experience, doesn't that make it real?" You said that often and Demetri couldn't help but wonder if maybe that was his mind trying to repair the empty hole in his chest now that you were apart for who knew how long. You'd stay there until the day you came back to him, locked in his memories and imagination. Always meeting him with that same lovely smile he had grown addicted to. You wouldn't be forgotten, not even for a moment. Never. Thinking back to those times together, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to bring the two of you divided for so long. Although he'd wait forever and a piece of him, despite you being human, knew that you would too.

If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong and

Regardless of what anyone said, he had promised you forever and he meant it. Anyone who ever got in the way would be annihilated. Anyone who thought otherwise would be proven wrong because they were. If he had to break a few bones or rip off a few limbs to prove a point.. then so be it.

That last kiss I'll cherish Until we meet again And time makes It harder I wish I could remember

When Demetri had a spare peaceful moment alone, his mind often drifted towards you. He thought about you a lot but tried to keep it to a minimum whilst on duty.However, when those peaceful moments arrived. His mind wandered to you. What you were doing, what you were thinking, did you think about him as much as he thought of you? He'd think back to that last kiss he had shared with you. The feel of your lips against his. He'd run his thumb across his bottom lip, as the memories ran through his mind. He remembered every one. However the last kiss you two had shared was more important.

It was the kiss that you both shared knowing that neither of you knew when you'd see each other again. He cherished that kiss every single day and he would continue to do so until you met again. Although as each day passed, he wished he'd remember that difficult it was to be away from you. Time wasn't always forgiving to a vampire, it might have made something easier but in this particular situation, time only made it harder.

But I keep Your memory You visit me in my sleep My darling Who knew?

Even if Demetri was miles away, you kept him in your heart, day and night. You'd miss him throughout the day, even within the minutes before you went to sleep. Although when you fell asleep, he was with you again, giving you that charming smile. Sometimes you'd dream that he was there with you as you slept, watching him smile down at you. You didn't know when you'd next see your love again. Although you'd wait for him, your comfort being the memories you both shared. Neither of you knowing at the time you'd be apart.

#twilight #songfic #song inspired #volturi #the volturi #reader #one shot #oneshot #demetri volturi

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Kurtbastian fic “Always and Forever” Chapter 3

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 3 (4753 words)

Kurt stares out his studio window at the neighborhood below. It’s 10:15 a.m. and a Tuesday, so it isn’t as if the place is teeming with activity. Everyone living on Colony Lane seems content to stick to their own spaces, abide by their own schedules, and go about their lives without much interference from the world outside.

Kurt hates to hand it to Sebastian, but that’s what he wants as well. Isolation in a quaint fixer-upper is precisely what he needs.

Another point for Sebastian.

Damn.

He seems to be racking them up lately, while Kurt…

Kurt can admit that he’s not trying as hard as he should be, but he’s giving himself permission to be selfish. There shouldn’t be a timetable for bouncing back from loss, and Kurt got the double-whammy.

Sebastian gave him betrayal to get over, too.

Kurt knows that he should deem repairing his marriage a priority, but he also needs to do what’s right for him.

He hasn’t figured out what that is yet, but it'll come to him.

Underlying childhood guilt has him believing that he should introduce himself to the neighbors. Etiquette and all that. It’s what his mother would do. Every time his family moved, and there had been a handful of times, Kurt’s mother would bake a batch of cookies for the neighbors. She'd put a baker's dozen into colorful cellophane bags, tie the tops with curled ribbon, and take them door to door to say hello. She wouldn’t wait for people to show up on their doorstep with a casserole and a smile. She believed in being proactive. She would tell him, “New neighborhood, new life. Go out and be a part of it.”

But Kurt doesn’t want to, and the neighbors seem fine with that.

It’s been three days, and Kurt and Sebastian have only gotten one visitor – the technician who came to fix the heating. Of course, the neighbors could be waiting for them to get settled. Then they’ll pounce over with perfectly iced Gingerbread Bundt cakes and Chicken Kievs, church invites, and Girl Scout cookie order forms, like a swarm of Stepford Wives.

Kurt doesn’t care about being proactive, and his mother isn’t around to scold him for behaving like a hermit.

That may sound harsh, but it's true.

The clouds pulling together in the sky overhead, threatening rain, give Kurt an excuse to shut himself away and work on the house - an excuse he can ply without the assistance of a tragic backstory. With his laptop open on the floor in front of him, he browses those websites that feed his design fetishes: Ethan Allen, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie.

But he's not the least bit inspired.

He’d decided to start small, take things room by room instead of attacking everything at once. But he gets stumped, staring at the screen in front of him, unsure whether the chair he’s been mulling over for the past half hour is gorgeous or gaudy.

He should focus on bringing the living room together since it’s where they do the bulk of their entertaining, provided they ever start entertaining again. And he should do something about the master bedroom, which, for the moment, houses a bed, a TV, and a dresser within the confines of four ashy walls.

Opinions on the topic vary, but Kurt has always felt that the bedrooms are the heart of the home. They’re sanctuaries where dreaming, planning, and affirmation happen. He only has the one to worry about, so he should put extra effort into making it comforting, relaxing, sensual on the off chance he ever plans on touching his husband again.

The jury is still out on that one, unfortunately.

The kitchen, he’s not looking forward to decorating. Aside from his studio, he and Grace spent much of their time together in the kitchen. They baked daily: cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else they could slop onto a baking sheet and shove into the oven. They also made jam, pickled fruit, and taught themselves (using YouTube videos mainly) to prepare various types of cuisine. Some were a hit, others a miss, but it was always an adventure.

Kurt had done something similar with his mother and her collection of vintage cookbooks, congregating around the kitchen island in the afternoons to shed the angst of public school, and spread the wings of his stifled creativity. He and his mother discussed everything in the kitchen while sifting flour and creaming butter. It was a tradition he had so looked forward to continuing.

Now, he’d rather not be bothered going into the kitchen again.

He could pick a page out of the IKEA catalog and recreate it. That should offend him. It did when Sebastian suggested it the first time Kurt redecorated their penthouse. But Kurt hardly cares. It doesn’t matter as much as it did. He can’t remember the last time he stepped into the kitchen and prepared anything more elaborate than toast and coffee, maybe dry scrambled eggs. Sebastian took over cooking duties after Grace died, which, nine times out of ten, means ordering out, if for no other reason than he gets to leave the house to pick up the food.

He knows Kurt appreciates the time alone more than he does a home-cooked meal.

Then there’s Sebastian’s office, which Kurt is decorating for the first time. He has tried to start a shopping cart for it numerous times, but, unlike the windfall of ideas he had for his studio, he can’t get into a groove. He remembers a time when thinking about decorating Sebastian’s office put a hundred ideas into his head.

Currently, he has only one.

The cheap, vomit-worthy, knock-off furnishings of the no-tell hotel room he pictures whenever he thinks of Sebastian sleeping with another man.

Kurt shivers in disgust. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

The room or the infidelity.

But how would Sebastian react if Kurt decorated his office to look like the business suite at the Marriott?

Kurt snickers, envisioning the sitcom-worthy shock that would erupt on Sebastian's face if he presented that to him.

"As you can see," Kurt would say, strolling through the room with his head held high atop the straightest spine pettiness can deliver, "I have chosen the most flame-retardant carpet available in subtle hues of tan and beige, a color combination well suited for concealing cum stains. This ergonomic, curved leather loveseat, for when you want to get adventurous with your afternoon romps, which, at your age, requires plenty of lumbar support. Plus, it cleans up in a snap with just a Clorox wipe, so that's a useful feature. Faux fireplace, faux aquarium, faux chandelier... are we sensing a theme? And in the corner, I've provided you a foldout of your own, for when you bring... ahem... work home."

The grin on Kurt's lips slides when Sebastian, wearing a gutted expression, pops to mind. It's an expression that Kurt didn't believe possible for Sebastian till their daughter died. He's only seen it once. He doesn't want to bring it back.

He sighs.

Revenge-dreaming isn't helping.

It isn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He’s not breaking through his creative block anytime soon. He puts his plans for the other rooms on the back burner and decides to spend time picking out furniture for his studio. With the exception of his sewing machines, he didn’t bring anything from his penthouse studio here, so he’s starting over fresh. He switches tabs and starts filling his online shopping cart with the basics: a new drafting table, a cabinet, a chair he’ll have to custom-upholster, a bolt of drapery fabric he can repurpose to make a bedspread (if he goes through with his plans for a foldout), and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing worth wasting too much brain-power over.

The clunk-clunk of Sebastian stacking cans in the kitchen cabinets reaches Kurt upstairs, as does the water running in the sink while he washes dishes and the squeak of the sticky pantry door when he fixes it. Kurt plans on redoing the kitchen and giving the entire room a facelift. Sebastian knows that. But repairing the door gives Sebastian something to do.

Sebastian has been considerate enough to let Kurt do his thing undisturbed for the morning. Kurt’s reluctance to talk to anyone extends to Sebastian, which Sebastian understands. He’s keeping his distance. But it’s nice to hear him puttering around the house. It gives Kurt comfort, the same way listening to his father snore in the middle of the night helped Kurt feel less alone after his mother died.

He may want to be left alone, but it’s nice to know that he’s not alone.

Especially not today.

Today did not start out good for Kurt.

Kurt woke up later than he’d intended, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he was. Sebastian had woken up and gotten out of bed hours earlier, leaving Kurt alone to sleep in. Kurt climbed out of bed and wandered around frightened, hands crawling along the walls, searching for something familiar. Footsteps passed somewhere underneath him, and he froze. He didn’t want to venture downstairs because he didn’t know who could be there. Maybe someone had broken in, or worse - this was somebody else’s house, and Kurt was the intruder.

His heart raced. He started hyperventilating. He went from room to room, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. It wasn’t until the second time he went into his studio that he began to remember. He saw his bag on the floor and, beside it, his sketchbook. He remembered sitting in there the day before, making plans. He remembered the wood grain of the floor, the dusty glass, the tree outside, the wallpaper, and that ripped corner by the window, which Kurt refuses to acknowledge any more than he has to.

He feels it behind him, like the sun on his back, trying to get him to turn his face to it, but he refuses. Of all the things he needs to deal with, that ripped corner and the word beneath it don’t make the list. It isn't doing the palpitations in his chest any favors.

It confuses him.

It angers him.

It saddens him.

It makes him consider what could have been, forces him to face everything he's lost. He didn't succeed in running away from his problems. He ran headlong into brand new ones.

But this is his house. He has to get used to it.

These episodes aren’t uncommon. They crop up whenever Kurt needs to adapt to change. They’re unexpected, like mines in fields he discovers he’s been running through when a second ago he was picking flowers in the park or strolling down the street.

It's their unpredictability that is the true torture.

They show up even on his good days.

His life for the last ten years revolved around his daughter. When she was a baby, he adjusted his work schedule to match her sleep schedule. They had the money to afford the best nurses in New York, but Kurt didn’t want that. He didn’t want his daughter raised by a governess. He was as hands-on a parent as there ever was.

As Grace grew, her schedule changed, and Kurt adjusted: daycare, Gymboree, kindergarten, ballet, elementary school. He dropped her off in the mornings, then picked her up in the afternoons. They spent the rest of the day going over her homework until it was time to make dinner, which they did together.

That was the great thing about being a designer and freelance editor. Kurt could work from anywhere, and, aside from doing consultations at Vogue, he could work any time.

When Grace became sick, her doctor visits and her medication regimen dictated Kurt's schedule, then her chemo.

Towards the end, there was only one item written in Kurt’s schedule - lie beside his daughter in her bed, holding on to her for dear life.

And not just her life.

His, too.

In sickness and in health, Grace kept Kurt’s life regulated.

Things flipped drastically when she died.

He felt adrift. Detached from the life he had gotten used to, he didn’t know what to latch on to. His internal clock would wake him up at six to get Grace ready for the day, only to find himself walking into a vacant bedroom. At the supermarket, he would grab her favorite cereal out of habit and put it in his cart, even though it wasn’t on the list. He would jolt when he'd come across a song he thought she’d like or saw an advertisement for a movie he thought she’d enjoy.

He has yet to stop the automatic deposits from his bank account to hers, her weekly allowance piling up on top of birthday and Christmas money. She had earmarked it for college (her decision, not his). Now it waits to be donated to the children’s hospital that took such incredible care of her. He doesn’t have the heart to empty it. She was so proud of it.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him to see the balance at zero.

But the worst moment of all, the absolute worst, was when he tried to go back to work right after they lost her.

There are many moments after Grace’s death, during Kurt’s own struggle for acceptance, that blur together, but this one he remembers so vividly, it brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

He was in the middle of a brainstorming session with his team. His boss Isabelle was there. She had dropped by with a box of cronuts and a grande nonfat mocha. Kurt hadn’t been eating. Everyone could tell. But Kurt overlooked the signs – the sharper than normal angle to his cheekbones and chin, his collarbone that showed through his skin a little too much, his hands that never stopped shaking. He had waved the food away when she offered.

An hour later, he was on his third one.

The tension of his presence in the office so soon after his daughter’s death slowly dissipated, making way for the familiar, though attenuated, back and forth banter he had so missed. Without knowing it, he was paving the way for a potential comeback. He wouldn’t have a line up for a while, and he would need to keep an eye on fashion trends as they came and went in his absence. But this, this felt so natural, so normal, it almost seemed like it was. He got caught up in the rhythm of this impromptu jam session. He smiled, he laughed.

He felt alive again.

Somewhere in the middle of outlining a rough schedule, he glanced down at the time on his phone. Mid-sentence, he got up from his chair and walked over to get his coat off the hook by the door.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle over Chase’s last clap back at a jab from his boyfriend Ian, “thanks for everything, you guys, but I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk about this more when I come in tomorrow.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Kurt didn’t notice.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked, getting up from her seat on the corner of his desk and approaching, knowing that he would need her in a second, the way she always knew. Kurt has referred to Isabelle as his Fairy Godmother ever since he first walked into Vogue fresh out of high school and trying to find a foothold in the hectic Gulf Stream that is New York City. She became his pillar of support, a sympathetic ear, and a clear head whenever he needed one. She had thrown his bachelor party. Hers was the condo he stayed in the night before his wedding. She’d hosted Grace’s baby shower.

Also, Grace’s wake.

She didn’t have children of her own and didn't plan on it, but she loved Grace as much as anyone.

And hers was the shoulder Kurt cried on when he found out Sebastian had cheated.

Kurt looked at her, confused, wondering why it was that everyone around him seemed to be holding their breath. “I just… have to go pick up Grace. From school. I’m going… I’m going to be late.”

Isabelle shook her head and put a hand on his. “Sweetie… ”

It took Kurt a second.

Even after one person gasped and another sniffled, with Isabelle’s sorrowful eyes staring at him, begging him to remember so she wouldn’t have to say it, he didn’t catch on.

When he did, it hit him like an electric shock straight through his body, rendering his muscles useless, and he crumbled to the floor. Isabelle held him for over an hour in that spot until Sebastian arrived. Kurt didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go to their empty penthouse and face the truth about his empty life. He wanted to stay at Vogue with Isabelle and live in that moment where everything was alright again for one shimmering second, even if it wasn’t real.

But he had to go. He had to leave with Sebastian, who had hurt him, back to his home, even if it killed him because even though he felt like his life was over, everything else continued on. People lived, and people died. The sun set in the evening, but in the morning, it would rise again.

He just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore.

Not without his Grace.

He was cried out by the time Sebastian got him home. Sebastian undressed him, helped him with his cleaning and moisturizing routine, and then put him to bed. It was Friday evening when Kurt shut his eyes and went to sleep. He lived that horrible moment at his office over again a hundred times before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was Sunday morning.

Like this morning, but to a greater extent, when these attacks happen, locked in his own brain, sifting through the pieces to find one big enough and sturdy enough to hold on to, Kurt loses time.

In a blink, hours go by, sometimes a day. He’ll climb in the shower in the morning, turn the water on hot, and by the time he realizes it’s cold, it’s close to noon. He has sat at the dining room table for breakfast, staring at a bowl of oatmeal, and when he found the will to pick up the spoon, the oatmeal was old and stiff, and it was dinner time. He’s gone to bed on Monday and stared at the black behind his eyelids till Wednesday.

As far as Kurt knows, it’s only around lunchtime, but he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen to make sure.

12:45.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He double-checks the date to make sure he has a reason to and sighs again.

Still Tuesday.

Kurt switches back to the IKEA tab he’d been laboring long but not hard on earlier. He looks at the shopping cart he’s been steadily filling, scrolls through his selections of personality bereft, assembly line furniture, and groans. This isn’t him. This house, this blank slate, should be an endless fount of motivation.

But he's numb.

Maybe he's rushing into this. He should give this house and the neighborhood time to grow on him before he sentences it to the mundane.

He needs a break. (Kurt Hummel need a break from shopping? Since when?) He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. For shits and giggles, he tries drawing a sketch for his husband’s office. He starts with the easy part – Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian didn’t leave that in the penthouse, so Kurt will make it the linchpin and design around it.

Things flow surprisingly easily from there once he gets started, with a pencil in his hand writing on paper instead of working on a screen: an ornamental rug, a matching leather chair, burgundy velvet curtains, a chainmail style Tiffany desk lamp, 1930s art deco décor with a soupcon of Persian flair. But he doesn’t want the room to be too dark. No. Kurt wants nothing in their house to be dark. He adds a Salento chandelier over the open portion of the room and a sweep of color – one wall, opposite a window, a lighter shade than the rest. He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s office looks like, but there has to be a wall in there that will fit the bill.

An enamel and copper vase, a Khatam inlaid photo frame, a few Negar Gari…

Kurt stops.

Would Sebastian want that? The softer elements countering the strict lines of the art deco pieces, what could be described as feminine influences, are Kurt’s signature touch. But might Sebastian prefer the art deco without Kurt’s fingerprints all over it? Isn’t that what Sebastian meant by Kurt being heavy-handed with the pastels?

Back in high school, Kurt had decorated his bedroom so that he and his stepbrother could share it. He'd skipped school so he could complete it in one day. He’d worked hard on it, trying to fuse a masculine air with his theatrical influence. What he thought was an eclectic representation of the masculine and the feminine turned into a Moroccan-themed disaster.

The word his stepbrother chose to use at the time was faggy, but there were ulterior motives behind it.

Sebastian made jabs in high school about Kurt not wearing boy clothes, comments that adult Kurt recognizes as the teenage boy equivalent of pulling Kurt’s pigtails. But at the time, they stung. Sebastian wouldn’t have made those comments if there weren’t a grain of truth to them, would he?

Sebastian has never retracted those statements, so as far as Kurt is concerned, they stand.

Kurt flips his pencil over and starts erasing. He’ll pare down the extras – trade the Tiffany lamp for a banker’s lamp, replace the rug with something more Brooks Brothers than Pier 1.

Maybe he should just opt for another IKEA recreation, but that feels like copping out, going back on his word.

He could always ask Sebastian. He swears his husband has passed by a few times, his footsteps rising and falling outside his door, but Kurt didn’t think anything of it. He figures Sebastian is passing through on his way to get something from the bedroom that he needs downstairs. Kurt doesn’t imagine the man is pacing the hallway, even if he is, trying to find a way to tell Kurt that lunch is ready. Little things like lunch, innocuous things, have become huge divides over the past few months. With anyone else, Sebastian has a history of railroading over them, hurt feelings be damned.

But Sebastian has learned his lesson. He paid a hefty price learning it, too.

Contemplating between clearing his throat so that Kurt knows he’s there and letting another meal go cold, he sees Kurt’s head lift up. It seems like an opening. Whether or not it is, Sebastian takes it.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt mumbles, brushing eraser shavings aside.

“Are you… are you coming downstairs?”

Kurt erases again, then pencils something on a sheet of paper that Sebastian can’t see. “Hmm… mmm?”

It sounds like a question and an answer, but since Kurt doesn’t follow it up with anything, it most likely means that Kurt will be skipping lunch… again. Sebastian knocks idly on the door frame, giving Kurt a second longer to tell him for sure.

“Alright.” Disappointed, he turns to leave. “I guess I’ll come back up at dinner then.”

Kurt doesn’t know why the thought returns when he wasn’t even thinking about it, why it decided to nag at his brain when he had been able to ignore it for this long, but that’s the way his brain works now. His thoughts don’t always travel straight paths. They twist and turn, taking one thing and linking it to something unrelated. Erasing the ideas he’d sketched out, removing every inch of himself from Sebastian’s office, made him think about how eager he was to be rid of that word darling from above the window, and that ripped corner returns to his mind with a vengeance.

Well, as long as Sebastian is there, he might as well ask.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, not daring to move. “Yes?”

“When was the last time you were here?” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the idea when it originally came to him. When would Sebastian have come to this house that Kurt didn’t know? They traveled Upstate once a year, but they always did it together as a family. And while they were here, Sebastian rarely ventured out alone. Sebastian isn’t the kind of person who would buy a house sight unseen.

Unless he had found it during one of his outings with Grace. Which would mean that Grace had seen the inside.

Grace would have seen this room and thought it would be hers, thought that they would someday live here, and Sebastian hid that word darling by the window for her and not Kurt.

The thought is so painful, it makes Kurt want to tear his nails out with his teeth so he’ll stop thinking about it.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked to Kurt’s profile so he won’t miss the moment Kurt decides to look at him instead of the floor, the wall, or the ceiling.

“I found this house online. It wasn’t even on the market when I stumbled on it. To be honest, I’d only driven by it once. I hadn’t been inside until we moved in.”

“But you saw the inside,” Kurt asks. “Otherwise, how would you know about this room?”

“I took a virtual tour,” Sebastian admits sheepishly, “but it was extremely thorough. I’ve seen the blueprints, gone over the permits and the zoning. I had Tristan from the office look over the place when he came up to visit his folks. He facetimed me while he was here.” Sebastian furrows his brow. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Kurt’s heart beats regular again. Grace hadn’t seen it.

Thank God.

His eyes find the torn section of wallpaper, but they don’t stay there. He doesn’t want to clue Sebastian in about it if Sebastian doesn’t already know. He wants to uncover this mystery on his own. If Sebastian gets to keep secrets, big ones at that, then Kurt wants this one for himself.

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just curious, you know. Wanted to understand your process. Why this house, why this neighborhood, that sort of thing.”

Kurt’s sentence comes out choppy. It’s odd how awkward talking has become for them. Sebastian used to think that the two things they had mastered were talking and fucking. They did both together with such ease. There were never any boundaries between them, emotionally or physically. Even when they were cutting each other down, which they did in the beginning, they did so with such finesse.

Not like now, when Sebastian is walking on eggshells and Kurt doesn’t want to hear half of what he has to say.

“If you come down for lunch, we can talk about my process. If you’re curious, that is.” Sebastian watches Kurt expectantly, waiting for an answer.

And while Sebastian does, Kurt looks at his sketch – Sebastian’s office, the same way Sebastian always has it decorated. This is Sebastian without him and Grace: bland and emotionless, no light, little color, and no joy. Nothing exciting, nothing nuanced, nothing to indicate that he and Sebastian are together.

Not even those snapshots he’s so proud of.

Kurt hasn’t decided whether that’s a bleak picture or not.

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec,” Kurt decides because he does and doesn’t have an answer to that one. It changes as the day changes, and the days change too quickly.

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.” Sebastian walks away, or Kurt thinks he does. He checks the time on his clock. It’s closing in on 2.

Kurt glances up at the window, the dangling wallpaper bouncing with the breeze coming from a draft near the ceiling. It would be so easy to tear it down – grab an edge and rip, be done with it once and for all. It might even feel cathartic, exposing whatever is underneath it. But lunch is ready. He’s already left Sebastian waiting long enough.

He leaves that mystery for another day.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #kurt hummel

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blushingonmyknees · 2 years

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Sometimes All You Have to Do Is Ask

So here I am, collared and ankle restrained. It is currently 8 p.m. Truth be told, I have now been in my double collar and ankle restraints for the last hour and a half.

I was thinking yesterday how I don’t write about my experiences as much now that I am constantly working 60+ hour weeks for work, but finally had a Saturday off (and Sunday too)!

How did I end up here?

First, a little backstory.

Last night I got done with work around 1 a.m. My Domme knows how hectic my life has gotten with my crazy work schedule this last year and has since been lenient on my bedtimes. I now live alone which means we have had more virtual time together and we usually chat before I head to bed.

We have both been visiting family at different intervals the last two weeks, so time together has been hard to come by. I also am asking more frequently if she is eating vanilla ice cream (our code for if it’s vanilla messaging time).

Last night after work, I put on Twitch and was going to watch my favorite streamer, but instead saw Amouranth was on, and it was on my homepage. I watched a bit of her show once before and decided to click it. I may have a small crush on her now (as does just about everyone).

The plan was to fall asleep watching, but next thing I knew after drifting off for about an hour and then watching some more, it was 5 a.m. Where did the time go!? I knew this was way past my bedtime, so I immediately turned the stream off and went to bed.

I woke up this morning at 9 a.m. because the sun was shining through my apartment windows. I checked the time and decided to try sleeping more because I knew my Domme would want me to have closer to eight hours of sleep. I daydreamed constantly about texting her and asking to be put back to bed in my blindfold and ankle restraints but thought I probably should not because she is with family.

I eventually dozed back off and woke up at 11:30 a.m. I then messaged my Domme on Discord to wish her a good morning/afternoon. I confessed my thought about calling earlier and asking to be tied up and blindfolded for sleep and she reminded me that is the best way to help me to fall back asleep. She asked if I had done my taxes and I told her I had, then I asked if she remembered to claim me as property on her taxes. 😏

After messaging a bit, I did some chores around the apartment and fetched lunch.

I was starting to get sleepy after lunch and kept thinking about falling asleep in my blindfolds and ankle restraints. I really wanted a reminder of my place but was hesitant to ask since my Domme was with her family.

I messaged my Domme on discord around 5 p.m. and asked, “Will you have any privacy to use your toy this weekend, Ma’am?” (I am the toy in question.)

It did not get a response and I kept daydreaming about it. I do not think it is an official rule, but I do not tie myself up or wear my collar without her permission. I view it as the same rule where I am not allowed to touch her property without permission.

I remembered past conversations where my Domme has told me that it is okay to ask for things and thought maybe I should ask to be tied up and blindfolded for a nap. I texted shortly after 6 p.m., “Vanilla, Ma’am?”

She said not at the moment, and I asked if I napped, would she prefer me tied up and blindfolded?

She then asked for a check-in, and I let her know that I was tired and really craving a reminder of my place. I would love to nap in the knowledge that I am her property and decorated as she saw fit. I was definitely craving a reminder of my place as her eager pet.

My Domme then asked how my throat was feeling and I said, “Like it needs to be securely wrapped in the materials you desire.”

She reminded me I was her good boy and I confessed that I was aching for her. “Any relevant aches,” she asked?

“Just my mind telling me to get on my knees and surrender to you,” I said.

She then instructed me to fetch my ankle restraints, double collar and blindfold colors of her choosing.

I did as I was told and then asked if I should set an alarm. She decided since I was not likely to sleep through the night, that I should set an alarm for 8 p.m. and told me to get in position.

After making sure my collar and restraints were on, she said, “Now put your blindfolds on and rest. If you can’t fall asleep you may take off your blindfolds and ankle restraints but leave the collar on until you go to bed for the night.”

I was told my bedtime tonight is 12:30 a.m. and reminded if I hit yellow to remove my collar as well.

“I own you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You are Mine, utterly, for anything I desire. You have surrendered all control and I will not be letting you have it back.”

Those were the last sentences I saw before my blindfolds went on and I was in complete darkness, with the firm reminder that I am owned. I left the blue carabiner we attached to my collar a few scenes ago attached because I love how it sounds when I move. Hearing my collar clink as I move about reminds me that I am owned.

Ever since my Domme mentioned putting me in my collar for sleep, I had ached to touch my nipples. After being limited to two releases a month last year and then ending it with 100+ days of denial, I learned how pleasurable touching my nipples can be and they are still sensitive to this day. I now ache to touch them more than I do my irrelevant parts.

I knew better than to touch them without her permission, so I just laid here and remembered my place.

I had troubles sleeping at first because of how excited I was to be in my collars. I now wear a soft collar that I put on first and then my normal collar because it feels more weighty. I like to think of it as practice for the day when my Domme locks me in a leather collar.

I tried to fall asleep lying on my back first but was enjoying the reminders of my place that I felt so thoroughly throughout my body. It had been so long since I was last collared and restrained.

As I was lying on my back and in the darkness from the blindfolds, I had my hands resting at my sides and imaged I was locked in a crate. I have had fantasies before about being put away like this and kept out of sight while my Domme is here, and maintenance is doing repairs to the apartment next to me with no idea I am here.

As I rested, I attempted to sleep on my side and then thought of how I have wanted to be locked in a dog cage before. Maybe a better option would be a six-foot cage length-wise where I could take naps and be put away like this regularly?

I tried to sleep and felt like I was getting more rested just from being subjugated like this. It is funny how easily my body relaxes when it is in its proper place.

I did notice as I tried to rest that I was still getting used to wearing my collars again. Ever since I had COVID towards the end of last year, my collars have not been worn much and I am trying to get used to having them on again. I thought about how I could practice wearing them more and thought about how I should ask my Domme if I may start being required to sleep in my soft collar more often so I can build my stamina back up for them.

I dozed off a bit and then heard running water constantly going through the pipes of my apartment. It was so frequent that I had started wondering if my upstairs neighbor had flooded their apartment. I decided to remain in my place and just wait the sounds out. The water running was somewhat relaxing. (No water damage so far, so I am unsure what they were actually doing.)

As I attempted to sleep again, I started wondering how it would feel to be locked in handcuffs. It has been a fantasy since about the age of four to be locked in metal handcuffs someday and that desire just got stronger as I got older. My Domme has told me she will be locking me in metal handcuffs someday (possibly when she visits next) and I can’t wait!

Thinking about being locked in handcuffs by her led me to start daydreaming about how I will be restrained first. Will she have me in a bow with my wrists behind my back and then cuff them before I realize it? Will she have me kneel up and shackle my wrists to my ankles? Will I simply be told to turn around and place my wrists behind my back? Will she lead me to the closet and handcuff my wrists overhead to the closet rod?

No matter what she decides, I know it will be perfect and I can’t wait to be handcuffed by her. I look forward to being completely powerless in her presence and kneeling whenever she enters the room.

I then dozed off again and suddenly woke up maybe a half hour later, took a deep breath and felt my hand go to my collar. I could tell I am not used to sleeping in my collars anymore and I think they startled me awake, but I was immediately very happy once I remembered that I was tied up, blindfolded and collared like the possession I am.

I wondered what time it was and considered checking the clock but decided that if I was put away like this, there was a reason for it and that I should not be checking time. Just relax in the reality that I am owned and subjugated.

My carabiner on my collar clinked as I moved, and it drew me even deeper into subspace (I was in subspace the moment my Domme told me I would be in my collar). I then thought of carabiners and wondered how many it would take to attach my collar to my ankles and wrist restraints.

I hope my Domme reminds me next time I go to Walmart to price-check carabiners because I would love to be shackled like this. I also wondered how it would feel to have my collar, wrist restraints and ankle restraints all tied together with rope.

At 7:40 p.m., I thought my phone made a noise, so I checked it, thinking it was the alarm. It was not, so I immediately put my blindfolds back on and went back into my position. I was determined to remain collared, blindfolded and ankle restrained until 8 p.m.

I daydreamed about buying new belts so I would have enough to tie myself spread-eagle to this bed. My Domme has mentioned getting under the bed restraints and putting me in them when she visits. I can’t wait to be completely powerless in her presence again.

Another thing I daydreamed about was being locked in a humbler and caned. I have never been caned before and asked my Domme if I may please be caned for my birthday in the future. I am now confessing through this post how much I would love to experience my first caning while in a humbler, knowing there will be no chance of escaping the marks.

I still ached to touch my nipples and knew if I would be given permission to do so, I would be very noisy. It has gotten to the point where if something brushes up against them, I have to hold back a moan. I love how my Domme has taken this and made me crave it since it reminds me of my submission.

Before dozing off again, I wondered how many women are out there craving to tie someone up and hoped they knew somewhere out there, there are boys like me who have been tying ourselves up for over two decades now and can’t wait to someday meet them.

I then dozed off again and was shortly after awoken by my alarm. I immediately took my blindfolds off and thanked my Domme for putting me in my place. I also let her know that I was craving to throw myself at her feet and about my nipple sensitivity.

Thank you, Ma’am, for putting me in my place and requiring me to write this post while in my collars and ankle restraints. It feels so good to obey.

It is now nearing 9:30 p.m. and it is time to post. Thank you again for putting me in my proper subservient mindset, your Majesty. I wish I was on my knees in front of you at this very moment. Thank you, Ma’am.

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catboycafe · 4 years

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I Will Now Express Every Thought I Have About Pacific Rim: The Black

⚠️ spoilers for the whole thing baby

I actually forgot Pacific Rim: The Black was premiering today until I saw it in an article this morning! When I first heard about it months ago, I was decidedly not sold on a Pacific Rim anime. Uprising burnt me the fuck out and I don’t have a lot of trust left in me for new entries to the franchise. But I had heard rumblings of Raleigh and Herc being referenced after going into #pacificrim and I decided I may as well check out to see what was up! I binged it in 4 hours and it sure was a whirlwind, I’ll tell ya

The Plot

I really enjoy the setting and initial concept! We’re so use to seeing Kaiju/Jaegar shenanigans play out within these major cities with helpless civilians everywhere that spending so much time in a lonesome desert and these destroyed civilizations was really cool and indicative of the changes Pacific Rim has undergone in the last few years. I also looooved the Desert Settlement from the beginning!! It seemed really homey and picturesque; I wish we’d spent more time with the other survivors and got to see more of their day to day aside from farming and sitting.

I also found the first episode set up to be really tight and well written! I was hooked during the initial flashback, Hayley and Taylor’s fight was really poignant and well acted, and the reveal of Atlas Destroyer felt really huge and epic!!

But once we left the Desert Settlement and the plot started actually moving along, the pacing becomes suuuper rough. We spent way too long in Bogan with Shane and Mei; there’s only 7 episodes and we spent, like, 3? 4? within the confines of that camp and I felt it weighed the plot down. Boy is introduced in the 2nd episode and, because the narrative spends so much time on Shane’s evil machinations and Mei’s back story, we still don’t know anything concrete about his origins or purpose 3 episodes later! That felt frustrating to me

The story beats overall were very predictable. I was able to pick up on Mei’s backstory via her dynamic with Shane in their introductions, so her memories felt too built up and too hollow once they were revealed. The same with the reveal of Boy’s Kaiju form; he was in a big green test tube in a PPDC base - I assumed immediately he was a part-kaiju experiment and again his reveal felt hollow, especially after the glacial pace of it’s development.

Even when events weren’t predictable, they lacked weight. The appearance of several Kaiju Breaches in “Boneyard” felt very cheap for some reason; I wasn’t scared and I didn’t feel tense about these odds mounting against the protagonists. This was just happening and I was just watching.

The Art Direction and Animation

I’m very obsessed with all the new Kaiju we got from this; I love how Copperhead is rendered, they’re a joy to see on screen!! The Rippers are also very cute and deserve little plushies...i love these neat little dogs. Boy’s Kaiju Form is very intimidating with an interesting color palette and I loved seeing him next to Copperhead’s highly saturated design!

That’s unfortunately all that I liked however; All the human character design is unmemorable to me. Every character looks exactly like another easily identifiable anime character from a different property (Hayley looks exactly like Zero Suit Samus to me, for example. And Mei kept reminding me of both Bernadetta Fire Emblem and Motoko Kusanagi from GitS. The list goes on).

I can sort of understand why they’re so bland? A franchise going from Live Action to something as heavily stylized as anime is probably a really difficult transition and these designs are probably meant to be more lowkey than more unique anime designs in order to help that transition. But realistically stylized designs can still be recognizable and unique! These feel uninspired and bare bones.

I have no problem with the switch to CGI animation that modern anime is doing because I know it’s a lot cheaper to produce and it can still be really unique and striking! But The Black’s model animation felt very stilted and inconsistent. I don’t have a lot of knowledge about animating so I don’t think I can accurately describe what I disliked? Wooden is probably the best term. Character movements felt wooden and things like hair and clothes felt plastic.

Impacts also had very little weight. The fight between Tayler/Mei and Copperhead reminded me of when you’re in a dream and trying to punch something, but you can’t punch hard. It was simply too floaty and too soft. The final showdown in “Showdown” was better, but not by much. It was very immersion breaking seeing these Giant Robots and Giant Monsters unable to throw a real solid hit!

Characters

My favorite character was unequivocally Joel Wyrick. We love Joel Wyrick in this house! Joel’s character has real charisma and charm. I love his flirtations with Loa, how his cocky disposition is juxtaposed with his drinking problem and later insecurities over his lost memories, and his genuine kindness shown to Mei, Taylor, and Boy. No one ever plays with Boy, they just run after him and drag him around...but Joel has this moment in “Escape from Bogan” where he kneels down to Boy and helps him collect rocks. It was sweet!

So of course, when Joel dies for absolutely no reason 5 minutes later - pissed! I was pissed! I yelled “COME ON” aloud in my studio apartment! I was genuinely so excited to see him interact more with the rest of cast then, poof. No More Joel.

His death felt like it was for shock value to me rather than actual narrative development. Why kill him when we still don’t fully understand his and Mei’s relationship? Why were they so close? Were they childhood friends, or just coworkers that happen to become friends? Why did he specifically know all the details of Shane’s abuse towards Mei before she did?

What did his death accomplish? It made Mei sad...ok? She was already...very sad. Her running away from Shane already had consequences - the consequences of Shane coming after them for revenge in the future. Why did Joel have to become a causality?

His death is ultimately tied to Mei’s character arc which is, unfortunately, my least favorite :c I find Mei to be a really one dimensional character with a personality, backstory, outlook, and motivation that I’ve seen done a million times before with a million other characters. She feels very out of place in the franchise as a whole - Pacific Rim is, at it’s core, a story about connecting with others. Her self-centric arc and lack of desire to connect outside of drifting really alienates her from the story at large and it frustrates me how long The Black’s narrative spends on her.

Hayley and Taylor were otherwise very interesting in the pilot episode, but become similarly one dimensional at the story chugs on. Taylor’s unflinching (bordering on unhealthy) faith in their parents was really interesting next to Hayley’s complete acceptance of their parents’ death. But once the two of them make up their differences, they lack an interesting dynamic and become very passive protagonists.

Taylor especially has no personality - how would you describe Taylor? He’s...brave. He’s the older brother. He’s a leader? He’s nice? There is nothing noteworthy about him at all, which is sad considering I think he has the potential to be a really interesting way to explore the original movie’s influence on The Black’s story.

Hayley’s grief and self-blame are more interesting than Taylor’s...nothingness, but she still falls into this one-note trope of being the naive, excitable little sister. I guess I feel abnormally frustrated about this flat character writing because Pacific Rim’s incredibly unique cast has always been an inspiration to me! It feels sad that this new iteration into the series is full of what feel like stock characters.

Then we get to Boy. How come Boy can’t have a person name? It’s specifically written in a dialogue between Taylor and Hayley: “I’m not going to call him Chad or Barnaby or one of those names for a baby brother you wanted as a kid,”

Why?

He’s by all accounts a human child when they find him. Yes, he was found in a big green test tube - but he walks and acts just like a human child. The only difference, seemingly, is that he is non-verbal and engages in strange/annoying behavior (running off, eating bugs, etc). So he isn’t deserving of a name?? I don’t know why that makes me so mad, it just does. it’s like they refuse to treat him as a human even before they find out he’s a Kaiju - it’s super weird! How can the story sell me on the three of them becoming found family (like they’re seemingly trying to do) if the protagonists won’t even treat this kid like a kid??

Misc. Thoughts

The callbacks to Stacker, Herc, and Raleigh were cool! I also like that Herc is a major plot point! We love Herc Hanson and it’s what he deserves. I also find Loa’s connection to Horizon Bravo very interesting...and the fact we’re getting Kaiju cultist lore! Love that! Love that!

Fucked up that the only two dark skinned characters were: 1) removed from the story 10 minutes in with no call back yet, 2) Killed after having 1 line of dialogue and fridged for the character development of the blonde white girl. I really need to know what the deal with those 4 characters leaving in the beginning was about - I absolutely thought we’d see them again by now, but no dice

I don’t know how to feel about Ajax and have no clue what their purpose in the story is. They’re cool, but whats the point?

If Mei and Taylor are paired up together romantically, I’m putting Craig Kyle and Greg Johnson in the time out box. Very tired of seeing random hetero romance B plots in stories that can’t even get their A plots together

Overall, it’s kind of subpar! It has the foundations of a really interesting story, but the pacing and characters really took me out of it. I’m interested in Season 2! I know season 2 is already ordered and I’d love to see how things continue to develop, see if the character writing gets any better - but I’m not too hopeful unfortunately. I really really love Pacific Rim after all these years and I’m happy to still be getting content and world building! There’s just sooo much I would change about this however. At least fanfiction’s free!

Thanks for reading all this, I have ADHD and just go on and on if u let me. hmu if You Too have thoughts about Pacific Rim: The Black and have no one to talk abt them with

#pacific rim #pacific rim: the black #pacific rim the black #taylor travis #hayley travis #long post #sorry this is thousands of words. i contain multitudes

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