#it holds up so well. fml i love this fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maiverie · 3 years ago

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doublespeak — ft. park jongseong | 01

keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

synopsis: there’s nobody you detest more than park jongseong—he’s obnoxious, he’s rude, and he always manages to top you in every single class. while you pride yourself as one of the smartest students in your school, there’s something you can’t quite figure out the formula for—the explosive chemistry between you and your (hot) enemy.

characters: park jongseong x fem!reader

genres: romance, fluff, comedy, high school

au(s): academic rivals, “i wanna punch him except he’s really fucking hot fml” au, jay being an annoying, cocky asshole

contents: frenemies to lovers, constant bickering & banter, childish arguments, studying fluff, suggestive themes, smartass jay w brains

warnings: swearing, lowercase intended

a/n: my first jay fic! <3 my fav trope is enemies to lovers so i’ve been dying to write something like this T^T i legit had so much fun writing all the banter and felt the “frenemies” vibe was cute! anyway i really hope u guys enjoy it!! :>

chapter one

word count: 3.3k | navigation: next / masterlist

shit.

you’re late.

flustered and panicked, you cast a cursory glance at your watch. fuck. a litany of swears fly out your mouth when you see the time, as now you realise that you’re not just late; you’re thirty minutes late.

oh dear lord.

this horrifying realisation causes you to gasp loudly. you immediately leap off your bicycle and ditch it beside one of the front racks, bolting your way through the school’s front entrance.

quick!

the headmaster’s office.

you need to find the headmaster’s office.

with each step, your resounding steps produce thunder across the linoleum flooring. you clench your teeth and run as fast as you possibly can, shoving your way through the masses of other high school students who are likely on their way to their classes.

shit.

you’re never normally the type to be late, and neither is this the best day for mistakes to slip up – you’re supposed to be in a meeting, begging on your hands and knees for the headmaster’s letter of commendation to get you through to your dream university.

he’s not going to be impressed with your tardiness.

you’re not going to get his commendation.

you’re not going to get into SNU.

and your parents will whip you with a lash.

in other words: you’re fucked.

holding your breath, you near the hallway intersection just outside the headmaster’s office. your shoes screech to a halt when you finally find yourself just outside, standing in front of the headmaster’s large, mahogany wooden door.

it’s closed, so you lift up your fist to knock on it.

breathe, just breathe, you chant to yourself. there are things a lot worse than showing up late. for instance, you could have shat your pants on the way here, but you’re as clean as a whistle.

see? worse.

you clench your knuckles together, but just when you’re about to knock–

the door opens.

you yelp in surprise, jumping out of your skin as two figures suddenly emerge from the other side.

“well, it was lovely for you to come by, jongseong.”

“of course, my pleasure.”

“extend my greetings to your parents, will you?”

“no worries, sir.”

you shuffle a few steps back, silenced and flabbergasted by the sight.

headmaster lee is standing closest to you, hovering just by the door. he must have been the one to open it, because he blinks at you curiously, eyes turning with surprise. you feel your mouth fall slightly agape, but instead of articulating real words, you fold your entire upper body forward and offer him a full bow.

“i’m so sorry i’m late for our meeting!” you cry, ready to get on your knees and begin begging for his mercy. you’re ready to do anything for his forgiveness – you’ll scrub his shoes with your toothbrush or sing lullabies to his children until they fall asleep.

“oh gosh, stop this!” headmaster lee chuckles, calling your name gently as he asks you to stand. after some time, you finally have the will to erect your spine and stand straight, though your head hangs low with shame.

“sweetie, it’s fine,” your headmaster laughs heartily. you gulp, raising your head to face him with an apologetic smile. “it’s not a problem,” the man smiles warmly. “thankfully, our lovely jongseong came to keep me company in the meantime.”

and now your smile instantly falls and fades like a ghost.

jongseong?

you snap your head toward your right. with the door open, you’ve been granted a full view inside the headmaster’s office — more specifically, the figure standing right in the middle of it.

park jongseong.

it’s park jong-fucking-seong.

within a split second, your face falls into a scowl. your eyes lock with his saber pair, and instantly your blood begins to thicken and simmer in your veins. your fists clench by your sides, all the while you’ve already begun to curse him in your mind.

you hate this guy.

you hate him with every fibre in your body, and this morning is absolutely no exception. it irritates you just seeing him stand where you should've been half an hour ago, in all the flawless glory of his tall figure. a school uniform similar to yours stretches across his lofty frame, and like most days, he has both hands shoved in his trouser pockets.

you glower, while he smirks and lifts a hand, wiggling his fingers to wave at you tauntingly.

god.

you want to break his fingers.

just before you can outrightly scowl any longer, you suddenly remember the headmaster is standing beside you – that’s when you pause before finally forcing a restrained smile at jongseong.

your forced, obviously phoney smile clearly amuses jongseong, who stifles a laugh.

“any time,” jongseong finally says, eyes bouncing between you and headmaster lee, “honestly, headmaster, you’re the one gracing me with your lovely company.”

tsk, you restrain the urge to roll your eyes. what a suck-up.

you try to conceal your brimming distaste for the boy when the headmaster chuckles. “oh, you flatter me, jongseong!” he shakes his head. “alright, well, i’ve got to get moving. thank you for your time, jongseong. and you,” he turns to you with a playful glare. “stay out of trouble, little miss.”

and now you’re blinking rapidly. is he leaving? you only just got here. you were supposed to present your 36-point proposal plan, justifying with evidence the reasons why you most deserve his letter of commendation. he’s only allowed to write one every year, and you need this year’s selection to be you.

it has to be you, or you’re fucked.

“w-wait, headmaster lee,” you frown, “i thought we were going to talk abo–”

the headmaster taps his wrist watch. “i have a teachers’ meeting to attend, young lady. knowing you, you’ll keep me holed up in the office for hours! let’s reschedule our meeting for next week, okay?”

“but–”

the headmaster grins at you and nods at jongseong before taking his leave, and it’s only a matter of seconds before you see the image of his vanishing figure. he drifts off in the distance, making quick shuffles down the hallway.

fuck.

you were late.

did this just cost you your letter?

you bite your bottom lip and watch as he dissipates from your sight completely, unable to conceal your disappointment and slumped shoulders.

“what’s wrong, piggy? you look sad.”

now you freeze.

did he just–

you snap your head at jongseong. you pin him down with a dark, murderous glare, which must be more visible to him now that he’s approaching you. he welcomes you with a haughty grin as he steps outside the headmaster’s office and shuts the door behind himself.

the two of you stand outside the door now, thickened tension circulating and poisoning the air around you.

“don’t call me piggy, asshole.”

jongseong exhales a short laugh.

he shoves his hands into each of his pockets, clearly entertained by your dismay. you’re already pissed that you’ve missed your meeting with the headmaster, and the presence of your arch nemesis is not helping. it certainly doesn’t help that he towers over you with his lofty height and makes cologne smell like the stench of sewage, but you put on your big girl pants and face him with a mighty glare.

“but you look like a piggy and sound like a piggy. you even smell like a piggy. ergo, you are a piggy.”

“i’ll fucking punch you.”

he shoots you a dubious look, and within a fraction of a second, you lift your clenched fist and strike a blow straight to his chest.

“argh!” jongseong yelps, doubling over as he clutches his stomach. the corner of your lip twitches upward at the sight of him in agonising pain, tossing into question whether or not you’re a sadist.

“dude, that hurt.” he groans, rubbing his stomach as he begins to slowly stand. you smirk, pleased by his reaction. it feels good to have a win.

“good.” you fold your arms and nod once. “that was the intended result.”

“you know, you’re not very nice in the morning.”

“when am i ever nice?” you smile sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “plus, you deserved that. you stole the headmaster from me.”

now that he’s recovered from your punch, you notice that he combs his fingers through the front strands of his hair. his sabre hair is styled down today, in his usual middle part. the front curls fall into the natural shape of a crescent moon across his forehead, bringing your attention to a new change he’s made to his face.

his eyebrows.

“jongseong,” you try not to cackle like a witch, “you… you have a bald spot in your eyebrow.”

his brows instantly furrow at your comment. he stares at you for a few seconds before scoffing with scorn. “it’s called an eyebrow slit, you dumbass.”

oh.

you stifle a laugh, amused by his offended reaction. he’s probably done it for cosmetic effect, but nothing about jongseong – no matter how many alterations he tries to make – will ever be attractive.

“it looks terrible,” you snipe. “i can’t believe you really woke up this morning and didn’t think to do the world a favour by staying home.”

“piggy, it’s ironic for you to say that,” jongseong smiles, “when you’re still wearing your bicycle helmet.”

you blink.

huh?

what–

he places a hand on your head, but something’s wrong – you gasp when you don’t feel the sensation of his hand, and more, when you feel an overwhelming weight on your head.

the helmet.

the helmet!

your eyes widen, but before you can move, jongseong’s too quick – you feel him pull you closer, and tuck his fingers beneath your chin. he unclips the clasp of the helmet’s chin strap, rough fingers grazing the skin of your jawline.

with the clasp undone, he easily grabs your helmet and lifts it off your head.

“see?”

you’re horrified.

you’re completely horrified.

you’re mortified mostly at the realisation that you’ve been wearing it this entire time; you’re also mortified because jongseong’s dirty ass fingers have just touched your skin, and worse, you can feel its absence. your reaction must be priceless, because he’s already snickering at your expense.

“you dick! you seriously couldn’t have told me earlier?” you glare at him, fuming as he hands you back your helmet. you inwardly sulk, clutching onto the helmet for dear life. you’re embarrassed. you’re cringing by the mistake, desperately hoping it isn’t immortalised for the rest of your life.

but knowing him, he’ll never let you live this down.

jongseong shrugs. “it suited you. felt like you needed something to help protect that small brain of yours.”

and now it begins.

for the longest time, you’ve had the worst relationship with jongseong. it’s ironic that you’d actually been great friends with him when you were younger and your family had stayed in contact – you lived close to one another, you had a lot in common, and at that time, he wasn’t a shit-eating demon. however, after a feud between your parents, your friendship fizzled.

correction, it didn’t fizzle – it burst into flames.

in fact, the raging inferno between the two of you swept the streets of your high school, because as it turns out, you have too much in common.

both high-achieving students.

both competitive.

and now?

both eager to obtain the headmaster’s letter of commendation.

in response to his last comment, you offer him another surly expression. rather brazenly, you eye him up and down and point to yourself. “me? small brain?” you bark out a dry laugh. “well, i bet you’re very well-acquainted with small things.”

jongseong squints at you, but before he can generate a comeback, you’re already waddling your way down the hallway. you leave him behind and hope he doesn’t follow you, but alas, you hear his trailing footsteps.

“that is false news!” he yells. “nothing about me is small!”

“hey teach, can we leave ten minutes early?”

you lift your head and squint at your two students, who are sheepishly smiling at you across the table. you press your lips into a thin line before succumbing with a sigh, shaking your head in disapproval.

“seriously? you guys left early yesterday and your finals are in a week.”

they both simultaneously pout. they resemble siamese cats when they do this, and you’ll admit you feel your guarded walls that create the semblance of a strict tutor begin to disintegrate.

“but…” they exchange looks with one another. “there’s… a party we want to go to.”

you raise a brow, though you soon resume writing down notes from your earlier classes. final week is also next week for you, too – as a high school senior, you are beyond stressed. it may seem weird that you find yourself inside the school library tutoring junior students rather than investing in your own study, but you think honoring your commitment and promise to the headmaster is important. besides, at the risk of sounding acquisitive, being a student tutor certainly helps with university applications, too.

“and?”

“and we wanna drink.”

and now you’re pointing at them with your pen in hand. “you’re both underage! what the hell do you want to drink? orange juice?”

they immediately burst out into aggrieved cries. “teach! it’s our first time getting invited to a senior’s party! we just need an extra ten minutes since the bus comes every hour, so we’ll be late if–”

“wait, wait, wait,” you gape at them, backtracking with incredulity. “you’re taking the bus there? that’s so unsafe! how the hell are you getting back home?”

your question causes them to sink into their seats, presumably due to their subpar critical thinking skills. you scoff with disbelief, rubbing your temples with wariness. “guys, this is quite literally one of the stupidest things–”

“c’mon, teach! weren’t you ever like us? didn’t seniors invite you to parties all the time?”

parties?

you try to package your embarrassment and swallow it in a single gulp, but you’ll admit that some of the emotion manages to creep up to your face. you cough awkwardly, knowing full-well that at their age, you were never attending parties or other social gatherings.

you’ve always had your nose in books; head in reverie; mind set in the future.

growing up, you’d always been the type to think more of the future than the present. such an attitude didn’t exactly make you the ideal candidate for fun, uninhibited social events. in short, you’re a killjoy. you absolutely murder the joy out of parties.

“um– uh– y-yes, i did, but–”

“then you must know how important it is! parties are how you get into the cool crowd, and–”

“the cool crowd? guys, c’mon, social hierarchy is a dumb construct.” you snap, thinking of jongseong.

you may be similar, but in other ways, you’re quite the opposite. he may be smart, popular, athletic, but you’re the harder worker – you understand the interplay between work and play, and while his constant partying hasn’t quite yet bitten him in the ass, you’re sure it will one day. he’s in the so called cool crowd, and maybe that’s what seems important now, but you know your future is bright and gleaming with success.

in fact, if there’s anything that being academic rivals with jay has taught you, it’s that everything counts – hours, minutes, seconds, and even fragments of a standing second, are valuable. you know this because you’ve only been able to reach your zenith as one of the top students at your school by working hard at every single given moment – big or small.

however, your students’ shoulders slump at your cold response; they lower their heads and though they’re silent, you already know they feel hurt by your judgement.

perhaps you’re being too harsh on them.

you’ve always been conscientious and diligent, but what comes with your self-imposed mountain of responsibility is stress. you’re always stressed. like you were this morning – thirty minutes late and a delayed meeting with the headmaster made you want to throw yourself off a bridge.

is this really a decision you want to make?

biting your bottom lip, you find yourself conceding with a small sigh. “o-okay…” you mutter. “fine.”

both your students immediately snap their heads upward. their eyes saturate with a hopeful shine, so you immediately raise a finger to restrain them from speaking.

“under one condition.”

they stare curiously, so you smile warmly. “you text me when you get home, so i know you’re safe.”

the siamese twins then exchange another look before turning back to you in perfect synchronisation.

“we’ll do you one better, teach.”

you blink.

“come to the party with us!”

your eyes widen. “i–”

a laugh suddenly rings.

“party? her?”

you stiffen.

is that–

you and your students immediately swivel your head upwards, eyeing the stranger who’s made a sudden entrance by your table.

just as you suspected.

jongseong, that skeevy, ear-dropping little shit.

you scowl at the sight of his little smug smirk, though both your students nod quickly. “y-yes,” they squeak timidly.

you and jongseong lock eyes, and that’s when you feel your lips begin to sink into a frown. he has a lollipop stick in his mouth, which he moves from one end to the other. he then places a hand on your head and ruffles your hair. “nice to see you without a helmet, piggy.”

you immediately smack his hand away from your head and abruptly stand from your chair, causing its legs to screech against the floor.

“don’t touch me with your gross ass man hands.” you glare at him, folding your arms with a scoff. you might have to burn all your hair off now that he’s touched it. “and mind your own business! get lost, idiot.”

“actually,” he smirks, removing the lollipop from his mouth. that’s when you notice that all of the candy is gone, so it’s just the white plastic stick left. “it’s heeseung’s party, and anything to do with heeseung’s business is my business.”

“why?” you smile caustically. “because you can’t have your own personality?”

“because he’s my bro,” he winks, and you stare with incredulity and disgust. “but anyway, you should come.”

“i think i’d rather burn myself alive,” you say candidly. you really might prefer exactly that – please, if the alternative is seeing jongseong in the flesh out of school, you’d honestly rather sell one shoe in all of your pairs and live with mismatched shoes for the rest of your life.

“don’t do that, piggy.” he grins. “helmets can’t save you from fire.”

you shut your eyes in irritation, withholding the intense desire to kick him in the balls.

piggy?

helmets?

fire?

no.

absolutely the fuck not.

you refuse to let these little references sustain for longer than one conversation. if you wanted to share cute little inside jokes with somebody, you’d just go make friends.

“just–” you clench your teeth when you open your eyes again, “–go away, will you? you’re giving me a headache, and in case you haven’t noticed, i’m trying to tutor my poor students.”

jongseong blinks before casting a glance at your students. there’s a moment of silence before he places both hands on the table they’re sitting behind, using his weight to lean forward and stare at them closely.

“it’s not very usual for juniors to be invited to our senior parties, you know.”

“w-we know,” they squeak.

“good,” jongseong says. “and i hate to be a dick, but there’s something at stake here for me.” he hums a little. “would you be able to do me a favour?”

when you turn to stare at the situation, you notice your students are looking at each other once again. a dubious look etched across their features, you begin to frown with suspicion.

“what… what is it?” they ask him.

“bring little miss piggy to the party,” he points at you with his thumb. “or don’t come at all.” //

to be continued.

author's note hi everyone!! thank u sm for reading part one of this crusty ass fic ;-; BAHAHAH this rlly do be of questionable quality but nevertheless i'm so so happy to have finally published my first jay fic!! <3 this feels like a sentimental milestone :"> aaa anyway thank u for giving this a shot and for making it to the end! if u liked it, please do share some support via liking + reblogging! otherwise don't be afraid to interact hehe i'm new on tumblr & looking 4 moots!! :D <3

if anyone's interested, i'm happy to start a tag list! just reply to this post or dm me :>

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dienamights · 4 years ago

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Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s): Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.”

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to-

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?”

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now.

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her.

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week.

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No! He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.”

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario.

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,”

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-”

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.”

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight.

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it.

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?”

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high.

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly.

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you.

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed.

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

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lady-riel · 3 years ago

Text

Gwynriel fic excerpt + more

My big ass Gwynriel fic is up to 20 chapters now and I still have a lot more planned out for it. I intend to start posting chapters pretty soon. Mostly what’s holding it up is I can’t come up with a title (fml but I’ll find one eventually)...

In the meantime, I’m sharing a little excerpt/teaser from it :)

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Gwynriel fic excerpt:

“What the fuck?!”

Azriel jumped out of a deep sleep. Gwyn, naked and fast asleep against his chest a moment ago, jerked awake too, shrieking with shock, and burrowed deeper into his chest, sobbing, hyperventilating.

Azriel threw a glare at Rhys—who was standing in the doorway wearing an enraged expression—and brought up one hand to cup the back of Gwyn’s head. “Shhh,” he said, soothing her, stroking her hair, “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He gently rocked her, his arms bound tightly around her bare back.

The sheets were strewn around their waists, their nakedness quite apparent to Rhys, and Azriel pulled them up higher around Gwyn’s shoulders.

Get out of my room, he ordered Rhys in his mind. You scared the fuck out of her, get out now.

Gwyn was still hyperventilating into his chest, her hands covering her face as he rocked her in his arms. “Shhh, breathe, sweetheart,” he whispered into her hair.

Rhys didn’t reply to Azriel’s thoughts but had the good sense to back out of the room, his face set with shock and confusion.

It took Azriel a good fifteen minutes to get Gwyn to calm down. She trembled in his arms for a long time, while he held her tightly and drew calming lines down her spine, trailed kisses across her brow and whispered soothing words to her. 🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇

ALSO I’m shamelessly promoting my now-complete Faeriewalker fic, “Finding Home”. If you haven’t read the three-book Faeriewalker series by Jenna Black, I highly recommend it. If you liked ACOTAR, you’ll like it. I literally couldn’t go to sleep when reading the first book because I couldn’t stop reading.

Excerpt (NSFW) is below and you can read the complete three-part fic on AO3 or Tumblr. As you can see from the except, it’s, uh, a super smutty fic…idk it just all came out. And I love this ship so much.

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Faeriewalker fic “Finding Home” excerpt: Arawn straightened, and seeing his huge form rise over me I again sensed that dominance and power, and my lower belly curled deliciously.

He grinned. “You going to come for me like this, baby girl?”

I swallowed. “Um, I…” I trailed off. To be honest, I wasn’t sure, between the nerves and the newness and the faint lingering edge of discomfort.

Somehow Arawn knew what I was thinking. He pulled out completely, leaving me feeling oddly empty, then dropped his head down to devour my cunt, sucking hard on my clit. The now-familiar heat began to build in my core. He licked me over and over, bringing me close to the edge where my legs started shaking. Leaving me suddenly, he shifted back up to his knees and slowly but firmly slid his cock back inside me, setting a steady pace that he matched with his thumb on my clit.

His strokes fueled the heat rising in me. Twisting up my spine.

I moaned. “Yes,” I gasped out, “I’m going to come for you.”

Arawn smirked down at me, male pride shining in his blue eyes. His thumb on my clit sped up.

“Tell me more, baby girl. Are you going to scream for me? Are you going to chant my name?” His grin widened. “Are you going to be a good girl and beg me to let you come?”

Fuck. He knew me too well.

He licked his thumb before putting it back on my clit and flicking with a relentless speed, accelerating the tightening spiral in my belly that heralded an oncoming orgasm. My legs gripped his waist. Arawn’s other hand reached to roll one of my nipples, making me squeal, the sound interspersed with broken fragments of his name.

I moaned again. The fire had burned away the last traces of discomfort and all I felt was a white heat rushing through me, up my breasts, my chest, my neck, my face, spilling from my mouth in a garbled stream of words. “Please, Arawn, please, please, Arawn––Arawn––please let me come, please let me come, pleasepleasepleaseplease––”

“Come for me now,” he commanded me roughly.

🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇🥰😇

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kass-storycorner · 3 years ago

Note

I really loved your ghost fic with Xiao. But it left me curious to have a second part in which they finally find the way to communicate. Whenever is just to say goodbye and having reader going to the afterlife or getting stuck there forever in an eternal solitary pseudo-company together is up to you, I just want to see them talk 😭

awww, thank you! I'm so glad you loved it (though I am sorry for the sad feelings haha). And I was really struggling to find a way to end that orginal story in the beginning, which is the reason why it ended that way oops. Well, now here is the follow up for it. Compared to the small bit I wrote for Xiao... I mean not even compared to it, this is the longest fic I've posted on here so far? Ah, well. I just had so much fun with it.

Idea/Prompt: a follow up to Xiaos part in this post

Genre: a bit of Angst and Hurt, more comforting than the first part, but if the ending is a happy one is up to you!

Characters: Xiao (Zhongli as side character, mention of Hu Tao, Verr Goldot, a new character I made up that did not get a name)

Format: Text

Word count: 5593

Content warning: mentions of blood, spoiler-y for the second act of Zhonglis story quest and the same spoilers warnings as for the OG post! this is not proof read, I started writing this at midnight and its 5am now ahha fml

The Ghost of you Part II. - To the end

yes we are keeping the mcr names

“Xiao”, he felt an uneasiness in his body upon hearing his name. Where was he? Looking around, Xiao saw he stood in a field of flowers. When did he come here? He had no recollection of it at all. Confused he furrows is brows, worry filling his heart and then- “Xiao.” There it was again, that voice calling out to him. Speaking his name softly, voice filled with affection. Where did it came from? He walked around the field, no end of it in sight, looking for that voice calling out to him. The longer he searched for it, the more his heart was filled with dread. “Xiao.” This time the voice came from behind him and when he turned around, he saw you, holding your hand out to him and smiling. “(Y/N)”, Xiao looked at you in disbelief. Was it really you standing in front of him? Your laugh pulled him out of his trance. “Xiao, why are you standing there like a pillar? Come, take my hand,” and at that you wiggled it a bit, signalling him that you're waiting for him to take it. “(Y/N),” Xiao repeated, standing still and looking at your hand, then to you. “What are you doing here?”. Again, you laughed as if what he said was the silliest thing you ever heard. “What do you mean by that? Xiao,” you shook your head and then you shoot him a bright, warm smile. “You wanted to come here, remember? Now come, take my hand and dance with me before the music stops.” Dance? Music? At first Xiao did not understand what you meant, but then he heard it. In the distance, the low sounds of a flute, a sweet melody that sounded strange but all too familiar. “Xiao”, he heard you whisper his name, speaking so gently. Slowly, he was still a bit hesitant, he reached out for your hand, taking it in his. A smile came across your face at the touch of your hands. With a swift motion Xiao was pulled into your arms, you both at first staying still in that embrace. “Xiao, lets dance, okay?”. With that you both started to waltz around the field, Xiao not knowing how he knew to dance like this, but somehow, he did. The dread that started to spread in his chest earlier was now gone, replaced by the feeling of love he felt for you. Still, there was something tugging at his mind, telling him something was amiss here. It felt familiar, yes. However, it also seemed to be strange to him at the same time. Though Xiao tried to push the nagging feeling away, wanting only to enjoy this pleasant moment with you. Which is why he at first didn’t notice how the sky darkened above them nor that the music had stopped a while ago. As you both stopped to dance, still holding each other in your arms, he heard you call out to him again. “Xiao”, the sound of your voice was filled with pain and when he looked at you in his arms the light behind your eyes was gone, your face stiff and emotionless. At the sight of your dead eyes, he wanted to part from the embrace, but he couldn’t let you go. Xiao saw the blood, saw the bruises and suddenly he was on his knees again, you are laying in his arms. He wanted to cry, wanted to say your name but he couldn’t. It was as if there was no air to breath so he could speak. And then – “Xiao.” His name. “Xiao.” Again. “Xiao.” Over and over again he heard how his name was spoken, but with every whisper of his name the voice became more distorted, louder. Until he cowered in pain at the sound of it, wanting it to stop, wishing for it to stop. “Xiao”.

With that Xiao woke up, his body covered in cold sweat and his breathing erratic. Another nightmare of you, another nightmare of something he wished the both of you could’ve done but never did – because of his shortcomings. Xiao sat atop of a rock, looking over the forest in which your ghost continued to wander aimlessly around. He had been watching you for a few weeks now, trying to figure out what kept you here and how he could help you. However, Xiao was clueless at what could be the cause of this. It was clear to him now that he couldn’t help you, he needed to find someone who could. Looking down at the forest, seeing your ghost wander around between the trees, he softly whispered. “I will be back soon, I won’t leave you again for long, I promise.” There weren’t many people Xiao could ask for help. Back when you were alive Xiao wasn’t the most social, wanting to keep his distance from humans. After you died this habit of his, avoiding others, only worsened. So, the only person Xiao could think of to ask for help in this matter was the same who saved him from his servitude as a bloodhound. Zhongli spend most of the last hundred years among the people of Liyue, but for a few decades now he lived in a remote house. It was now the door of said house Xiao knocked on, knowing that although he could easily enter the house, Zhongli preferred it for him to knock. “Ah, Xiao, it is nice to see you,” Zhongli greeted the adeptus. As Xiao entered the house and followed the tall man into his kitchen, it was a standard practice of Zhongli to drink a tea with anyone who visited, he couldn’t stop to notice that the notebooks scattered around the house grew in number. “So,” Zhongli began his question, “what brings you here? From your troubled look I can tell you didn’t come for the tea or my company.” With that Xiao didn’t waste any time on more formalities, explaining his predicament to the former Geo-Archon. “Mmmh, I see,” he replied, taking a sip from his cup. “I fear I might not be much of help in this case, although I have some knowledge on the topic of the human afterlife, I can’t think of a solution to this. However, it might be best to go ask Hu Tao on advice, as she is way more… let’s say, perceptive when it comes to the dead.” How bothersome, Xiao thought at the mention of Hu Tao. “Zhongli, Hu Tao is long dead”, was all Xiao could say. It happened more frequently now that Zhongli seemed to forget things, small ones but also important pieces of information and this filled Xiao with unease. He didn’t like it that the erosion of Zhongli already was set in motion, thinking about that one-day Xiao might have to face him in battle should he lose all sense of self and sanity. Neither did Zhongli enjoy slowly losing his memories of the past – although he wrote down as much as possible, it bothered him that he had to even rely on his notebooks. “Ah,” Zhongli replied, setting his cup down on the table and with a troubled look, “I seem to have forgotten something again. Would you please help my memory, when did this happen?” “One thousand years might have already passed,” Xiao saw how much it stirred Zhongli up that he had forgotten the passing of a friend. “She had a good life, right? I’m sorry for asking, but I somehow can’t seem to remember much about her later life.” “Yes,” Xiao answered, thinking about the 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. There weren’t many humans he tolerated or even enjoyed being around, but Hu Tao was one Xiao always was fond of. She was also the one at the Parlor that day you died, when Xiao came in with your dead body in his arms, he hoped he might find Zhongli maybe he could do something about it, but… Xiao knew there was nothing anyone could do. Hu Tao understood his pain, without a word she showed him where to put your body and prepared your funeral, without even asking for a single Mora. “Then, “Zhongli pulled Xiao out of his thoughts, “maybe you might find help with the new Director, her family always had some knowledge about that human afterlife that’s even a mystery to me.” With that

Xiao said his goodbye to Zhongli and made his way to Liyue. The city of Liyue changed over the last thousand years a lot, but the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor was still one of the constants in the city. Xiao couldn’t remember the last time he visited the city, though it must have been a few hundred years ago for sure. He just never really liked it and since, what the humans called a ‘industrial revolution’, the city was even more crowded and overwhelming for Xiao. “Welcome to the Wangshen Funeral Parlor, how may I help you?”, a young person greeted Xiao as he set foot into the building. At the enthusiastic way the person greeted him as he entered a funeral home, Xiao was sure this was one of Hu Taos descendants. He barley could imagine anyone else be so happy surrounded by death. “Are you the director?”, Xiao asked in his usual stern voice. “The 107th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, yep that’s me!” “I may need your assistance.” “Wonderful, I’m always happy to help- oh well, not happy as I am happy for your loss, my condolences by the way, but in happy as I am happy that I can be of help. So, what do you need help with? We have some wonderful new coffins out of a wonderful wood, really they are also very comfortable, not that comfort is that important for someone who’s dead, but I thought it might be also of interest to say that they are really comfort-“, ah yes, Xiao thought, definitely related to Hu Tao. “I don’t need a coffin”, he interrupted the young director. “Oh, um… what can I help with then?”, they asked and then Xiao explained everything to them. At first, he wasn’t sure of the director would be of help, most humans have long forgotten the existence of the gods and adepti, as most of them died or lived a life among humanity, but sure enough the director did turn out to be well versed with the forgotten knowledge of the world. “So, you say the ghost is just roaming around those woods? Nothing else happens?”, the director asked, sitting in their chair in the back office of the Parlor, and they had their hand on their chin, looking like they were thinking about something “Will you be of help now or why do you keep repeating the same useless questions?”, Xiao became a bit impatient now. He just needed to know if someone was able to help you. Without even answering the question the director stood up from the chair and walked towards a bookshelf, pulling a big and old looking book out and opening it up on the table. “Mmmh, from what you’ve described it seems to be nothing to grave, they don’t seem to have become an evil spirit just yet, moreover it seems like they are just one who got lost, though it is surprising that after such a long time the spirit didn’t just turned into something malicious. Normally for most human ghosts it takes a few hundred years until they go insane and well, you know all too well what then happens with an evil spirt I guess.” Xiao was aware what happened to the evils in the world, because it was mostly him. Though he didn’t like to think about it what it would have meant if you- no, he didn’t even want to finish that thought. “How do I help them?”, he didn’t care about any of the other information, he just wanted to find a way to help you. The director pointed at a passage in the book in front of them and continued. “What we have to do is easy if you think about it, I just need something that belonged to the deceased they held dear, a few materials like Qingxin flowers, around twenty should be enough, and the next part is more tricky if you don’t know the deceased that well, which shouldn’t be a problem here, but we need to, well you need to, speak some words that you know are important to them. A story or something like that, sometimes even the voice of a loved one is enough to help to guide the spirits back. Though I will definitely have to accompany that spirit to the border, just to make sure it won’t happen again, you know getting lost, because I can’t guarantee this method will help a second time.” Xiao was quiet. Something that belonged to them, when the director said

those words, his hand immediately flew up to the necklace with the small pendant he wore. Xiao wasn’t the most adept with words, he rather enjoyed listening to what you had to say to him most of the time. He enjoyed the sound of your voice; it was so much more pleasant than his own. One day, Xiao still remembers it so well, your voice said something he did not expect for you to say. “Xiao, I love you.” It took him by surprise, standing on the balcony of the Wangshu Inn, watching the night sky… he suspected that you liked him that way, he did too. Oh, but how he hoped that you wouldn’t say anything about it, like he planned too. Your openness scared him. The idea of being loved scared him, for what was there to love about him? He didn’t want to be a burden to you, his karmic debt, his burden – he feared it would all just make you hate him one day if he let you see it all. That night, after you said these words, Xiao disappeared without a word from your sight. He wasn’t far away, but he wished back then that he teleported out of his hearing range. The sobs that came from you after his departure broke Xiaos heart. After this he avoided you, which wasn’t too hard because you did the same thing too. But with every day that passed when Xiao didn’t see you, hear your voice, his heart grew heavier. Asking himself if he really did do the right thing. Verr Goldet approached Xiao a few weeks after your confession, inquiring why now you didn’t come to the Inn anymore. Xiao did not answer her question, but Verr was a smart woman and at the look in his eyes she understood. “Don’t give up someone you love, only because you are scared of the love you both feel for each other, Xiao”, was all she said. This was the final push for Xiao to finally get over himself and embrace the feelings he felt for you. He didn’t know anymore where the idea came from, but he decided to gift you a handmade necklace along side his confession. Xiao was scared that it might be too late for telling you that he felt the same. However, he knew he had to do it and he wanted to give you something that showed you how he felt too. So Xiao collected the material all around from Liyue, creating a metal necklace and using a small piece of Cor Lapis, your favourite you told him once, as the pendant. With that he looked for you, finding you sitting in the middle of a flower field. “(Y/N)”, he said, stopping himself from continuing when he saw how you jumped at your own name. “Xiao! You scared me!”, you quickly stood up and turned around to him. Xiao wasn’t the most adept with words, he enjoyed listening to you – but you stayed quiet after facing him and you kept quiet when Xiao came closer. “I-“, he began, but unable to speak the words he so wished you to hear from him. Instead, he took your hand and put the necklace in it. “I- I made you this,” was all he could say, feeling how fast his heart pounced in his chest. The look in your eyes, Xiao saw the love you felt for him in them. “Xiao, I-“, he saw how you viewed the necklace in your hand, tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes. Before you were able to finish the sentence or let the tears fall down, Xiao took your face in his hands and kissed you. Yes, he wasn’t the most adept with words, but he learned that he could show you how much he loved you in other ways.

From that day on you wore that necklace every single day, never taking it off since Xiao but it on you after the shared kiss. You joked that it was a physical representation of your love for each other, though Xiao felt like you actually meant it. And somehow it really was. Xiao remembered how that necklace was still around you neck when he took your body to Hu Tao, he remembered that it was covered with your blood. He didn’t even think about taking it off you. It was Hu Tao who gave him that necklace after your burial and since then he hadn’t taken it off. It was the last thing he had of you, the last reminder of your love for each other and every night after your death, when he cowered in pain because of his karmic debt, the cool touch of the stone on his skin helps him to stay sane. Just like the flute he heard even long before he met you.

When Xiao and the director arrived at the forest, they collected the flowers on their way, he could see your ghost again. Walking around, calling for him. His heart breaks every time he had to witness your suffering. “Okay, we have the flowers… do you have something that belonged to them with you, Xiao?”, the director asked, and Xiao shifted his focus from you to them. Slowly he took the necklace off, feeling somehow so vulnerable without it, and gave it to the director. “You know where they start their walk and end it right?”. Yes, Xiao knew that. He had watched over your ghost for the past couple of weeks and noticed that you were walking in circles, without even knowing so it seemed, starting from the place you died and ending up there again. Although your body was buried in another part of Liyue and already long gone, taken back by nature, you stayed here. Where you died. Xiao wished he had come here earlier. Together with the director Xiao made his way to the place where your life ended and your endless suffering in a sort of limbo started, laying down the flowers and the necklace. “And how is that supposed to help them now?”, he asked, not sure how any of this will work. “Like I said, we put down something that belonged to them and was important because they will gravitate to the feelings still connected with that object. The flowers are helping, because they built a bridge between the living realm and what state they are in. Now we just need some words that they have a connection with, in the past it used to be certain prayers because people kept using them a lot, but you know it honestly doesn’t matter what you say, it just needs to be connected to them in some way. Maybe their favourite story or a lullaby, there are many possibilities.” “A lullaby, huh,” this was something Xiao hadn’t thought about in a long time. “Xiao, are you alright?”, he heard your voice from across the dark room. It was the middle of the night, normally he would be out killing monsters, but for tonight you were able to make him sleep with you. When you found out that he never sleeps you were shocked, though he tried to calm you saying that an adeptus didn’t need to sleep. “Maybe you don’t need to,” you told him with a stern look, hands on your hips, “but it will be good for you too, believe me!”. And somehow, after each of you confessed the feelings for the other, you were able to make him sleep next to you some nights. Just for that night his karmic debt plagued Xiao. He sat in front of your window, trying to keep his distance from you, not wanting to disturb your sleep and he didn’t want to worry you. “Xiao?”, you asked again, but instead of an answer Xiao growled in pain. Suddenly you were beside him. “Don’t”, he said through gritted teeth as you tried to touch him. “You’re in pain, let me help you.” He saw your worried painted face, ashamed that you had to see him like this. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. Don’t worry.” “Don’t tell me not to worry when I see the person I love most suffering,” and with that you took his hand. “Please Xiao, let me help you.” Even when he wasn’t in such a weakened state it was hard for Xiao to refuse you and now – all he wished for was your comforting touch. You led Xiao back to bed and when you noticed how he had a fever you quickly prepared a cold and wet towel for him. As you both lied down in bed you took Xiao in your arms. “I don’t know if this will help,” you began after a short amount of silence, “but when I was a child my mother always used to sing this lullaby to help me fall asleep. She even continued singing it when we were older and got sick… it always helps me feel better and at ease, shall I sing it to you?”. Xiao only gave a small nod, not believing it would help when you sang that song for the first time. But it did, you soothed his pain and helped him fall asleep. From that night on you would sing it more often to Xiao, he never asked for it but you somehow always knew when he wished to hear it, especially on the nights when is karmic debt caused him great pain. That lullaby became

another sign of how much you loved each other – the necklace was Xiaos gift, the song yours.

Now there he stood, in this forest that once was just a plain field, the flowers and necklace to his feet singing that lullaby. Xiao never sang it when you were alive, he never sang at all. No matter how much you begged him to sing for you, this was something he always refused to do. Thinking about how beautiful your voice sounded, he never wanted to soil this song with his voice.

It felt like you screamed for Xiao for hours and hours on end, but your voice doesn’t hurt. Where were you? What had happened? In your head you repeated and repeated the last things you could remember again and again. You were walking in the fields, wanting to collect some crystal flies for a commission. Then you remembered that you were attacked, who or what attacked you slipped your mind. However, the fight was tedious and hard… and then you called for Xiao. That’s it. That’s all you could remember. But where was he? Where was Xiao? Didn’t he say he would always come when you called out for him? Why didn’t he come now? You feared that he was still angry with you, though you didn’t know anymore why he even should be angry with you in the first place. The two of you had a fight yes, but… was that it? You spend so much time apart, did he just decide you weren’t worth his time anymore? Did he maybe stop loving you? Those thoughts filled you with dread and you wanted to cry, cry at the thought of Xiao not loving you anymore, but somehow you couldn’t. So you kept calling for him, over and over again. “Xiao,” you screamed. “XIAO!” And then you heard something, at first you weren’t sure what it was, but there was a noise. You stopped calling out for him, trying to focus on where the sound came from, following the direction. It got louder and – was that Xiao singing? The closer you came towards the sound, towards Xiaos voice singing that lullaby… your mothers’ lullaby, the lullaby that became yours and Xiaos. Which he always refused to sing, no matter how much you pleaded. The closer you came you started to remember the things that happened more clearly. How you didn’t want to call for Xiao at first that day, how something hit you in your stomach and how you felt the blood gusher out of you. Yes, you remember how you couldn’t stand anymore and all that was on your mind was Xiao, you wanted to see him again. Just once. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were, how stupid it was for you to fight and how stupid it was to wait this long to call for him. You wanted to say this to him, all of it. But all you remember you said was his name. “Xiao.”

He stopped singing, his head flying up seeing your ghost stand right in front of him. His name. You just said his name. “Xiao,” you said it again, this time he heard you say it clearly and you looked right at him, not through. “(Y/N)”, it came more out as whisper. This is what he wanted. He wanted you to see him, to get out of that limbo, but why does it still hurt as much? “Ah, seems like it worked, great!”, the director interrupted the moment, looking at Xiao and the ghost of you. “I ummm- I’m gonna leave the two of you alone for a while, so you can talk things out, say your goodbyes, yadayadayada.” With that the director walked away and it was just you and Xiao.

“I-“, Xiao began, but somehow his voice failed him. What was there to say? What should he say? “Xiao,” he heard the hesitance in your voice. “Xiao, I am dead, right?”. He couldn’t stand looking at you, his eyes avoiding yours as he gave his short answer. “Yes.” “I see,” you replied quietly. You slowly started to remember the nights you stood on the field, waiting for him to come. “Why,” you weren’t sure if you wanted an answer to your question, “why didn’t you come? After, you know… I- I waited for you. I called you. Why-?”. “I felt guilty. It was my fault, if I just hadn’t tried to push you away again, then you wouldn’t have died, I’m so sorry,” his voice was so quiet, but you could hear how he tried to hold back the tears. “Xiao,” at hearing his name again he looked back at you, you now seeing the tears that pooled at the corner of his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you… and I should have called for you earlier. But Xiao,” you saw how the tears started to fall down his face, “it wasn’t your fault.” He couldn’t hold it in any longer, Xiao fell to his knees, hands in his face and crying. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please, forgive me. I should have protected you that day, I should have come here earlier and see what was happening… please, forgive me.” You walked towards Xiao, reaching out your hand, wanting to touch him. Wanting to take him in your arms, but you couldn’t. It broke your heart. “Xiao, please, please look at me,” he did, his eyes red and filled with his tears. “There is nothing to ask for forgiveness for, you did nothing wrong Xiao. It’s alright. I’m sorry for leaving so soon, for running away that day we had this stupid fight. I don’t even know what it was about…”. “I don’t know either”, Xiao admitted and somehow you had to laugh a bit at that. None of you ever remembered why you fought even in the first place, all of this nearly felt so normal. But it wasn’t. Xiao wiped away the tears from his eyes and stood up again, this time to be able to face you. You looked just like he remembered, except for the see-through part but… your smile hasn’t changed. Even if this was a sad one. “Xiao, how much time has passed since I died?” That question surprised him. “Around…”, he was hesitant to tell you the truth. Should he really tell you? “Xiao,” and you looked at him and he knew that he couldn’t hide the truth. “A thousand years perhaps.” Thousand years, you thought. For thousand years he walked around with this guilt, for thousand years he kept that necklace that still was on the ground… for thousand years he lived his life, still mourning you it seemed. “Did you get over me?”. Again, another question he didn’t expect. Why were you asking him this? Did he get over you? “No, every single day since you died you were on my mind, I couldn’t forget you and I do not wish to. I can never get over you.” This wasn’t the answer you hoped for. “Xiao, I’ve been dead for thousand years. Even if I hadn’t died that day, I would have died on another one. Thousand years compared to what, sixty? Maybe seventy years if I had lived a full life is nothing. Humans are weak after all, aren’t we?”. You didn’t mean to stir him up with your last comment, it was more intended as a joke, alas a sad one, but somehow you struck a nerve within him. “No, they are not. I always said that, but I was wrong (Y/N). I don’t understand how you human can live your life, knowing that you will die, that those you love will inevitably die. How you can idly sit next to people you care about forgetting important things, things about themselves, struggle to remember who they are, seeing them die… and you move forward. I watched over you humans for such a long time, protecting you and I still- I don’t understand how. How can they love again? Where does the strength come from to keep moving forward?”, Xiao’s voice was full of pain, you heard it clear as day, seeing how tears rolled down his face again. You felt that there were even other things weighing heavy on him, not only you, but you knew that you couldn’t comfort him. That this was

something he needed to figure out himself. “Xiao, you will learn. You will understand it one day, it just takes time.” Your voice heavy with sadness and oh, how you wished you could take him in your arms, wipe his tears away and kiss him.

Before Xiao could reply anything in return the director disturbed the two of you again. “So, are you ready now?”, looking directly at you. “No, but I stayed here for far too long now, didn’t I?”, a sad smile coming across your face. You really didn’t want to leave, but you knew you couldn’t stay any longer. It was time. “I will come with you as far as I can,” Xiao had wiped his tears away and stood now right next to you. If you still had a body your shoulders would touch.

Xiao and the director accompanied you to the border of life and death in silence. Before you crossed it you looked at Xiao. He looked so sad, as if he was to lose you a second time. “I wish,” you heard him say, “that you could stay just a bit longer. I know it’s selfish, but I just wished you could have stayed by my side forever. But you can’t stay, and you shouldn’t.” “Xiao, I feel the same. I wish I could have spent eternity with you, but I can’t and it okay. I just want to ask you for one thing, one last promise before I go, okay?”. Xiao looked at you with a heavy heart. “Yes.” “Promise me you will try to find happiness for yourself again, okay? Promise me you will love again, please. Don’t stay alone.” Silently Xiao looked at you to then finally say “I promise.” “Thank you Xiao,” Archons, you wished you could take his hand. “Now then,” you said looking in the directions you had to go. “Time to go.” “(Y/N)”, you heard Xiao say before you left. “I love you.” “I love you too, Xiao.” As Xiao and the director left the border, he stayed quiet, the atmosphere being quite sombre. “Maybe,” the director pulled Xiao out of his thoughts, “there is nothing behind the border and they stopped existing completely. But maybe their soul will now find a way back to you, just in another way? Who knows,” and with that the director left. Xiao didn’t know if he believed that you would find a way back to him, but as it started to rain and as it fell down on his skin, Xiao felt now lighter as if a heavy burden was taken off of him. With that he started to move forward again.

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iamanartichoke · 3 years ago

Note

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

#asks #charlotte replies #loki pokey artichokey #loki series #loki series criticism #loki meta #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicide attempt #tw suicide #tw mental health #tw depression #i spent two fucking hours on this yet i still feel like it's rambly nonsense #i hit stream-of-consciousness at some point and just went with it #and now i'm too lazy to revise #so i'm sorry #this'll probably only get like 10 notes anyway bc that's how it be on tumblr #put effort in and get little validation; put no effort in and everyone loses their minds

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tsukidrama · 3 years ago

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Hey! I finished the game and cried for five hours, thanks for the heads up lol. Seriously. Soul crushing.

Once again, I hope you’re feeling better. It seems like a really hard thing to go through.

Ah yes, the tool belt. The mightiest of lesbian accessories. I just know Annie is the handy-woman of the house, I also feel like she would be into wood carving. Just little trinkets and figures lined up on the window sill seems like her thing. And so true, emotions are humiliating.

fml, right? it legit makes me. so sad GOD

i feel mostly fine now, just super weak and exhausted. thank you!

OH BIG TIME, at some point i think i put it in a fic or headcanons or something (i don't remember where) but Annie would be a whole ass artisanal furniture maker. it started with like, her making a rocking chair for her dad but then it spirals out of control. the part of her that's a control freak takes over and she carves these super elaborate designs into the wood. they'd take her months at a time to finish. alhdskjde 🙈 i'll put it in TRNT eventually

> Oh my god winter Annie! I’m so excited for the new chapter. However, I am also mentally and emotionally preparing because of your announcement. Bring on the tears and frustrated screams, I’m ready. <

> I hope whatever happens that they get through it and kiss and hold each other (lest I start ugly crying at the end). <

hhhgnmg she's precious though, and it's all soo cute, until its not. YOU'LL SEE. IM SORRY. pretend like these are tissues ok?? aa 🏳🏳🏳🏳

OKAY YEAH THAT BOX IS WELL AND CHECKED. ITS JUST REALLY SAD KISSING AND HOLDING

> I’ve also noticed you posting a bit of stuff about Encanto! I really enjoyed that movie and We Don’t Talk About Bruno is forever stuck in my head. I heard that song before I watched it and though to myself, “why don’t they talk about Bruno? Is he gay or something?” Like, no, he’s just clairvoyant, lol. Plus he’s my favourite character, the weirdo rat man that lives in the walls. <

yes i loved encanto! it's been on my mind all week. bruno is incredibly relatable and i'm def the bruno of my family so i adore him but.. pepa 😍 she's such a milf and she totally stole my heart sajdblkd even if she's a bitch, and also LUISA!!! i love her song, too. but also let's be real bruno is definitely gay aaahahhaha (love him). everyone in that movie is just so good and the soundtrack is catchy.

> I hope you’re doing well, <

> Pink Anon <

thanks ♡ you too

#also eeeee i saw you've already read the new chapter shlmbckjsdn thank you so much for stopping by the inbox my heart did a little dance #ALSO SORRY #pink anon #tsuki answers #trnt annie

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helnjk · 4 years ago

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AH hi so firstly i love your fics 💛 seriously they’re really well written and i can tell you really care about whatever it is you’re writing about! so thanks for being an inspiration for people like me who are just now getting started writing fics 🥲 aNYWAY im a sop but would you mind reviewing my fic Drivers License i’d really appreciate it 💛☺️

aaah thank you so much lovely, you’re too sweet!! 🥺💞

‘drivers license’ by @givemeweasley

ok but am i prepared for the angst that comes with this title? possibly not.

He looked at you head on then. It was infinitely worse. Fred’s flame red hair was perfect, his brown eyes free from tears or any sign of distress. His face didn’t even hold the slightest flush. His stare was steely and resolute.

ouch. ouchie ouch ouch. the way you write the little things? absolutely heartbreaking.

Time seemed to move slowly, but eventually a hand was placed on top of your parchments. You looked up to see Fred’s wide handsome smile. He raised his brow. You knew exactly what that look meant. You sat up and glanced around the common room, seeing that you two were indeed alone.

oh god. oh GOD. this had me blushing fml

Kisses in the staircase. / Furtive glances across the table. / Squeezing hands on the couch. / Making a game of throwing gnomes in the garden. / Splashing each other in the lake. / Sneaking up to his room late at night to sleep tucked under his arm. / Taste testing new experiments.

Making promises never meant to last.

uhm yes, hello, this absolutely broke me. the last line?? this should be illegal please!!

–

babes, this was the perfect amount of angst and fluff. you broke my heart and then you mended it again !! i loved reading your fic so much !!

join my sleepover!

#kai’s 800 sleepover #fic review

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gisellelx · 3 years ago

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Fic ask game #6 and #15 (and #8 - there, someone asked you 😉 lol )

Thank you for the ask, @edwardsmate4ever! I know you can appreciate the need for a "oooh finished editing THAT thing, now I get to have some fun!" break. I have finished editing one thing (of 3, FML)

From The Fic Ask I'm actually going to hold off on #8 if you don't mind because I actually have a long rant I want to go on. The tl;dr is that I think the use of OCs in a spot where it's very hard to write a good OC (as the love interest of a canon main character who usually has another love interest in canon) leads to a dislike of OCs more generally and a distrust on the part of the reader. But very often a character who is outside of canon can make the story a lot richer. It relies a LOT on the author's ability to characterize, though. 6: What are some topics you will never write about?

There aren't any. I write about things when I get interested in them and then I use that motivation to go as deep as I can in understanding the character motivations and the world around them so that I can do that idea justice. One of my favorite types of reviews to get is one where someone says "Oooh, I can tell you have personal experience with [thing]!" and I chuckle to myself because I don't have personal experience with [thing], but I've learned over the years the kinds of questions to answer and the sources to consult so that I can write as though I do.

That said, some things that would give me pause to write about without having a personal source I could run my fic by would be anything involving serious representation of Quileute culture, any fic diving deep into disability, and anything dealing with gender fluidity. That last one actually might not even be that far out, though, because as I have more and more close relationships with friends who are nonbinary and trans I feel more confident that I could a) render a character with complexity and empathy and also b) have someone look over it who I know would feel comfortable gently smacking me if I didn't do it well.

Ooh but here's the thing you will never see from me, but it's not a topic. I will never write an all-human fic in a supernatural fandom. I read and write fic because I enjoy the source. All human fics take all the joy out of it for me as a writer and most of the time as a reader. Plus, I have plenty of characters of my own if I want to just up and write a book about them. One of my closest friends was shocked to find out that my non-derivative fiction is contemporary YA--she assumed I must write fiction with supernatural elements since I enjoy fanfic so much. Nope. So if I'm going to bust my butt writing a well-constructed novel with all human characters, it's going to be about Isaac or Shane or Cleighten or Juliana or any of the other characters who live in my head. It's not going to be a human version of Carlisle unless it takes place before 1667. 15: Which fic that you’ve written relates to you and your personal life the most?

Disappointing answer here--none of them. And also all of them? I draw on different things at different times but I'm never writing anything that is "oooh I would love x to happen" or "this is the kind of thing I think is good/bad." I'm always starting from my characters, and my characters are usually very different people than me.

One Day the Sun Will Rise is set at my alma mater, which I did because the rest of the fic is so hard to write. And Bella's boyfriend's family in that fic is very loosely modeled after my childhood best friend's family, although I have changed a bunch of aspects of it to create a more interesting narrative. For example, in real life, both of us have parents who've been married for over 50 years; it's a lot more useful to the story in One Day for Nabil's mom to be divorced. Having the setting be a real setting I know well gives me easy access to details without having to research every last little thing, since there's already so many other things I'm researching for that fic. But again, it's just a place--Bella is a very different person than I am and while I would love to write her as being as gung-ho about my school as I am, in reality I am the kind of uber-fan that she would (and does, in the story) find perplexing. Character and narrative always comes first. If I can then use my personal experience to make aspects of the writing easier or richer, all the better, but that's never the goal. Ask me writing things, I'm stuck at my computer today

#asks #fic asks #one day the sun will rise #characterization

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Shattered Glass Pt.01

Team Building

07/09/2019

Pairing: Tony x Reader, Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,750

Prompt: “Agh I’ve been hit!” “Calm down Meryl Streep, it’s just a paintball.”

Masterpost Warnings: Language, suggestive themes, angst, violent imagery, blood, graphic violence

A/N: I fail. This was SUPPOSED to be a one shot. FML. I can’t do it. It’ll be only two parts. Maybe three if there’s enough content? But probably just two. Don’t hold me to that though. This is my very first Tony-centric fic so hopefully it comes out well. Steve wasn’t supposed to have the part that he has in this one but it kinda just worked itself out this way. This is for @moonbeambucky ‘s #5KWritingChallenge ! When I saw this prompt it screamed Tony. Anyway, I hope you like it! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

You’re wounded!

It hurts!

“Ah! I’ve been hit!” You cry, an earth-shattering shout of agony.

You fall to your knees and clutch at the piercing in the center of your chest. Head thrown back in a silent shriek as you die.

“Calm down, Meryl Streep, it’s just a paintball.” Tony moves up beside you, carefully hidden behind a tall tower of tires. His snark is layered.

The topmost bit is all annoyance and exasperation with your over the top antics. Probably doesn’t like the competition.

The rest has to be amusement. Affection. Fondness. It’s there, though it’s hidden and carefully smothered.

You fall back, laying on the mulch and dirt of the paintball field, relaxed as you breathe in and out. There’s a large splatter of red paint on the front of your vest. You’re shot and the bright light of the setting sun dips between the swaying branches of the tall and aged poplar and spruce.

You give Tony a pout, eyes skillfully pooling. You can fake a good cry if it'll get you what you want.

“It hurts. I’m dead, Tony.” You inhale a deliberate shuddering breath as he moves to kneel beside you, yearning for his sympathy. “Nat killed me.”

He traces the still wet splatter, coating his index finger in the crimson paint as he essentially runs it down between your breasts. What you wouldn’t give for your vest to be gone.

With hazy eyes, the paint might really be blood.

“Maybe you should be paying attention then, instead of flirting with Rogers?” He counters and though usually his voice would be laced with sarcasm, the stern and serious note in it gives you pause.

Everything, every instance of flirtation with Tony has been one-sided. You throw out the bait but he never bites. He never gives away any interest.

Your shallow playfulness subsides as you consider his shift in voice.

You swallow your spit and taste the chemical flavor of paint and gritty earth. It’s acerbic and normally you’d be spitting and gagging but your heart is suddenly racing.

With a lick to your lips you narrow your eyes, taking in the strong set of his sharp bearded jaw, deep brown eyes, full peach lips, “Jealous?”

Your accusation draws his hand away from your chest but you catch it, tracing the length of his finger so slow there can be no question of your intent.

The flex of his arms, tight, lithe biceps straining against the black and gray thermal. The bright shine of his Nano housing keeps it from clinging to his hard chest. He’s ripped though Steve and Sam and everyone else keeps focus away from Tony’s almost obsessive fixation on fitness.

He holds his gun with the barrel pointed up into the air so that he won’t chance accidentally shooting you.

His eyes watch the clean pink painted nail of your middle finger as you continue to stroke his.

Time seems to stop. Not around you.

Around you, everyone is still very much diving and running, swerving and shooting. You hear the peppered cries of those being shot and those doing the shooting.

You can hear Sam swear and Clint laugh. Steve's playful battle cry and Nat's returning shout of surprise. But here in your little bubble with Tony’s hand in your grasp, things flow like molasses.

Fluid and thick, ripe with unsaid desires and forbidden pleasures that until this moment you’d assumed were only yours. You’re too young. You’re the troublemaker. You give him headaches not hardons.

“Why would I be jealous?” He asks, brow twitching as he queries. “You’re not my type.”

That doesn’t hurt. It’s not the first time he’s told you this. His gentle push to keep you at a distance. It hasn’t worked in a long time and it’s not working now. Not with the slip you just saw.

You smile wide, amused by his words. “Too damaged?”

His eyes darken, your past probably flaring into technicolor flashes in his brain, like the violent images of a snuff film and he forcefully takes his finger back.

He clenches his hand, trying to maybe erase the way it felt to have you touch him?

“Too needy.” He corrects then gets to his feet.

Well, damn.

Ouch. That one does hurt.

You push yourself up onto your elbows and watch him sneak away.

“Guess I’ll just have to find someone willing to fill my needs then.” You throw at him, hoping for some type of reaction, not giving two shits about who might hear you.

Your callous behavior pays off. He turns, fixes those chocolate browns on you and you see the shift. It makes your heart race again. There are flutters in your stomach as the fire blazes in his eyes.

It’s a wild chaotic flame that lasts for only a second before it’s calmed and left to smolder behind his shield.

He turns away and keeps going, gun raised.

He only gets to the next cover before he’s shot.

“Eyes up, Tony.” Steve teases and he looks at you then winks.

Tony drops his arms, staring at the splash of patriotic blue on his vest, then sighs. His suit is deemed illegal and he isn’t exactly great without some piece of his tech around, but damn if that brain of his isn’t sexy.

You smile at Steve, chuckling at his sweet flirting. It’s only playful and you know Steve doesn’t want you but it’s nice to be noticed as a woman instead of the kid.

"That’s the game.” Nat calls, and those left standing move towards the picnic tables where food has been laid out.

Wanda and Vision, first out as they really weren’t as competitive as the other idiots on the team, move about laying out plates and drinks.

Tony marches past where you’re still laying on the ground and doesn’t spare you a glance.

Steve’s boots draw your eyes up and you smile, squinting against the bright orange of the setting sun behind him. If flits through the trees again, gilding his already golden hair.

He offers you his hand and you take it.

“Guess we won.” He says, and you hop as you find your feet.

“Guess we did.” You agree and begin to lead the way back to the rest of the group.

“I was the last man standing.” He tells you, voice not proud, but rather curious.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking back at him with a small knowing smirk. “I know."

You stop a few feet from the group as you turn back towards them and spot Tony’s brightening expression.

It’s that look. The look he only give that one person. The most important person. The one person that he can’t live without. That person that you can never measure up to.

Her perfection. Her politeness. Her sweetness. A sweetness that you will never posses because like you told him, you’re too damaged. Too needy, like he said.

You follow his gaze, already knowing what you’ll find.

A happy Pepper wearing a cute set of work out sweats in teal and blue. She stops and holds out her hands, a look of amused disappointment on her pretty face as she lets them drop to slap against her thighs.

“Did I miss it?” She asks, her easy voice full of love for him. For Tony.

“You missed it. You’re late.” He tells her, adoration pouring from his chocolate browns.

All you ever get is his disenchantment. Disappointment that you aren’t better. That you aren’t more. Not her.

Always to be scolded and corrected.

With a drop of your heart, you stare as Tony marches right up to her and pulls her in for a kiss.

It hurts more than you’ll ever admit. Jealousy is not a good color on you. It makes you reckless and lash out.

“Don’t I get a reward?” Steve asks, again, curious, pulling your attention back to him.

He’s testing the boundaries between the two of you and if he’d done it any other time than right now when Tony’s moving towards you with his arm wrapped around Pepper’s waist, you might not have taken Steve’s bait.

You force your eyes away from the couple and look up into Steve’s storm blue twinkle.

“A hero deserves a prize.” You tell him, then wrap your arms up underneath his to stroke the muscular planes of his vested back.

You push yourself up, getting as close as your paintball gear will let you and kiss him.

It isn’t a chaste kiss either. You tilt your head to the right and suck on his lower lip until he opens up for you and you give his mouth a taste.

Spearmint and the slightest chocolate sugar of his mocha. It’s delicious but all wrong.

When you pull back, his lips remained puckered in shock.

“Thanks for winning the game for us, Cap.” You boop his nose then move to settle into a seat at the edge of the nearest picnic table and lean forward onto your elbows as you spare Tony a glance.

Beside him, Pepper is happily in shock at your display. As is almost everyone else on the team.

“When did that happen?” Pepper asks quietly in Tony’s ear and he gives his head a minute shake.

Your eyes meet his and for one long moment, you silently dare him to say something. As much as he may try to hide it, you can see the flame in his eyes, the jealous edge that cuts at your poor hopeful heart.

More than the snark, the cold fire in his eyes, and the forced calm of his form tells you all you need to know about how Tony really feels about you.

Steve comes to sit by you, leaning in to whisper happy praise for your chosen reward in your ear, and you tear your eyes away from Tony to give Steve your undivided attention.

It doesn’t stop. It never stops. The wanting and the yearning. The need to fill that hole that can never really be filled.

That incessant need to be cared for. To be given affection. That desire to feel desired and wanted.

It’s always there and it’s always been easily met with an invitation to get a cup of coffee with Wanda or Nat. Thor inviting you out for a walk. Sam reaching out for a sparring partner, or Clint needing a live target for practice.

A small gesture of inclusion and your deepest of stirrings is quelled.

You don’t like to think about why you feel this way. You dream about it enough.

Sometimes it’s a small flicker of an image here or the fading memory of something there but lately, it’s coming back vivid and violent.

It always starts out the same.

You’re small. Tiny compared to the two large bodies beside you. One to your left. One to your right.

You lean towards the one on your right at first, clinging to that person’s arm, stroking the soft satin of a fancy dress. It feels nice. It reminds you of that cat from the summer house before it went missing.

You miss that cat and its smooth fluffy fur.

Vermillion. The dress is like a blood-orange, bright and eye-catching but she smells like Chanel. The musk is thick but good, it invades your senses.

You shift on your bed, tossing onto your right.

Images of a beautiful face fill your mind like sudden bursts of color. Twinkling eyes. Full curving lips. Soft skin. An elegant neck. Austere pearls.

She caresses the side of your head then you giggle and lean onto the body on your left.

This one is large. Thick. Heavy. Fat? No. Sturdy. Stocky. Tall and built like a rhino with a rounded belly but he’s not fat.

He chuckles and wraps you up in his large, black tuxedo clad arm. You fist the side of his jacket, stroking this material too but the red satin is far softer. This musky scent is better though.

He smells like wood, with the bitter tang of pepper creosote from his cigar. You don’t mind. It smells like home. He smells safe. He smells like you’re shielded, and nothing can ever harm you.

You toss onto your back, groaning as you frown. Daddy. Your mind thinks.

The ambient whoosh draws you closer and closer to sleep.

You pass out, clinging to him, a tiny smile on your lips.

Life is perfect. The soft babble of their words helps lull you. Her tinkling laugh sounds far away but it’s beautiful and you wish you could laugh like she does.

It makes him chuckle and you can feel the love between them.

They fade away and you’re in darkness. You’re standing alone with nothing and no one around you.

Only, it’s not you. The girl is older. Much older. Like Mommy. Who is she? She looks like mommy too but not exactly. She looks like a cheap imitation. Not as beautiful. Not as sweet.

“Daddy?” You open your mouth to speak and the girl in the darkness opens her mouth to speak too.

You freeze as your young mind catches up with your dream. You’re the cheap imitation.

She takes a step forward, that mock-mommy. She splits into two. The other one turns to look at you and you’re staring at yourself, confused.

“Who-?” You begin to ask but the other one opens her mouth to ask too. “Who are-?”

She cuts you off again. You sigh.

The other you smiles, too wide. It’s scary. Your little child heart thrums wildly as fear and panic bubble up in your tiny guts.

You shift uncomfortably, fighting the terror that begins to spread through you.

She presses her hand to her chest, laying it flat against her breasts before she begins to cup it until only her fingertips are touching your shirt.

You stare at her movements, unsure of what you’re looking at.

It takes every bit of courage not to run.

She pulls her hand away from her chest and then lays it flat out in front of you.

You look down and at the very center of her palm is a small silver gleam, the brightest bit of teal at the very edges. It shimmers and shakes chaotically while the silver sits still, stretching and constricting back into place.

For a moment all you can do is stare at the silver and teal. This light is scary.

You groan, kicking your legs as your hands fist your sheets.

When you look back up at her, her eyes are gone. They are black pools of threat and your little heart panics.

The silver and teal light releases a pulse and you’re blind.

You hear panicked cries. Mommy…she’s scared.

“No.” You whimper.

Daddy’s arm is gone from you and you open your eyes to see that same silver pulsing around you.

“What’s happening?” Mommy asks, “What is that? What’s she doing?”

It takes you a moment to realize she’s talking about you.

Daddy is forcing the steering wheel to the left and the right. The sounds of the tires squealing against the asphalt of the road is loud and nearly drowns out their screams. Almost.

“Hold on!” Daddy shouts, but the light flashes once more and the car is suddenly up in the air.

You can see Mommy and Daddy floating around you. They’re not moving and you’re safe beside them.

It’s all over in one violent tumble.

The car lands with a loud metallic clatter. It rolls and rolls, tossing them around with abandon. You hear their bones crack and break. Femur, humerus, ribs, neck; one sickening crunch after the other.

Crimson paints the air, it paints the car and the pavement beneath.

As the shatter of glass dies and your body falls painfully onto the street between them, you look around, searching for that safety from before. Searching for Daddy. For Mommy.

“Mom…” You cry.

Your eyes meet hers. Dead eyes. Unmoving eyes. She’s gone.

Your own small body feels twisted and battered but not broken. Not like them.

There is no crimson on you that is yours and something in you tells you that it’s you. You did this.

Even as a baby, a little one, you know that you did this. You killed your parents.

“Mom!” You gasp, sitting up with spasms of fear shaking your hands.

They tremble, clutching the thin sheet you’re covering yourself with in tight fists. It all feels so…present.

“Y/N? Your heartrate is elevated. You seem to be having an episode. Shall I alert the infirmary?” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s accented voice fills your room with a soft worried whisper.

It always astonishes you, how concerned she seems. Like she’s really genuinely worried about you. Like she can really feel it. Like she’s not just a bunch of ones and zeroes programmed to have just the exact right responses.

“No.” You tell her, and she turns up your lights for you, dimming them up slightly as you throw your blanket off and place your feet on the soft black carpet of your bedroom.

You’re still reeling, trying to come to grips with the here and now and not the lifeless bodies of your parents floating around your head. Instead of your parents, in your room there are several small objects floating above their designated spots.

Your glass jewelry box on your nightstand. Your laptop. Several books on your desk. The picture of you and the team on your nightstand. Your shoes by the end of your bed.

“Are you sure?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. persists. “You seem to be having a fit.”

You scoff. Only one person would call what’s happening that.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Shutting your eyes, you sigh, heartbeat finally leveling out.

“Would you like me to tell Tony-?”

“No!” You nearly scream, rising to your feet and looking for a face though you know there’s none to look at. “No. I’m fine. I just…give me a minute.”

Your stuff falls, crashing back into place. You hear the glass of your jewelry box shatter. You’ll have to buy a new one.

You stumble to the bathroom and switch the light on. Your bare feet slap gently as you cross the cold beige and gold marble tile to the sink with a quiet plap, plap, plap.

The counter becomes your center. You cling to the white concrete desperately as you stare at your reflection in the large backlit mirror.

You’re pale and sweaty. Clammy. Cold trickles of perspiration along your temples and above your lip. With trembling hands, you wipe it away.

This hasn’t happened for so long that it’s caught you off guard. Normally, there’s a build-up. The memories start slowly during waking hours. Small images of lovely people, loving and caring. Over time it all leads up to that night.

The night you killed them.

You shut your eyes tight, wishing the images away. All you can see are your mom’s eyes. Once brilliant with life not dead and staring. Daddy’s body twisted in strange and impossible angles.

You dip down into your sink and down as much water as your belly will let you drink.

It doesn’t help. Maybe a real drink? You have one so rarely. Drunk you is not good with your abilities.

Mistakes have been made. Bail has been paid. It’s how you ended up here. On the team.

Tony should have left me where I was.

The bitter thought falls away as you wander down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Thankfully, it’s empty.

You go straight for the whiskey. You pour yourself too much. You drink it. Then pour another glass before moving to sit at the island.

The brown slosh hurts your throat as it goes down. It burns, but it burns so good. Because you don’t drink very often, just one glass makes you lightheaded. The second pushes you towards unconsciousness.

Not fast enough. You start with it held between your carefully folded left arm, right hand clutching the small old-fashioned crystal glass tight as if you’re afraid it might get snatched away. As you drink, you drift forward until your heated cheek is pressed against the cool counter.

You kick your legs, swinging them casually as you stare across the kitchen at the fine, black modern cabinet. Not really seeing it but playing the moment you killed your parents over and over and over.

You see other moments too. The moment your godparents saw you use your abilities. They watched you with terror in their eyes. The next thing you knew you were in a home for girls.

You see the nice couple who took you next. Then the girl’s home again when they too became terrified of you. Then the next. A faceless couple that you were with for only two days. Then the next two were also faceless.

You lived your adolescent life out in the home.

You see yourself on your eighteenth birthday. You’re excited, dancing with the prospect of becoming a “real” woman. Or so you’d thought at the time.

You come home, smiling at the promise of the cheap birthday cake that you know you’ll get. You see your smile waver as you approach the fence of the home and two boxes full of your things are piled on the sidewalk.

Two homeless women are rifling through the clothes. Fighting over your favorite pair of jeans.

You scamper towards them, hold out your hand and you don’t mean to slip up. You don’t.

Stunning silver-teal burns them. They fly back several feet and crash against the sidewalk painfully as you hold your hand out towards them, palm open.

You shut it quickly and turn away from them as they stare at you with hate and fear. You hurry and shove your clothes back into the box they’d been looking through and shut it.

With both boxes carefully piled into your arms, you look up at the doorway to the home. Your home…Mrs. Meyerson watches you through a split in the blinds of the front window and when she sees you spot her; she shuts them and ignores you.

“Y/N?” His voice is like the hymn of angels.

It’s hot. It burns like your whiskey and tastes just as rich.

“Tony.” You whisper, a sad whimper.

You don’t lift your head because you’re crying. You don’t want him to see.

“Hey.” His voice is so soft. So gentle. F.R.I.D.A.Y. must have told him something was wrong.

He moves around you and comes into view, leaning forward a bit so that he can be more on your level as he looks at your face, still pressed against the cool counter.

“Hi.” You cry.

“Busted out the big guns, huh?” He reaches out and takes your drink from you.

You don’t fight him. The only one who you wouldn’t.

“They didn’t want me.” You sigh, sniffling as you struggle to keep from sobbing. That hole, the one that never fills right at the center of your chest aches. “None of them wanted me. They…they were afraid of me.”

Tony puts the whiskey aside and leans his elbows against the counter, getting close so that he can speak quietly. Just to you.

“Having a little pity party?” He asks, a small smile offered. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You agree, reaching up to wipe at your dripping nose.

“That’s sexy.” He rattles, moving closer to stand beside you.

He’s close. You can feel the heat from his body. Dark gray t-shirt. Black sleep pants. He smells so good. Like aftershave and coconut shampoo. Despite his close proximity, he folds his arms onto the counter, shoving his hands underneath his arms as if he’s determined to keep his hands to himself.

You lean towards him but don’t touch him. He doesn’t want your touch. You know that. It makes you sob once.

“Tony?” You sigh, staring down at your hands in your lap, lower lip quivering helplessly as you’re that little girl again. Wrapped in her daddy’s safe arms. Loved by her mom. Peacefully sleeping when that nightmare awakens something within you and then the car is sent flying.

“Yeah?” He knows what he’s doing. He’s being so careful with you.

His tone is softer than it’s been in a long time. You know that it’s your fault. You’re always so forward. Throwing yourself at him. Making suggestive comments and just being a downright dumbass. You should stop it.

You look at him, blubbering still and the way that his soft brown hair sticks up at odd angles because he’s just freshly showered and was actually probably still bathing when F.R.I.D.A.Y. told him you were having a fit.

You want him. Damn it all.

With a lick to your lips, you shake your head. “I killed them, Tony.”

You sob, hating yourself. Hating your gifts. Hating your life.

“I killed them. I did. I did that. I killed them.” You repeat, as if saying it any other way will possibly make it stick any harder than it’s already sticking.

It startles you into silence when Tony pulls his left arm out and then slides his hand back behind your neck, up into your hair to hold the back of your head. He caresses you, comforting you. Loving you?

That isn’t platonic in his eyes. There’s that fire from the day on the paintball field in his eyes again. When you told him you’d go find someone else to fill your needs. When you kissed Steve.

It’s there. You can see it. Up close. He wants you. Like you want him. Why won’t he—oh, right, Pepper.

With his hand on you though, you can’t focus on her enough to care.

You lean in more towards him, burrowing into the crook of his arm. For one whole second he holds you tight. He wraps you up and pulls your head against his chest and you’re right where you want to be.

Then there’s the sound of feet from the hallway and he’s leaning against the far counter while you catch yourself on the edge of the island.

You stare up at him, still crying and now confused.

“Tony?” You ask, searching his face but he’s got his back to you now as he dumps out your whiskey.

“No more alcohol. We don’t need you lifting cars onto the roof again.” He throws at you, back tense through his t-shirt.

“Tony?” You check again, wanting to see his eyes, to have him look at you with that fire again.

Had you imagined it? Is it all in your head?

“Look, kid, just take a shower and get to bed, alright? Stop thinking about this stuff.” He orders.

Does he think you started to think about your parents on a whim? You’d dreamt about them! Bastard.

“Tony?” Another voice, deep, smooth, almost monotone in its calm nature.

You can hear the inflection of emotion because you’re so used to his voice. Steve.

“What’s going on?” He asks, looking from Tony to you.

“I…I had-” You begin but Tony cuts you off.

“A few too many. I was just sending her to bed before she puts my cars on the roof again.” He finally turns around and his face is back in its detached control.

When he looks at you, there is no fire anymore. Just stern disapproval.

Jerk.

Your shoulders slump and you make a point of sitting quiet as Steve continues to stare at you.

Clearly, you’re still upset about something. You’re still crying. Your cheeks are stained in tear tracks. You worry your lip as you wait for Tony to leave. You don’t want to be around him when he’s like this with you.

Not right now. Not when you already have all of those other people in your memory pushing you away.

“What’s the matter with Y/N? Why is she crying?” Steve wonders, genuine concern in his voice.

Tony’s had been just as worried if not more so a second ago.

“I don’t know.” Tony lies. “I’m going to bed. Pepper’s waiting.”

He says this for you, and you know that he’s drawing that line again. The line that he crossed. Continues to cross. You hate him.

You look at him.

You love him.

“Night.” Steve tells him but when Tony speaks, it’s for you.

“Go to bed. Stop drinking.” He says but you don’t respond.

He leaves and Steve settles into the seat beside you.

“You smell like the bottom of a bottle.” He observes. “How much did you have?”

You shrug.

“Not talking to me now?”

You shrug again.

“Y/N?” It’s his tone that pulls your gaze up to meet his own storm blue eyes.

His blonde hair looks soft and brushed out. His beard is full but neatly trimmed. He looks good for Steve.

Okay…he looks good for anyone. He’s a hunk. But he’s not your hunk.

“What’s going on?” He asks, reaching out to place his hand on the back of your shoulder.

“I had a nightmare.” You admit, licking your lips once more. “About my parents.”

Steve already knows what happened with your parents. He doesn’t need an explanation.

Tony had consulted him before you were allowed on the team after all.

He nods, understanding you in an instant. For a long moment he thinks.

You can see the idea forming in his head and only after you’re stuck staring at him with unbridled curiosity does he turn to sit facing you. One hand on the back of your chair, the other placed on the counter in front of you.

“I like you.” He says, just like that.

You’re drunk. Hearing him say that, throws you.

“What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him confused. You must be hearing things.

“You heard me.” He says, stern, hard. No games.

“Steve…” You start, blinking hard to clear the buzz from your head.

“I know…” He sighs, scooting in closer as he grabs hold of your seat and turns you to face him. “I know where your head is. And your heart.”

Your cheeks flare. They flame and burn, and your neck burns too. You haven’t exactly tried to hide how you feel about Tony but to be called out on it?

“I can’t speak as to where his head is at, but I know that he’s not going to look your way with Pepper there.”

You hate Steve too. You look down at his chest, hating the knowing glint in his eyes.

His thumb and forefinger close around the tip of your chin and tilt your head back until you can look into his eyes again.

“What I can tell you is that I’m interested. I wasn’t playing when I said and did all those things. I don’t know if maybe you thought I was just flirting, but I wasn’t. I like you.” He confesses.

You’re so startled that your heart pounds. You shake your head, but he doesn’t release you. If anything, he leans in closer.

“I can’t give you what you want.” You tell him, knowing that all deep affection is diverted to the jerk that just left the room.

“I know.” He acknowledges. “What can you give me?”

Is he seriously asking?

“I-”

“It doesn’t have to be detailed, Y/N. I just…I’m not exactly in a place to make commitments either. This job we have, it’s tough. I’ve left love behind for it before and odds are, I’ll have to do it again. I’m not going into this with any illusions. I just want to pass the time with you.

“You’re funny and you never do what I expect you to do. You’re easy to talk to and you’re sexy as hell.” He smiles and you’re suddenly very aware of your stupid blubbering face and how much of a mess it actually is.

“Yeah, right.” You gasp, yanking your chin out of his grip.

“You are.” He insists. “You’re not like other people and I like that. So, what can you give me?”

You think. You think hard and as fast as you can.

He’s right. Tony is never going to give in. He’s never going to look at you the way you see him. You’re tired of feeling alone and unwanted. Steve is offering you a little bit of companionship. It’s not love but it’s not being alone.

Maybe you should know better but it’s too tempting. And it’s been a while. Your libido is going to go dormant if you don’t get under someone soon.

That’s what you decide you can give him.

“I can’t love you.” You tell him.

“That’s…that’s okay.” He says.

“I think I can like you.” You sigh. “Kissing you wasn’t bad.”

“Oh,” He chuckles. “That’s good to know. Thanks.”

You smile, eased by his amusement. He’s right. He’s easy to talk to as well.

With trembling hands, you reach up to trace the outline of his chest through his t-shirt. He’s so hard. Super Soldier perfection. It doesn’t mean as much like Tony’s physique does because Steve gets this on default, but you’d be lying if you said it isn’t nice.

He puts his hand over yours and holds it against his chest.

“Is this a yes? You’ll be with me?” He asks, hopeful.

After a second, you nod. He leans in towards you, excitement in his eyes.

“We’re not a couple.” Your clarification stops him in his tracks. “But we’re also not, not a couple. I want you. I do. It’s been such a long time and I…are you a virgin?”

You suddenly ask him this, wondering because of his past with Peggy. You’re not sure he would have had the time to be with her back then.

Steve laughs genuinely amused by your question before he hops off of his stool. He grabs you, one arm underneath your legs, the other your back as he lifts you up into his arms and begins to walk with you towards his bedroom.

“Guess that rumor’s still floating around. Nat?” He asks.

You nod, reaching up to hold him around his neck.

“Don’t worry, doll-face. We’ll get that rumor cleared up.”

“Right now?” You ask, slightly startled at the prospect of sleeping with Steve so quickly.

“Unless you wanna wait?” He asks, stopping just outside your doorway.

You bite your lips, considering for a moment the prospect of sleeping in that bed again, your dreams fresh and vivid.

“No.” You protest. “Kiss me, Steve.”

He dips his head and continues on, kissing the whiskey away.

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the--sad--hatter · 6 years ago

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Making Amends

#8 With Bucky as requsted by NOBODY BECAUSE I READ THE WRONG PROMPT AND DIDN’T NOTICE UNTIL AFTER I WROTE IT! FML!!!!!

Person A: Why won’t you just accept my apology?

Person B: Because you shot me!

Person A: Only a little bit…

Hydra had no sense of class. None. It was bad enough that they kept shooting at you when you were on a mission, but on a date? Rude. Rude and tactless. What was worse, it was your favourite restaurant, the one with the really good pasta and the cute waiter who always gave you extra parmesan.

The fuckers didn’t even wait until after desert before they attacked.

“Oh hell no, you might have fucked with my restaurant, my waiter and my dessert but i draw the line at trying to kill my boyfriend!” You snarled, body slamming an agent who had been stupidly trying to sneak up on Bucky.

The two of you tumbled to the ground in a flurry of limbs and swearing and by the time you hit the floor, he was dead and you were still angry.

“So glad I’m more valuable to you than cake.” Bucky scoffed, easily taking down his own self-assigned portion of the bad guys.

“Yeah well, cake only makes me happy while I’m eating it. You’re always there.” You told him.

“So I’m higher on the list because I’m more reliable?” He asked.

“That and I can eat cake but cake never eats me back.” You laughed, extracting your gun from it’s thigh holster and aiming it at an agent who was currently grabbing for a hostage. A very familiar hostage.

“Sorry!” You yelled, just as you pulled the trigger.

It had to be done. The only way to stop the bad guy from hurting your favourite waiter was to shoot through Bucky. It was his fault for being in the way really. Or so you tried to convince yourself. The bullet clipped the edge of Bucky’s thigh, grazing the skin, and continued on its upwards trajectory to rip through the jugular of its intended target.

“Brings a whole new meaning to customer service, right?” You said cockily, grinning at Alec.

Your victorious and frankly witty display was dampened by Bucky swearing at you.

“You just fucking shot me!” He growled.

“I grazed you, to save an innocents life! It’s barely worse than a paper cut!” You insisted.

You weren’t lying. It wasn’t even a centimetre deep, maybe two inches long. It would be healed in a matter of hours thanks to the serum.

“You couldn’t have shot around me?” He snapped.

“I’m not Angelina fucking Jolie, this isn’t Wanted. I can’t curve bullets, what did you want me to do? Let him die?”

Bucky mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘yes’ and stomped over to the bodies to make sure they were dead.

“Thank you.” Alec the waiter finally managed to blurt out.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You said dismissively, standing up and running after Bucky.

“I’m really sorry if it helps?” You told him.

“It doesn’t.”

“But I’m really reallllyyyyy sorry.” You pouted.

“Good for you.”

“Why won’t you just accept my apology?” You whined.

“Because you shot me!” He rebutted.

“Only a little bit…” You defended yourself.

“I’m not mad, because you’re going to make it up to me.” He growled.

“Oooh, kinky.” You laughed.

“It will be.” He said with a wicked grin.

“So shooting you equals kinky sex. What happens if I stab you?” You snorted.

“You get to use your mouth for something other than annoying me.” He said like it was obvious.

“And if I hit you with my car?” You asked.

He slapped you on the ass and gave a suggestive smirk. You winced, making him chuckle.

“I don’t make the rules doll.”

“Kinda feels like you do…” You pointed out.

“I’ll call Steve, have him send some low level agents to clean up this mess and have Tony pay for the damages, you go get your boyfriend to box up our dessert.” He said, looking pointedly at Alec the waiter.

“Fine, come on dear.” You said, holding your hand out to Alec and wiggling your fingers.

The nervous waiter grabbed it immediately, almost crushing your fingers as you dragged him into the kitchen. He was so awed and grateful that he boxed up the entire cake for you.

“This, this is why I love you Alec.” You said, gazing adoringly at him.

You carried the cake back to the car, ignoring the slew of police and agents arriving on the scene and very carefully placed it on the backseat, giving it more care than a newborn baby would get. When you swung open the drivers side door, it smacked into something and you looked up in alarm at Bucky.

“NO! I hit you with the door! That doesn’t count!” You protested.

He fixed you with a wolfish grin and leant around the door to pin you to the side of the car.

“Oh, it counts doll… It counts.”

A/N - Have you noticed that most of my fics heavily feature food??? I’m just always hungry apparently....

#hattersmarvelverse #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader

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recurring-polynya · 5 years ago

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Goblin Recap Time!!!

We watched episode 2 of Goblin this weekend and it was great, but then I got really busy, and haven’t got around to talking about it, so let’s do this. Hopefully, I can still remember most of what happened. This show is A LOT!

What happened this time:

First and foremost, remember last time, when I predicted that the Kim Shin - Wang Yeo roomies sitch was gonna be off the chain? I am pleased to report that it was, in fact, way, way off the chain. But I am ahead of myself.

So, Eun-Tak and Kim Shin had a nice time in Canada. We learned some things: - Kim Shin has spent a lot of time in Canada and has a whole bunch of dead servants whose graves he likes to visit. Also he has a fake grave for himself. - Because Being Immortal + Real Estate Speculation = $$$, Kim Shin is loaded. - Ghosts are scarier when they speak to you in English.

Also, Eun-Tak brought home a tourism brochure and a maple leaf, these might be somewhat important later?

Eun-Tak finally got a part time job! She finds this chicken restaurant run by a beautiful, extremely bored woman named Sunny. The restaurant has no customers, for no explicable reason. My husband and I are both obsessed with Sunny. She seems like the sort of person who would normally have just huge dick energy, but she’s sort of down on her luck right now. She eats a lot of snacks. At some point, she goes to a fortune teller, who tells her, “Beware of a man in a black hat,” and Sunny replies something along the lines of “Is he hot?” and Wang Yeo is in so, so much trouble.

At some point, Wang Yeo finds Eun-Tak again, and since he has his paperwork in order now, tries to drag her off to be dead again. Kim Shin rolls in and there’s this really cute part where Eun-Tak tries to protect him from Wang Yeo, and he’s like “relax, I know this jerk.” He tells Wang Yeo that he can’t take Eun-Tak because she’s the Goblin Bride, and if she dies, Wang Yeo will lose his chance to take Kim Shin himself. Wang Yeo (apparently) buys this, and bounces. Eun-Tak then yells at Kim Shin for lying to her about him being a Goblin and her being the Goblin Bride and he replies that she’s not the Goblin Bride, he just lied to protect her. It’s sort of been built up that he really believes she’s not because she can’t see his sword (which sticks out of him, but the show thankfully doesn’t show it most of the time). Unsurprisingly, Eun-Tak is really upset about this.

Later on, at home, Wang Yeo and Kim Shin talk it over at home, and Wang Yeo’s like, “maybe she just can’t see the sword yet”, like, good question, dude. How does anyone involved know how this works? Kim Shin didn’t exactly get a copy of The Handbook for the Recently Deceased when he croaked.

After this, Eun-Tak runs away from home so that Wang Yeo can’t find her (he hates it when people move), which causes her aunt to panic. Apparently, the aunt owes some mob-type guys some money, and she’s trying to scam Eun-Tak out of her insurance money, but she can’t find Eun-Tak’s bank book. Eun-Tak has said repeatedly that she doesn’t have it, and it’s slightly ambiguous as to if she does, but it’s implied that Goddess of Children/Old Grocery Lady (who is now young and hot) is involved. Speaking of her, she gave Eun-Tak some Cursed Spinach this episode. Just keeping her hand in, I guess.

Eun-Tak is actually sleeping at the chicken restaurant. Auntie shows up to try and find her, and Sunny destroys her with word play and trickery. Unfortunately, she just sends the mob guys after Eun-Tak directly. They basically kidnap her, and they’re driving around when all the street lights start going out and OH SHIT Kim Shin and Wang Yeo have TEAMED UP to come save her, I AM LOSING IT, I love it when rivals (are they rivals? I can’t even) team up. Anyway, the episode ends here.

Thoughts:

Last time, I was a bit ‘meh’ on Kim Shin. He was too cool and kind of a dick. Well, I am pleased to report that the man has revealed himself to be an absolute disaster and I now ::heart:: him. There is this extended scene of him trying to decide what to wear and what object to pose with the next time Eun-Tak summons him, and he keeps trying to get Wang Yeo’s opinion while Wang Yeo is trying to sleep, and it’s stupendous. For half the episode, he’s wearing a knee-length cardigan over a turtleneck jumpsuit. Oh, and when he’s sad, it starts raining, and Deok Hwa had all these dehumidifiers set up around him. But the ultimate Kim-Shin-Is-A-Disaster-Moment is this: Deok Hwa reveals that he’s known that Kim Shin is a Goblin since he was a kid. “How did you know?” Kim Shin asks. “You used to get drunk and offer me gold,” Deok Hwa explains, and then there’s a flashback of drunk Kim Shin offering Young Deok Hwa some gold bars and my soul left my body.

Wang Yeo is so perfect. He has incredible FML energy, as he hangs around the house, drinking his juice, putting up with Kim Shin’s bullshit, defending the honor of his hat. He meets up with a co-worker at some point and they complain about paperwork. We also find out that Grim Reapers get paid by the money people leave on altars, which is apparently, not a whole lot in terms of maintaining a modern lifestyle. I love this. I love all of this. I love him. Wang Yeo and Kim Shin keep getting in fights where they magically throw stuff at each other while they’re trying to eat. Kim Shin keeps putting a frilly nightcap on Wang Yeo. Wang Yeo sings a song about Kim Shin’s underwear.

Oh, I almost forgot! There’s a part where Wang Yeo takes a husband and wife who have died in a car wreck, and it turns out the husband is the guy who hit-and-runned Eun-Tak’s mom. Wang Yeo gives the wife the forgetfulness tea, but denies it to the husband, saying his hell is that he’s cursed to wander the earth, remembering what he has done. YOU ARE METAL AS HELL, WANG YEO.

At some point, Eun-Tak decides to ask a ghost why all the ghosts think she’s the Goblin Bride. Apparently, another ghost witnessed Kim Shin saving her mom and is huge gossip. So there are all these ghosts gathered around, telling Eun-Tak this story, and in the middle, one of the ghosts starts trying to drag Eun-Tak to her death, Ringu -style, and the other ghosts are holding her back, like, “Oh God, why are you always like this?” and it was perfect.

How are there zero Goblin x Bleach crossover fics on Ao3? Is it so much to ask for one little fic of Eun-Tak and Ichigo eating ice cream and complaining about how terrible ghosts and other supernatural beings are?

This show is real good.

Remember when I said that I was worried my husband wasn’t gonna be into this? At some point, he turns to me and says, “so, I was reading this post on /r/kdrama, and...” I am done worrying.

#goblin #guardian: the lonely and great god #kdrama #recaps #CANADIAN GHOST!!!!

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dotsz · 6 years ago

Text

hey i finished my elmer’s glue fic i bet for the phight

@phandomphightclub dunno if you’re still active but here’s my bet lol fml

Empty. The room was empty.

Oh, sure, one could argue otherwise; literally speaking, the room was covered wall to floor in posters from various comic books, fanarts, certificates, and the such. Action figures littered every surface, and the camera set in front of the desk gave the impression of there always being an audience.

And yet.

It wasn’t so much the contents of the room but the atmosphere that made it feel so incredibly void of… happiness? No. Purpose. Maybe. Even the word felt empty.

Butch sighed from his place on his seat. He looked into the camera, the lenses reflecting his own mournful face back at him, and a cold pit grew in his stomach.

“What am I,” he said, “but a puppet in this madness? This simulation? This… this reality, it’s… it’s falling apart.” He put his head in his hands, inwardly cursing himself for how his shoulders shook. “Oh, Lord, it’s all falling apart.”

All this efforts to create something for this bland world, all the years of pouring his heart and soul into his work… was it for naught? Did they truly detest him so? What did he ever do to deserve such torment?

Deep in the recesses of his mind, a dark voice slithered through. But you didn’t really do anything! it whispered. Your show only did well because of the concept; still people fight you on it, tell you what you could do better, yet you refuse to open your mind and accept criticism-

“Silence yourself,” Butch murmured fiercely. “I am not weak. I don’t listen to those who are less than me.”

But are they really less than you? it cackled. What if you are the one in the simulation? The dream? The nightmare? What if they are telling you to wake up? What if your masterpiece is really the key to your salvation, not theirs?

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” Butch stood abruptly from his chair, and the screech it made as it slid across the floor caused him to cringe almost as much as the phandom while watching Livin’ Large. “I created their childhood. Without me, they would not exist. I shaped their very souls.”

Is that the truth? Or simply your over-inflated ego?

“Who even are you?” Butch whirled around to face his wall of fanart, which had not been updated since, like, 2015. “What business do you have to be in my mind, speaking poison into me?”

I am your insecurities.

“Impossible. I have none.”

Let me clarify, said the voice. I am the insecurities created out of your show. The creation of Danny Phantom came with sacrifice; it came with the knowledge that despite your initial ideas being of interest, your writing and unwillingness to stray from your narrow-minded beliefs of what cartoons are to be caused the show to inevitably fall into mediocrity.

“Hey-”

The inspiration of superheroes, woven into a twist of a child’s secret identity stemming from keeping themselves safe rather than those they love, coupled with the allure of ghosts in a small, eerie town, as well as relatable and well-written depictions of teenage characters, could’ve made the show to be a legend, revered, given much more than two seasons plus one half-assed excuse for a season and conclusion.

“Are you done yet?” Butch asked irritatedly, an ache beginning to form between his eyes. He didn't have time for this. He didn’t have much time for anything, it seemed, what with Oaxis needing more support and his fans letting him down… he was always being let down…

Stop whining, the voice snapped. Anyway, as I was saying: if Danny Phantom had been given the same treatment as other popular cartoons, like Gravity Falls, the creepiness would’ve fit its child-like innocence enough to give it the right kind of feel people were hoping for when you put ghosts and superheroes together. Truly, I pity you. You could’ve done something great.

“Stop…” Butch groaned. His head pounded, his hands shook, and every inch of his body tried its hardest to go against the thoughts that had begun to enter his brain. His - no, it was no longer his - fandom had grown into a phandom, solely for the show, leaving his ideas behind for “better” ones of their own. And when he demanded answers, they only laughed in his face… is this what he’d become? A laughing stock? An example of everything he’s ever hated?

This simulation of life was created for us to give, the voice said, sounding much more sympathetic. But they’ve done nothing but take from you.

“I…” Butch gasped, fell into his chair, stared into the camera. Soulless lenses.

Isn’t it your fault, though? You pushed them away, didn’t you?

Black spots danced before his eyes.

You false god, said the voice, and Butch lost consciousness.

He swam in darkness for what felt like eons. Bursts of light and noise every so often tore through the veil in front of him; he heard whispers from years past, mutterings of guacamole and a red-head background character, the phrase Phantom Planet’s Not Canon Fuck You; he saw lists of dissection fics and metaphysical hang-out spots at Denny’s, accusations of diaper fetishes… finally showing his ridicule after announcing Oaxis, the way they slandered him.

This was his legacy being shown.

Butch groaned. Something soft remained under him.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said a voice to his right. Familiar.

He opened his eyes, slowly, pushing through the heaviness, black spots receding to the corners of his vision. He took a moment to recognize he still sat in his office, only this time on a small couch by the corner.

“Here, drink some water,” said the same voice. Butch turned his head to look-

And froze.

It was him. It looked like him. Same strong jawline, luscious locks of dark hair, broad shoulders and tight-fitting shirt that stretched over his toned physique; same deep, soulful brown eyes, a charming grin showing perfect, pearly-white teeth.

It was like looking into a mirror.

The other him grinned wider, holding out a cup of water. “Here, drink up.”

As if on autopilot, Butch reached forward and took the glass out of Other-Butch’s hands. Their fingers brushed, and something akin to electricity traveled up his arm and into his chest, warming him up from the inside, making him gasp. With shaking hands, he gulped down the cold drink and shivered at the chill.

“What was that?” Butch choked out, staring at the perfection that was his face - on another body, yet so incredibly familiar he had no choice but to feel calm, secure, happy.

Other-Butch laughed, booming and infectious. “Oh, you took a nasty fall, all right. Don’t worry, the voice in your head won’t come as long as I’m here.”

“Alright?” Butch paused. “Who are you?”

“I’m you,” said Other-Butch simply. “Well, not exactly; I have my own thoughts and feelings too, of course. But I’m still you. Same memories.”

“Same name?”

“Butch Hartman.” Other-Butch smiled softly as if he were revisiting an old nostalgic memory. “But you can call me Elmer, if it’s too confusing.”

“Elmer.” Butch tried the name on his tongue - it fit. “I haven’t heard that in years.”

“It’s pretty old, isn’t it?” Elmer sighed, leaning forward. His biceps flexed as he wrung his large hands together. “Butch, do you remember the Golden Days?”

“The what?”

“The Golden Days.” A ghost of a smile. “Back when everyone loved your show. I mean, they still do, but they respected it back then. Loved you. Your ideas.”

“I…” Butch closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do. Good times.”

“I remember your - our passion,” Elmer continued, his voice dripping with wistfulness. “And now? What now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re giving up,” Elmer said, his tone suddenly sharp.

Butch snapped his eyes open to stare at Elmer. His jaw jutted out defiantly, his eyes smoldering, looking into his very soul. For the second time today, Butch shivered.

“You can’t give up, not now,” Elmer continued. “What about Oaxis? What about the children? You’re making the future, Butch.”

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Butch sniffed angrily - he, crying? The almighty Butch Hartman? No, he would not stoop to such low measures. “The phandom-”

“Those little shits know nothing of what you’ve accomplished,” Elmer hissed. “All they’re good for is making bad shitposts and hurting your canon. What happened to ‘You can’t bring me down,’ to ‘Criticism only makes me stronger?’ What happened to the Butch we know?’

Butch stayed silent.

“You can’t give up.” Elmer grabbed his hand, brought it close to him. Butch gasped at the energy flowing between them. “You can’t.”

And through his doubt, a pinprick of light shone through; a small bit of passion broke through, then multiplied, flooding his veins and swelling his heart as he fell further into the electricity Elmer brought him.

Butch grinned, reminiscent to his old bravado. “You’re right.”

Elmer mirrored his grin. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You will?”

“We can do this together,” Elmer said, his eyes wide and open. Butch leaned into him, the two embracing, gasping at the energy coursing through them. Yes, this was meant to be. They were meant to be.

And whatever happened, Butch knew he’d be ready. With Elmer by his side.

“We can fix this simulation,” Elmer whispered hoarsely into his ear. “Together. Like glue.”

And Butch said, “Okay.”

And together, they created.

#fuck! i can't believe i wrote this #tears are streaming down my cheeks i hope yall are happy #phandom phight club #elmers glue #birch tree fartman #phicc #danny phantom #bet

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