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scoutofmymind · 2 days ago

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exLuigi x Reader. I want something juicy, queen!

Darkest Before Dawn — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: SFW, angst, bitter feelings, unrequited love, arguing, friends funeral, etc.

W.c: 3,236

Notes; A close friend of yours and Luigi’s passes, setting the stage for an untimely reunion in bitter circumstances — later facing the raw truth that sometimes it takes losing someone to find your way back to each other.

This turned a lil self indulgent for my need to get some angst out. I can’t help it. I love drama

The autumn wind carries leaves across your feet in lazy spirals, nature's own procession leading deeper into the cemetery. Your arm is linked with Maya's — she hasn't left your side since the news broke, and even now her grip tightens whenever your breath hitches.

The sea of black suits and dresses before you ebbs and flows like a dark tide, faces both familiar and strange blurring together through unshed tears.

Grief comes in waves.

One moment you're choking back laughter at Jamie's story about Olivia’s disastrous attempt at making tiramisu for your monthly dinner parties, the next you're biting your lip bloody to keep from sobbing when someone mentions how she used to be the most fun out of anyone to kayak with, rain or shine.

It shouldn't matter. Not today.

Not when Sarah's gone and everything feels simultaneously too sharp and too dull.

But your eyes keep betraying you, scanning the crowd between eulogies, during the hymns, through the quiet moments. Your ears strain past the murmur of condolences and shared memories, searching for that particular timber, that specific cadence that you'd know anywhere.

The laugh that used to rumble against your shoulder during lazy Sunday mornings, the voice that could fill a room without trying.

"He isn't here," Maya whispers, tracking your restless gaze as it sweeps the room for the thousandth time. "You can breathe." Her words are meant to comfort, but they settle like stones in your stomach.

Luigi didn't come.

You force yourself to accept this, to let your guard down as the ceremony begins.

The first notes of Olivia’s favorite Chopin nocturne float through the air, weaving between muffled sobs and shaky breaths. She'd played this piece herself, once, at your apartment's housewarming. Her fingers had stumbled over the keys of your secondhand piano, but her smile had been radiant.

The memory splits you open all over again, raw as that first night — the 3 AM phone call, the way your knees had hit the kitchen floor, how the world had tilted sideways and never quite righted itself.

And then, like a punch to the solar plexus, you see him.

Luigi.

Hovering in the back, looking like he's been assembled from broken parts. His hair is disheveled, his tie crooked, those warm brown eyes you once knew better than your own now bloodshot and hollow. He's swaying slightly, and you recognize the tells — one desperate cigarette on the drive over, black coffee clutched like a lifeline.

You've seen him hold himself together like this before, all fraying edges and stubborn pride.

Your fingers dig into Maya's arm, but you bite back the words. Let her think you're still alone in your grief.

It feels safer than acknowledging how your heart still recognizes his particular brand of falling apart.

You try to stay hidden in plain sight, but his presence is magnetic — always has been. That familiar electricity crawls up your spine each time his gaze finds you across the room. Even now, even here, his eyes carry that same concerned weight they did a year ago, like you're the one who needs saving.

You feel him everywhere, the way you always have, only now your carefully constructed walls have crumbled at the worst possible moment.

The reception becomes suffocating, all polite murmurs and half-finished sentences about how she's in a better place now.

You slip outside for air, and there he is — a portrait of barely contained grief on the church steps. His fingers work mechanically over Olivia’s AA coin, turning it over and over like a rosary whilst the cigarette between his lips burns dangerously close to the filter, more ash than purpose, as if he's forgotten it's there.

Something pulls you forward — muscle memory, perhaps, or maybe it's the voice in your ear, gentle but insistent: Sit with him. He needs you.

"She was so proud of this," Luigi murmurs, eyes fixed on the coin catching the dying light. The messages wear like prayers beneath his thumb — It's always darkest before the dawn, and One day at a time. The edges are smooth now from his constant fidgeting, as if he could somehow extract comfort from its worn surface.

Olivia had been more than just his neighbor — she was the thread that stitched your lives together.

You still remember her braces-filled grin when she introduced you at soccer team tryouts, convinced her two favorite people would hit it off. From there, it was a domino effect of shared milestones; friendship bracelets woven under summer stars, prom photos where Olivia pulled faces between you both, the three of you crammed into her ancient Volkswagen for driving lessons, and dorm room numbers exchanged like secrets.

And now here you sit, on opposite sides of a chasm she can no longer bridge.

Words feel inadequate, hollow in the face of such loss, so you stay silent. But your eyes betray you — they always did with him — filling with that mixture of concern and understanding that used to make him feel seen, now just makes him feel exposed.

"Oh," he groans, waving his free hand like he could physically brush away your gaze. "Don't fuckin' look at me like that — Please." The last word catches in his throat, raw and ragged, like it costs him something to say it.

You snap your gaze to the swaying trees, watching October paint its warning signs of winter across the landscape. Your spine straightens like a soldier at attention, fighting the tremor that threatens to shake loose more tears. "I just want to know you're okay."

Luigi's laugh is a broken thing, more wound than sound.

You feel his eyes boring into your profile, but you keep yours fixed on the dying leaves dancing in the wind. "A phone call would have been fine," he mutters, loading the chamber of your familiar game with practiced precision.

It's so perfectly Luigi — dropping emotional grenades at the worst possible moments, like he's testing if the blast radius of your shared pain has changed; you chamber your own round without missing a beat. "The phone works both ways," you fire back, the words carrying just enough bite to draw blood.

This is the dance you know best — this careful choreography of hurt, each of you taking turns to twist the knife a little deeper. It's muscle memory, really, born in the crucible of young love and forged in the fire of terrible timing.

The game never has a winner, just two people who loved each other so completely it became a fault line.

"I've got a lot on my plate," Luigi breathes, the words hanging as flimsy as tissue paper in the autumn air. His gaze burns into your temple with an intensity that's achingly familiar — that same scorching desperation you remember from late nights when his demons wouldn't let him sleep.

He's still that wounded boy underneath it all, wrestling with ghosts that never quite stopped haunting him.

"You don't think I do?" The words snap out before you can stop them, your head whipping around to meet his gaze head-on. His eyes are two bruised hollows, those warm brown irises you once wrote poetry about now floating in seas of red, crowned by shadows that speak of endless sleepless nights. "Yet I-" you gesture sharply at yourself, voice pitched low and razor-sharp, "had the fucking decency to show up on time."

The punch lands exactly where you aimed it, and you watch him flinch like you've slapped him.

It's a cheap shot, using his tardiness as a weapon, when you know damn well he probably spent hours just trying to make it out of his apartment.

But grief makes soldiers of us all, and today you're both armed to the teeth with things you shouldn't say.

Bang.

Luigi stared at you with those winter-dark eyes, and the world collapsed into a singular point of existence.

The distant traffic faded, the autumn wind stilled, even the harsh rays of the sun that peeked through the clouds hid behind them once again — leaving nothing but this moment, this breath, this unbearable weight between you.

You'd remember this look until your own dying day; the way his pupils dilated slightly, how his left eye still caught light differently, the precise shade of umber in his iris that you'd never quite managed to mix on your palette.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, but the words feel like ash in your mouth, too little and far too late.

You watch him fracture in real time, each carefully constructed wall crumbling like a condemned building, and somehow – impossibly – it only feeds the anger burning in your chest. "But just because I’m not an engineer doesn't mean my life is some cute little hobby. You don't have a monopoly on struggling, Lu."

Luigi recoils like you've struck a match against raw nerves, his entire body seeming to cave in on itself.

The cigarette, forgotten between his fingers, drops ash onto his pressed black slacks — the ones you know he probably spent an hour convincing himself to put on.

His jaw works silently, grinding teeth the way he always did when trying to swallow something too big to say.

"You think I-" he starts, then stops, pressing his thumb so hard into Olivia’s coin that his knuckle turns white. There's a violent tremble in his hands now, the kind that used to precede his worst panic attacks. "I couldn't-" Another false start, words crumbling like wet sand.

What he can't tell you is how he spent three hours this morning sitting in his parked car outside the church, chain-smoking through half a pack, trying to convince his legs to carry him inside.

How he threw up twice before leaving his apartment, the coffee and cigarettes his only defense against complete system shutdown.

How he's been sleeping on his couch because his bed feels foreign without late-night phone calls about recovery meetings and bad reality TV shows.

Instead, he just stares at you with those haunted eyes, and you see it then — the way he's holding himself together with safety pins and spite, one wrong word away from shattering completely.

I'm not okay. I haven't been okay.

His composure fractures further, a hairline crack spreading across carefully constructed walls.

The hand holding Olivia’s coin drops between his knees, dangling there like a surrender flag while his other hand rakes through his dark curls that haven’t seen proper care in days.

But you recognize the gesture — it's the same one from high school, when his father would show up drunk to soccer games, when college rejection letters came, when Olivia first went into rehab.

"You know what?" His voice comes out sandpaper-rough, caught somewhere between anger and anguish. "You're right. You're always fucking right." The words twist with something bitter, but the venom isn't meant for you — it never really was. "I should've been here earlier. Should've been there more. Should've-" He chokes on the rest.

The coin slips from his trembling fingers, pinging against the concrete steps. You both watch it spin, a dizzying dance of copper catching what little sunlight breaks through the clouds, before it settles face-up.

One day at a time stares up at you both, Sarah's mantra now a mockery — because how do you take it one day at a time when every day feels like drowning?

It’s always darkest before the dawn.

Luigi's shoulders shake with something that might be a laugh or might be a sob, with him, it's hard to tell the difference. "She called me, you know. Night before." His voice drops to barely a whisper, like he's sharing a secret he's been carrying around like a bullet in the chest. "I was busy. Said I'd call back in the morning."

"Lu,” Your voice cracks on his name, the anger from moments ago evaporating. You remember your own last conversation with Sarah — something trivial about a TV show she'd started binging.

How were either of you supposed to know it would be the last time?

"Don't." He cuts you off sharply, but his voice betrays him, wavering like it walked a tightrope. "Just — don't do that thing where you try to make it okay. It's not fucking okay." His hands are shaking so badly now that when he reaches for another cigarette, he drops the whole pack.

You reach for it automatically, and your fingers brush his as you both grab for it, making him jerk back like he's been burned, but not before you feel the cold clamminess of his skin. "When's the last time you ate something?" The question slips out before you can stop it, that old protective instinct rising up despite everything.

"Christ," he laughs. "You sound just like her. She used to-" He stops abruptly, swallowing hard. "She'd text me every morning. 'Did you eat breakfast?'" His voice trails off, and you watch him pick up her coin again, thumbing the worn edges.

"I have her last text," you offer quietly, pulling out your phone. "Want to see it?"

Luigi's head snaps up, eyes wide with something between terror and desperate need. "I-" he starts, then just nods, the simple movement seeming to cost him everything.

You pull up the message thread, trying to ignore how your hands aren't much steadier than his.

And there it is, timestamped 9:47 PM: “Found this stupid cat video, reminded me of that time at Lu’s when his cat jumped from the second floor onto the dinner table.. Miss you. We should do dinner soon.”

Luigi makes a sound like someone's just punched him in the stomach. "I can't- fuck," he breathes, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "She sent me some stupid meme. I didn't even open it. I was in the middle of a work call and I just — I thought I'd have time."

"We all did," you whisper, watching a leaf spiral down between you. "That's the whole point of recovery, isn't it? Having time to fix things."

"Yeah, well," his voice is razor-thin, "turns out time's a real bitch that way." He finally looks at you properly, and the raw devastation in his eyes makes your chest ache. "You know what the worst part is? I kept the voicemail. Her last one. Haven't listened to it yet. I can’t -“

Your breath catches. "Do you want to? Now?" The raw and desperate need to hear her voice in something that isn’t a stupid video on your phone claws at you. "Together, I mean."

Luigi's hand tightens around Olivia’s coin until his knuckles go white again.

For a moment, you think he's going to say no, going to retreat back behind those walls he's spent years perfecting. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.

He fumbles with his phone, hands shaking so badly you have to help him hit speaker.

For a moment, there's just static, and then — her voice fills the space between you, bright and clear and so achingly alive it feels like being gutted.

“Hey, Lu. I know it's late, but... I've been thinking. About you and-" A pause, a soft laugh. “God, you're both so stupid sometimes, you know that? Life's too short to keep playing this dance. I see how you look at those old shitty Polaroids, how you both light up when I mention the other. Pride's a killer too, trust me on that one. I learned it the hard way."

Your hand reaches for Luigi’s, his grip crushing.

“Remember that time freshman year, after the accident? How you both stayed with me for two weeks straight, taking shifts so I was never alone? That's- that's what love looks like. Real love. And you idiots still have it, you're just too scared to admit it. So consider this your intervention." Another laugh, softer now. Sounds like she’s moving about her apartment, completing nightly tasks and having called Luigi to chat before bed. “Call me back when you get this. We'll figure it out together. Love you, dumb fuck.”

The message ends.

Luigi's breathing has gone ragged, each inhale sounding like it's being dragged across broken glass. "She knew," he whispers. "She always fucking knew."

"Lu-" you start, but your voice fails you. Because what can you say? That Olivia was right? That you've spent almost an entire year pretending not to miss him like a phantom limb? That sometimes you still reach for your phone to tell him about your day before remembering you're not supposed to anymore?

"I can't-" he sucked in a ragged breath, “I can't lose you both. I can't-"

"Hey," you say softly, your thumb unconsciously tracing circles on his palm. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob, his free hand coming up to cover his face, but not before you see the tears finally breaking free. "Last time I saw her, she made me promise we'd all have dinner together. Said she was tired of splitting holidays, of pretending we weren't all still family just because you and I couldn't -" He trails off, his shoulder shrugging as he groans, tilting his head back to unclog his nose and stuff the tears back where they belong.

"Because we couldn't get out of our own way," you finish. The truth of it sits heavy in your chest, all the wasted time, all the stubborn silence. "God, we're fucking idiots."

"She used to call me every Sunday, you know? Just to ask if I'd talked to you yet.” Another sniffle rips through him, “Every damn Sunday for almost a whole year."

You let out a wet laugh. "She did the same to me. Every Wednesday, like clockwork. 'Have you called Lu yet?' 'No, Liv.' 'Well, why the hell not?'"

"Sounds like her." Luigi's voice goes soft, fond despite the pain. His hand is still in yours, warm and familiar and terrifying.

The silence that follows feels different somehow — less like a wall and more like a bridge.

Olivia’s coin catches the light between you again.

One day at a time.

"So," you say finally, squeezing his hand. "What do we do now?"

“Well -we - we honor her, right?" Luigi looks to you again, his voice stronger despite the tremor in his hands. "Not just with words or - like - memories." He looks down at your intertwined fingers, then back up to your face with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. "But by fucking stopping this war of attrition we've been fighting since-“

"Since the goddamn gallery opening," you finish softly. That night hangs between you — the argument that started as something small ended with eleven months of radio silence. "When you said my art was just a-“

"I never meant it," he cuts in, voice raw. "I was terrified, watching you risk everything while I played it safe. You were so brave, and I was-“ He draws a shaking breath. "I was a coward who took it out on you instead of admitting I hated my own choices."

"We can't get the time back," you say gently, watching his thumb brush over your knuckles this time instead of the coin. "But maybe,” You pause. "Maybe we can stop fuckin’ wasting what we have left."

#req #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione x reader

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revelboo · 6 hours ago

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Revel your stories are absolutely addictive omg, you’ve brought back a love for spinister i haven’t had in like 2 years… i am loving the scavenger story oml… but nah if i was her i would so wanna throw myself off the fucking medical table right then and there 😭✋

Same 🤣

They will each get a fleshed out arc, but Spin gets dibs

Because I live in the southern part of the U.S. and we don’t do snow, I’m working from home today.

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 15

Scavengers x Reader

• It’s easier to think, focus, when it’s just the two of you. Because something about you calms that muddle of paranoia and confusion in his head. Letting him focus on the feel of you against him, something he needs now. Can’t recharge without your warmth and feeling the steady beat of your heart, your soft breaths against him. Knows something is broken in him, but can’t get a grip on what it is or remember why, but you feel like warmth and home in a way he’s desperate to hold onto. “Want,” he mutters, battle mask rubbing against your jaw.

• “What do you want, Spin?” You ask, voice soft and soothing as the flat of the chevron on his helm gently bumps against your forehead, those troubled optics more focused than you’re used to. But you already know what he wants, don’t you? Startled when his mask retracts and his lips brush against your cheek as he raggedly vents. You’ve seen him retract it before to fuel, but never from this close and you reach to cup his face in your palms, feathering a thumb against his bottom lip. He’s handsome. Alien and strange, struggling to be understood and to understand in turn and your heart aches for him. “You saved me, you know. If you hadn’t found and caught me-” Can’t make yourself say the rest and know you can never really explain how much you owe him. Because that first time you’d seen him, you’d only seen a giant monster running toward you with his hands outstretched.

• “Always find you,” he manages, spark twisting with that remembered fear in your voice. Because he knows that feeling of helplessness. Wants to be your shelter, your protector. Shield you so you never are afraid again. Even if you don’t want him the way he needs you, he’ll still keep you safe. Those soft hands and kind eyes his shelter. “Want you.” Wishes he was better at this. That he could coax you with sweet words, but loses them as soon as he tries to say them.

• Hands still framing his face as your heart begins to race, your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip and his optics track the movement before he leans in. And it occurs to you that you could push him away, lean back, instead you arch into him, your mouth brushing his. Realizing you do want this, him even if you’re uncertain about how it’s going to work or if it even can. Want those gentle hands that had rescued you, stubbornly reaching as you’d tried to hide, not giving up when he could have and just left you to starve.

• Shuddering as your soft mouth finds his own, his hips rock against the cradle of your thighs. And your little tongue swipes against the seam of his lips and he lets you in without hesitation. Seizing control as the slide of your mouth under his becomes a demand, his glossa sliding against your tongue, exploring. Wants to unwrap you, servos fisting in your top covering, the thin material tearing as you gasp into his mouth. Growling as he tries to figure out how to strip you, spike aching with the need to be inside you. To claim what’s his.

• “Slow down,” you manage, lips sliding to the corner of his mouth. Feel his hips grind against you as he growls hungrily. Servos sliding against your skin, pulling at your clothes as you laugh and splay a hand against his chassis, watching the rotor blades on his back flare out slightly. “Let me help, okay?” Pressing a kiss against his jaw, he finally eases back some, optics hungry as you struggle to strip still caged under him. His big, warm hands sliding possessively over skin as it’s exposed.

• “You think he’s fragging Tiny, yet?” Misfire asks, lingering near the closed door to Medbay and tempted to lean his helm against the door to try and hear. Can’t deny he’s jealous, that as much as he loves teasing you and watching you get flustered with him, he wants more. It’s not like you’re only Spinister’s. You’re all of theirs. A Scavenger. He just needs to convince you and his fellow Scavengers that sharing is not only possible, it’s for the best.

• “This isn’t funny,” Krok mutters, worried about Spinister being too rough with you. But really? The big medic is surprisingly gentle with you, fussing over you and clinging to you like he’s afraid to let you out of his sight. You’re one of his crew, though and Krok can’t help but be protective of you. After all, you’re so much smaller than the rest of them. Helpless and fragile. That situation with the tape had driven that home, his spark still constricting every time he thinks about it. Knowing you could have died because of their negligence. That he can’t fail you again.

#transformers x reader #idw scavengers x reader #misfire #crankcase #spinister #krok #fulcrum

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etherealyoungk · 6 hours ago

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ramen & fate | boo seungkwan

SUMMARY: in which you meet a rich guy at the convenience store during a late night ramen run.

PAIRING: chaebol!seungkwan x reader

THEMES: strangers to lovers, meet cute kinda

WARNINGS: fluff, use of curse words

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

A/N: @wheeboo happy birthday my love! this is a little gift from me to you! this is such a silly idea but i thought i'd write it out for you and i hope you like it <3

you walk into the convenience store and walk inside and the faint sound of pop music hums from the speakers overhead, blending with the quiet hum of the refrigerators in the back. you barely notice any of it though because your mission is clear - ramen. you really needed a ramen fix right now.

you make a beeline for the ramen aisle, the craving gnawing at you and nothing else would do now, not after the day you've had. there's a strange comfort in that little cup of noodles, in its simplicity, in the way it tastes exactly how you expected it to. your eyes scan the shelves and you spot your favourite ramen, only to find one left on the shelf. you immediately reach for it without a second thought, but so does someone else.

your fingers brush against another hand, and you pause, startled. your eyes follow the hand, trailing up a crisp white sleeve, past a perfectly tailored suit jacket, until they land on the face of the man reaching for the same cup of ramen. he’s tall so you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. his expression is cool, almost unreadable, his jawline sharp and sleek, his styled hair making him look like he just walked off the set of some corporate drama.

"oh," you say, blinking as your hand hovers over the cup.

he looks down at you, his brows lifting slightly as if in mild surprise, but he doesn’t immediately pull his hand back. "looks like we’ve got the same taste," he says, his voice smooth.

you blink at him and wrack your brain for a response before you let out a nervous laugh. "well, it is the best one", you reply as you look at him.

he smirks faintly, tilting his head. "i agree, but there’s only one left."

there’s a pause, the moment stretching out as both of you keep your hands over the cup of ramen and suddenly this feels like some sort of high-stakes negotiation situation.

"i—uh—had a long day," you say, trying to justify your claim, though you immediately feel silly for doing so. "i really need this ramen".

his smirk softens into something resembling amusement. "and you think i don’t?", he counters, raising a brow at you. "i’ve had back-to-back meetings since seven this morning", he says.

"well, i’ve been running around non-stop too", you protest, your grip on the edge of the shelf tightening. his gaze flickers between you and the ramen before he exhales, and lets out a small resigned sigh and to your surprise, he takes his hand away.

"alright," he says, stepping back slightly. "you win, take it", he says as his hand swings down. "really? thanks," you say, though your tone is cautious, like you’re not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of trick.

he gives you a small nod, then glances at his watch, grabbing a different ramen from the shelf and walking to a different aisle without sparing you another glance. you blink, a little confused but get about on your mission to get the ramen. you grab a few more stuff, some kimbap and something to drink and make your way to the cash counter when you spot the man in the suit again.

"i'm sorry sir, but i don't have change for such a big bill", you hear the worker say. "unless you buy items for that amount, i don't really have a way to give you back your change", the worker continues.

you walk front and put your stuff on the counter. "i'll pay for his stuff", you say and he looks at you.

"i've got it, i'm sure i have smaller bills somewhere", he says as he pulls out his wallet and your eyes nearly pop out with the fat wad of cash you see in it, all big bills. what the fuck. you decide to ignore what you just saw and by the time the man in the suit is digging his wallet, you've already paid for your stuff, his included.

you take your things and towards the corner of the store to cook your ramen. once the ramen is done, you take a seat and that's when the man in the suit appears again. he’s got his own ramen cup in hand, the sleeve of his tailored suit pushed up slightly to reveal an expensive looking watch. he moves methodically, peeling back the lid of his ramen cup and pouring in the hot water with a steady hand, there's no hesitation and no fumbling. he catches your gaze, and you quickly look away, suddenly very interested in your own noodles. you can feel his eyes on you for a moment, but then he goes back to his ramen, silent and composed. you sneak another glance at him and think to yourself - he is pretty handsome.

you’re halfway through your noodles, the warm broth hitting just the right spot on a cold night before you hear the shuffle of footsteps coming towards you.

"mind if i sit?" he asks, his voice smooth and you nod. he sits down with a kind of effortless grace, setting his ramen down in front of him and adjusting his sleeves like he’s dining at a michelin-star restaurant instead of a dingy convenience store. you focus on your noodles, hoping he won’t notice the way your gaze keeps flickering back to him and you watch as he stirs his ramen and takes a bite.

"you didn’t have to pay for my stuff, you know," he says after a bite, breaking the silence.

"it’s not a big deal," you reply with a shrug. "maybe you should carry smaller bills next time", you tell and you can see the faint smile on his face.

"i swear i thought i had change on me", he says, rather to himself.

"doesn’t seem like you need to worry about it," you remark before you can stop yourself. “i mean, with a wallet like that.”

his smile widens slightly, and he leans back in his chair, resting an elbow casually on the table. "appearances can be deceiving," he says, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent you can’t quite place.

you raise an eyebrow. "right, and expensive suits and fat wads of cash are just a camouflage?", you ask.

"something like that," he replies, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes now like he’s enjoying this back and forth talk, like he's amused by you.

you huff out a soft laugh as you shake your head. "well, next time you’re low on change, i suggest hitting the ATM before wandering into a convenience store", you tell and he nods.

"noted," he says, and there’s a warmth to his voice now.

"i’d like to pay you back", he says after a moment, but you shake your head.

"that's not necessary," you reply, waving a dismissive hand. "it’s just ramen", you say.

and he just looks at you, and it looks like he wants to say something more, but he settles for giving you a small smile instead. "alright, if you’re sure".

after finishing his meal, he gathers his things, straightens his perfectly tailored suit and offers you a polite, "thanks again," before leaving.

you think that’s the last you’ll see of him, until you notice something on the table, his sleek black leather wallet, the kind that practically screams expensive. your eyes widen as your hands reach out for it and you mutter under your breath.

grabbing the wallet, you flip it open and find a few crisp bills (all large denominations, of course), some credit cards and a single business card tucked inside, but there's no name, just a logo and a phone number. you hesitate for a moment before you decide to call the number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

for the next few days, you keep the wallet with you, figuring he’ll eventually call back or text or come looking for it, but nothing. it’s not until a few days later, when you’re rushing through a crowded sidewalk with a bag of groceries in one hand and your phone in the other, that fate decides to intervene. you’re trying to balance too many things at once, not paying attention to where you’re going, when you collide hard into someone coming from the opposite direction. the impact sends your phone clattering to the ground and your grocery bag spilling open. "oh, come on!" you groan, crouching to pick up your things.

"sorry about that", a familiar voice says, and you freeze mid-reach.

you glance up to see him, the ramen guy, in his perfectly tailored suit guy, crouching down to help. he looks as polished as ever, his suit immaculate despite the chaos of the street and he notices you at the same time, and his eyes widen slightly.

"you," he says, clearly surprised.

"you," you reply, just as surprised. "i've been looking for you, you left this", you say after you've gathered all your groceries and stand up. you dig into your bag and bring out his wallet, handing it over to him.

his expression shifts. "i didn’t even realize it was missing until yesterday, but by then, i figured it was gone for good", he says as he looks at you.

"well, lucky for you i found it,” you say as you hold it out for him. he takes it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and his smile softens. “you have no idea how much this means, thank you", he says

"you’re welcome," you reply and he looks down at the wallet in his hand, then back at you.

“i owe you, again", he says. "let me buy you dinner, it's the least i can do, please", he asks and you blink, caught off guard.

"dinner? that's...", you trail off as you chew on your lip, considering his offer. "but you don't even know me?", you say, unsure.

"i'll take my chances", he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“alright,” you say, nodding. “dinner sounds nice.”

the smile that spreads across his face is slow and warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds and it softens his polished, professional look, making him seem boyish almost.

"i didn't get your name", you ask.

"i'm seungkwan", he says, holding out his hand and you reach for it, shaking it, the warmth of his hand engulfing you. "yn", you say, giving him a small smile.

you both exchange numbers and you head home, and it's only then that you wonder if he'll actually follow through. and a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

ramen guy: this is seungkwan, does friday evening work for dinner? let me know what time works for you.

you reply quickly and his response comes almost immediately.

ramen guy: perfect, i’ll take care of everything, looking forward to it.

when friday arrives, you find yourself standing in front of the address he sent—a restaurant that looks like it was plucked straight from a luxury travel magazine. the building is sleek and modern, its glass walls shimmering in the golden hour light. your nerves spike as you step through the grand entrance and suddenly you're thinking that this must be some kind of joke, that he must have sent you the wrong address by mistake because holy shit, you could barely afford this place. a host greets you with a warm smile when you walk inside. “you must be here for mr. boo seungkwan” they say, their tone polite but knowing. boo seungkwan?

the person guides you towards a private dining room and it's a beautifully set table near the window that overlooks the city skyline. you spot him waiting there and he stands up the moment he spots you, a smile lighting up his face.

he was wearing an all-black suit, and it was perfect for him, tailored to perfection, the fit making him incredibly handsome and attractive and the fit made him look effortlessly sophisticated, yet there was an ease to his posture that made him seem grounded. his dark hair was styled just enough to look intentionally tousled, a few stray strands falling over his forehead. there was something about the way he carried himself, confident but not cocky, poised but not stiff. his smile was the same: genuine and unpretentious, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, yet somehow, in that black suit, he couldn’t help but leave an impression.

“you made it,” he says, his tone warm as he steps forward to pull out your chair for you. "yeah", you say softly, still trying to take in the posh ambience around you.

as the evening unfolds, you’re surprised by how easy he is to talk to. he’s incredibly down-to-earth and he listens intently, laughs at your jokes, and is just so sweet, a complete gentleman. his genuine interest in you, paired with his relaxed nature, made the evening feel warm and comfortable and didn't make you feel intimidated anymore.

“so, what exactly do you do?”, you ask, looking at him.

he hesitates for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “family business,” he says, clearly trying to downplay it. “it’s not that exciting.”

"so what exactly is this family business?", you ask but seungkwan only chuckles softly in response. "it's not as cool as you think. let’s just say it's a lot of paperwork, meetings, and business stuff", he makes an exaggerated motion of his hands like he was emphasizing the mundanity of it all. the date ends on a good note and he even offers to drop you home, but you decline, not wanting to impose on him anymore.

it isn’t until days later, when you’re scrolling through your phone that you stumble across an article and you realize just who he is.

heir to the boo family conglomerate, boo seungkwan spotted at his newest restaurant with someone: who’s the mystery guest?

your jaw drops as your eyes scan the article, which details his family’s massive business empire—including restaurant chains, luxury hotels, and even media companies. the photo accompanying the article shows him stepping out of the very restaurant where you had dinner with him, wearing the same outfit he had that evening, looking effortlessly handsome and polished as always.

and just then your phone buzzes with a new message from him at that exact moment:

ramen guy: i hope you enjoyed the dinner last time. let me know when you’re free again, i owe you another one.

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#skye's writing!#caratlibrary #k-labels #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen drabbles #seventeen soft hours #svt imagines #svt ff #skye thoughts #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt scenarios #svt x reader #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan x reader

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venusbyline · 23 hours ago

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Aemond Targaryen — The Beloved Son

— summary: If Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 4.9k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NO EAT, rough sex, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, mommy kink, breeding kink, breast worship, nipple licking, nipple play, overstimulation, pregnancy kink, dacryphilia, rough kissing, disturbed themes, age gap (older woman/younger man), Aemond is 19 and Reader is 29, biting, crying, pre-relationship, unhealthy relationships, referenced character death, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, past underage sex, past child abuse, religious guilt and conflict, crisis of faith, blood licking, implied forced pregnancy, mommy issues, labor mentioned, implied Targtower Incest (mother/son) BUT NOT REALLY, implied Aemond Targaryen/Alicent Hightower BUT NOT REALLY, past Targcest (older sister/younger brother), past Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, referenced non-consensual somnophilia, referenced rape/non-con, referenced breastfeeding, referenced lactation kink, minor Helaegon, Aegon Targaryen mentioned, past Aemond Targaryen/Madam Sylvi, underage dubcon, minor Alicent Hightower/Criston Cole, curse words, mild angst, ambiguous/open ending, switch!Aemond, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I decided to explore Aemond's "mommy issues" side. There's no real incest between Aemond and Alicent, but I put it as a trigger warning because there are scenes about them that can be uncomfortable to read. And also because I see their mother and son relationship too complex and intense. In my opinion, Aemond had an adoration and love for his mother in the season one that the writers left aside during the season two.

— author's notes²: Furthermore, I believe that Aemond's loss of virginity with Madam Sylvi may also influenced a part of his weird behaviour. So this time I wrote about the consequences of this in Aemond's mind, even a few years later. I see what happened with him in the books/show as a real child abuse, so don't read this fic if you've triggers with these themes. I do not support any form of abuse, this is just fiction.

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Aemond masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

Aemond needed to vent. He needed some time away from all the chaos that must have been in the Red Keep since he confessed to killing Lucerys. Some time away from all the chaos he caused.

He remembered everything quite accurately. How he arrived at the castle with wide eyes and his body drenched, entering his mother's chambers without even knocking on the door. Alicent had let out a loud scream at the sudden appearance and covered her slim body with the white bedsheets. Despite there being no one there with her, his mother's body was sweaty and her cheeks were flushed, as if she had cum just a few minutes ago. At first he ignored the strange sight and muttered, with his voice trembling and weak, that he had become a kinslayer.

He remembered explaining confusingly how he was trying to scare Lucerys and ended up losing control of Vhagar, causing the old dragon to chew every bit of his nephew, only some remains of his tiny dragon falling from the sky.

He remembered Alicent widening her eyes, still covering her small breasts and telling Aemond to wait for her outside the room.

As much as he wanted to leave the place and wait for her in the hallway like the good son he had always been, Aemond nodded and left. Not just her chambers, but also the castle. He looked for any clothing that did not look so expensive as to give away his noble origins, and wore it along with a dark suit. He passed by Ser Criston Cole on the way out of the Red Keep, ignoring the fact that the guard's armor was not orderly as usual, and said something about needing to get some air away from there. Aemond did not wait for a response from the older man, knowing that it was only a matter of a few minutes for Alicent to look for Criston and tell him what her beloved boy had done.

Aemond was lost. He knew that.

As soon as Aemond entered the brothel, he looked everywhere for Madam Sylvi, his sweaty and trembling hands searching for the only woman who could perhaps help him.

When he was chasing Aegon together with Ser Criston to take him by force to his own coronation, he did not expect to be reunited with the prostitute who had taken his virginity. Aemond had an excellent memory and remembered that night very well, every second of that embarrassing moment. If he tried harder, Aemond could even feel Madam Sylvi's full lips around his still developing cock, or the way she lifted his wine-flushed face to her large breasts. Aegon demanded that she not be too soft with his younger brother, saying that a thirteen years old should already be brave enough to handle a little sexual intensity. However, the woman respected Aemond's nervousness and guided him calmly.

That night had not been so bad at all, even if he had not wanted it. He never returned to any brothel, his mother's disgusted reaction to Aegon's impulsive and selfish decision and her plea to Aemond not indulge in such promiscuity made him give up on going there again. He should do as she asked, marry a pretty noble lady and be a loyal husband, be Aegon's opposite.

He did not want to hurt his mother's feelings, he did not want her to look at him with the same look of disgust she gave her eldest son. He wanted to keep making Alicent proud, being her beloved son.

But Aemond had already failed with her the moment he decided to act like a spiteful boy and chase Lucerys through the skies. Now that he was a Kinslayer, his mother would fear him. She would be ashamed of him. I would see him as a murderer, cursing their whole family forever.

And if Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

Perhaps Madam Sylvi could do that. When she spoke to Aemond when he and Ser Criston were looking for Aegon, she made it clear that he had grown up so well. She looked surprised, perhaps even horny.

Now, after six years without visiting the place, Aemond was there again. The place where he had promised his dear mother in the name of the Seven that he would never set foot again.

He needed to seek affection from Sylvi or another whore who would make him feel as loved as Alicent made him feel before he grew up. He needed to feel worthy and loved by a mother again.

That was a busy night at the brothel for you, too many clients for too few prostitutes to deal with them. Madam Sylvi warned the women that she would take a day off to rest, a privilege that only the oldest and most renowned courtesans were entitled to. Most of her favorite clients seemed angry about this fact, and even though you and the other girls explained the reasons as calmly as possible, no one cared about what you had to say.

Some people just rolled their eyes and walked away, others snorted and threw coins at you so you could do her job then, and some were even excited about fucking a different cunt.

It was not unknown to you why Sylvi had so many customers who frequented the place in search of her. She was very experienced, a beautiful older woman, with large hips and big breasts. She understood how to please men and even women, both sexually and emotionally.

"Where is Madam Sylvi?" A deep voice caught your attention from behind your shoulder, making you jump and widen your eyes, sighing embarrassed when you saw that it was just a customer.

"She is not here today, sir." You forced a smile, trying not to look too much at the eye patch the boy wore. It was strangely familiar and he had facial features that seemed more handsome than most of the men you served, even if he wore a hood that shadowed his details.

With a frown, the man clenched his jaw and muttered one more time. "I need her tonight. Right now."

You recognized almost all of Sylvi's frequent men, and that one was completely unknown to you. You bit your tongue to try not to question him about why he was so desperate to see the woman if he had never been there recently. However, you took a deep breath and forced another smile, your voice sweet and hiding your curiosity. "My apologies, sir, she is not here tonight. But you can look for another courtesan if you want to, we have many options." You reassured and tried to walk past him to go find another man or some woman who could pay you a few coins, before being stopped by the man's hand on your arm, keeping you close to him.

"Well, you are free to please me." It was not a question. He already knew you did not have any customers waiting. You stared at that violet eye for a few seconds, before swallowing hard, your throat hurting while you nodded, having no choice whatsoever. "Then get an empty, private room for us immediately."

You opened your mouth to explain that the isolated places required a greater amount of gold than the common services, but the man interrupted you, handing you a heavy bag full of coins that were almost slipping out of the opening. "I assume you will make it worth the price, woman."

The moment you and Aemond entered the isolated room, he watched you pulling the curtains until they closed, keeping the events that would follow there a secret from other people. Although you still did not realize who he really was, there was an expression on your face indicating that you were suspicious about something. Perhaps it was the money he was willing to spend without complaining during just one night with someone who was not even the courtesan he was looking for, perhaps it was the eye patch that left a little part of his scar exposed, perhaps it was the extremely pale skin...

It could be many things that were making you suspect there was something unusual happening.

When the other prostitutes finished pouring some wine into two glasses and warming the place with candles, Aemond finally cleared his throat, almost as if he were embarrassed or did not know what to do.

"How old are you?" He asked in a more vulnerable voice than he intended, cursing himself for it.

Your brow furrowed at the rude question. There were men who sought out younger and less experienced whores to satisfy some dark desires, but you doubted that was the case. "Twenty-nine, sir."

Aemond sighed and nodded, satisfied with the answer. You might not be as old as Madam Sylvi or Alicent herself, but you were a maturer age than his. It made him less tense. "Good... That is good." He muttered, his single eye directed to the ground when some thoughts shuffled through his mind. A part of Aemond hated himself for having listened to his mother's advice to never set foot in a brothel again. Now, he was ten and nine and barely knew how to talk to a whore, while Aegon must have already fucked even the one he was about to try something on. "Has King Aegon II already enjoyed your services?"

His words caught you off guard, making you fidget with some discomfort, sitting on the mattresses around the floor, your robe tied and expecting anything other than that. "I cannot expose any of my clients' secrets, much less our King."

Aemond hummed without surprise, already expecting an empty answer like that. He took off the hood that shadowed the most part of his face, revealing his long silver hair tied with a not very effective ponytail and the violet eye that shone much brighter now without the dark fabric that made you unable to noticed the true color.

You did not have to be so smart to know the man in front of you was a Targaryen. A Targaryen prince. Perhaps...

"Aemond." His name dripped from your lips like the sweetest honey. "Aemond Targaryen."

The prince maintained his look of neutrality and almost disdain, nodding and then shrugging. "Or Aemond One-Eye, like some people call me. Your King Aegon is my older brother." Due to your lack of response and your wide eyes, Aemond sighed. "And I asked you a question about my brother. Are you going to answer it or not, woman?"

"He... He never fucked me, Your Grace. During the few times I saw him around here, he was either too much drunk or already busy with another courtesan."

That was good. Someone untouchable by Aegon. Not like his mother, who had given birth to Aegon three years before him, contaminating her precious womb with that bitter soul she one day carried, swearing that her firstborn would become an ambitious and noble-hearted boy, worthy to sit in the Iron Throne.

You also would not be like Madam Sylvi, who had already slept with Aegon several times even before his brother forced him to wet his cock inside her during his thirteenth name day.

You were... Pure. Not for the eyes of the world, which saw you as a mere whore, a hole for fun. You were pure for Aemond's eyes. You were untouchable by Aegon's filthy hands. You could be like a mother to Aemond. Hold him like Alicent had held him when he was a child, you could let him fuck you like Madam Sylvi had done when he was just a little boy...

You could be whatever Aemond asked you to be. His whore for some minutes but his mother afterwards. It will be a way to distract himself from what he had done to his nephew. A way to justify his impulsive actions that were about to declare war.

Aemond thought to himself if he should let it all out and just leave later on. That was what he planned to do with Madam Sylvi, even though she was attractive and hot.

Gods, he should not even be there, with the curtains closed and an older but kind woman waiting for him sitting on the mattress, your robe tied carelessly so you could seduce the customers who saw the smooth and transparent silk cloth covering just a little of your beautiful body. He should be with his mother, asking for forgiveness due the war he would cause, begging for the kisses on the forehead that she used to give him when he was younger.

Aemond should just turn around and leave. Leave and wait for Sylvi the next night.

Or rather, he should leave that dirty place forever and go to the Septa to seek forgiveness for his terrible behavior and quick promiscuous solutions.

Of course Aemond should do anything like this. And yet he did not. There was something interesting about being there, analyzing you as if you were fresh meat. Analyzing every detail like he did when he was buying some wooden toys for his nephews Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

He was analyzing everything with precision, and was enjoying every bit of that vision. "Tell me your name." He crossed his arms, none of his clothes other than his hood were off his body.

You bit the lip before whispering your name and repeating it later, along with your last name. The prince nodded, humming the name on his mouth to test the sound. Enjoying the result, Aemond gestured to your robe and you immediately obeyed his nonverbal demand, untying the knot and letting the thin fabric fall around the mattress, your bright eyes lifting so you could see how the Targaryen prince was reacting.

With flushed cheeks and arms crossed again, Aemond walked a little closer to you, steady and slow steps until he was face to face with you. His index finger lifted your chin with a calm that was the opposite of everything you were used to in the brothel. You even believed that he could treat you really well, unlike other rude customers. But your hope disappeared the moment he grabbed your cheeks, his short nails digging into your skin and forming tears in the corners of your eyes.

"I need... I guess I need to take my emotions out on something. On Someone."

You did not dare blink, muttering an agreement and not resisting when the prince pushed you to lie down. His body was warm, unlike his hands that was cold from sweat. You remained in the position Aemond had placed you in, lying beneath him with your legs spread to let him take control if he wished.

Aemond's heart beat fast, knowing this would be the second time he was about to fuck a woman. The second time he was going against the Faith of the Seven, against his mother's requests. Hurting the feelings of the woman he loved most and probably amusing his older brother, who should have been laughing and drinking, finding it funny that Aemond had not only killed his own nephew due some petty revenge, but was also now enjoying the pleasures he had always despised.

"Do you need help, Your Grace?" You worked up the courage to ask the prince as you noticed how his fingers were a pathetic mess, unable to undo the ties on his own pants after he freed himself from the tunic.

Aemond wanted to tell you to fuck off. To tell you to be quiet and let him fuck your cunt until it is dripping with his seed. Until you are pregnant with a silver-haired bastard. He wanted to humiliate you like Aegon did to all whores.

But for the Seven Gods' sakes... He did not want to be like Aegon anymore.

"I do not know!" Aemond shouted, breaking the silence of the private room. He stopped trying to get rid of his clothes and turned his body to the other side. His heart felt like it was about to explode, his hands were trembling again and his legs were weak. Aemond's head ached like the Seven Hells and he had not drunk any drop of wine that the other courtesans had left there for the two of you. "Gods! I thought this would help me, but I can barely get my fucking cock out!"

Your body moved closer to his, pressing your face against Aemond's warm and bare back. His breathing became more erratic when you remained quiet, but brushed the tip of your nose against his skin as if you were a kitten.

Aemond opened his mouth to scold you for your childish action, and then closed it. There was something different about your silent actions. You did not judge him for being there, you did not mock him when he failed to drop his pants and fuck you fast like any man in their right minds would do. Aemond was far from a sane man and it did not take long for you to notice that.

Even though he was fully aware that you might change your mind about him when you learned the truth of what he had done to his own half-sister's son, Aemond let out a sigh of relief. Neither of you moved the bodies, feeling something good from that whole complex situation.

Then Aemond turned to you, his eye filled with tears that he cursed himself for letting escape. His palm went to your chin, holding it softer than he had done before. It was gentle and almost delicate now. Everything he liked to be for his mother. A good boy. A good son.

The prince looked down at your naked body, your breasts so inviting to him that he did not think twice and immediately touched them, squeezing the soft flesh with an inexperience that was cute to you. Aemond only felt the smoothness of a female chest three times during his entire life.

One of them was when he was just four years old and he was jealous of his mother breastfeeding his youngest brother Daeron after his birth. So he touched Alicent and asked for her milk too, which was denied and he spent hours crying until he got distracted by some wooden toy that which the maids brought at Alicent's request, to entertain the greedy little boy as quickly as they could. After that, Daeron began to be fed by a wet nurse and Aemond never noticed his mother's breast milk again.

The second time was when Helaena was pregnant with the twins Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Aemond was still an innocent twelve years old boy and was very curious seeing how the girl's breasts were suddenly bigger due to the breast milk. His youthful curiosity got the better of him and he took advantage of the fact that his older sister always let him sleep next to her when Aegon was busy fucking whores in the brothels. He snuggled into a hug with Helaena as she slept and pulled the neckline of her nightgown aside, playing with his thumbs on her nipples until they were leaking white and sweet drops.

Unfortunately for Aemond, Aegon arrived drunk just as he was sucking Helaena's nipples, being breastfed like a baby. Aegon laughed loud at the scene. Aemond's cute lips were so wet with his sister's milk and his face was reddish like a strawberry, body shaking as he explained himself in the least convincing way possible. But fortunately for Aemond, Helaena did not wake up and probably never found out about his immoral act. Or at least he preferred to believe that she never found out about that.

Despite having begged for forgiveness at the Septa so many times, Aemond was dragged against his own will by his older brother to a brothel to celebrate his thirteenth name day. He did not want none of that and he was angry with Aegon, but also scared of the whole situation that would develop, even if a part of him wondered if this was some divine punishment he deserved for taking advantage of his dear sister's innocence during her sleep.

The night of the loss of his virginity had been the third and until then the last time that Aemond touched any intimate part of a female body, his young and plump face buried in the middle of Madam Sylvi's large chest.

He had promised to the Gods that he would only do something like that again with his future wife. But here he was, thumbs rolling your hard beaks and making you gasp. Aemond may not have been sexually experienced like his brother Aegon, and not like his uncle Daemon or his sluttly half-sister Rhaenyra, but he was a quick learner with a good memory.

He remembered Madam Sylvi encouraging him to pay a special attention to her nipples using his mouth, and Aemond was eager to follow that old lesson. Wrapping one of your beaks with his lips, Aemond licked you like a hungry man, his tongue swirling around it and then nibbling.

Every muffled moan that left your lips was like music to the Prince's ears.

Once your breasts were completely soaked with Aemond's spit and red marks from the bites he gave you, Aemond smirked satisfied, the desperation that was taking over his mind disappearing and giving space to the lust building up inside his veins.

He spread your legs like he watched Aegon do with the maids when they were both younger, smirking at the view of your wet cunt, the pubic hair glistening with your own juices. "Fuck, you are really dripping. I thought you whores got paid to pretend, not to actually enjoy it."

You moaned at his mockery. In fact, you did not usually feel pleasure with your customers, even the most frequent ones who were not rough to you. They always focused on themselves, not really caring if what you were feeling was pleasurable or not.

But Aemond Targaryen was different. He was appreciating your body, hands on your breasts as if you were an anchor keeping him safe, face in front of your legs, excited to devour you and satisfy all his hunger.

Aemond Targaryen barely seemed to see you as a whore. He seemed to be seeing you as a woman he wanted to worship more than anything. Almost like a...

"Do you have children?"

The prince was full of random questions, and it was another one of the moments when he crossed an unusual line. Why the hells was this important? Was he some boring man who wanted to have sex just with not so experienced whores? Was he disgusted by pregnancies?

"I do. I have... two kids."

The words was almost impossible to hear. Anyone would tell you to repeat what you said. Anyone could be angry due the answer. Anyone but Aemond Targaryen. The prince's keen hearing caught your words perfectly, a smirk of relief and excitement pulling at his lips.

It was perfect. Almost too perfect to be true.

It did not matter where your children were now. It did not matter if they might be suffering from having a mother working in a brothel to be able to feed them with the bare minimum. All that mattered to Aemond at that moment was that you had two children. Just like Alicent had Aegon and Helaena before he was born.

He could pictured himself coming out of his mother's womb. She always said that Aemond was the most painful birth of all, as the boy came out of her womb with such eagerness that the midwives swore it almost caused a hemorrhage inside Alicent's cunt. While Aegon's birth had been traumatizing due to the fact that it was Alicent's first time going through that labor experience, Helaena's birth was soft. The little girl was born so silent that for a few seconds the Queen feared she had been born dead, but Helaena cried when Alicent began to sob, as if she was feeling her mother's emotional pain.

Aemond remembered how his mother described the birth of each of them, even Daeron, who was the fastest of all to be born. And one thing Aemond would never forget was how his mother described his birth.

Alicent said it was like giving birth to a dragon. She felt like she was being ripped from the inside out and for a moment she could swear that little Aemond enjoyed hearing her screams of pain while the midwives were desperate to help stop the bleeding. She said he stopped crying immediately, the sounds of her suffering calmed him.

If he came out of Alicent's body like a dragon whelp, then he would come into yours with all the Targaryen fire inside his veins too. The true perfect replacement for her mother could handle anything. Perhaps he could really trust you to vent and look for affection if you also saw him as your and Alicent's third children. The most devout and the most feared. He could be that for both of you.

Six years ago, Aemond had no awareness about how to please a woman. He was sure that Sylvi had pretended to cum so that he would not feel so humiliated, not that it mattered anyway, since Aemond had not lost his virginity by choice and Madam was already used to faking pleasure reactions for the vast majority of men who visited her brothel. However, there with you, after not knowing how to deal with the chaos tormenting his own mind, Aemond allowed himself to lower his head and get between your legs, rubbing his tongue on the swollen bud that he knew what it was based on what it was written in the forbidden books of the library in the castle.

At first, the movements of his tongue were disorganized and uncomfortable, and you tried to guide his head, but Aemond bit your thigh, drawing some blood from you and hearing you cry out. Aemond did not care about any of that, licking up the red drops that dripped down and going back to licking your clit, taking a little more care than before, understanding that he had done something wrong. He made his tongue less pointy and flattened it better, rubbing it against your cunt and giving gentle licks, eating out the juices that dripped from your wet hole and then moving it up to focus on your clit, trembling moans escaping you while you rolled the eyes at the sensation.

Your thighs trembled and your back arched upward, forcing Aemond to grip your legs to keep your body down, the wet sucking noises buzzing in his ear when you had the first release.

Aemond did not wait you to recover yourself from your high. He kept your legs open with one of his large hands, the other undoing the ties of his pants more quickly than during the first attempt, throwing them to the side and caressing his hard cock. You looked at his muscular torso and looked down at his long legs and the dark hair on his groin.

You did not even need to entertain him with false praises or get him drunk with the wine the other prostitutes prepared for the two of you. Aemond was ready for it and ignoring his own nervousness.

He spat into his palm, pressing his arousal one last time and finally slamming into you, the abrupt stretch hurting your cunt, lips parted and eyes widening when Aemond ignored your brief pain and started moving his hips, letting out low guttural growls at the feeling of your tight warm walls crushing him.

"Your Grace..." You moaned in a mix of pleasure and discomfort, the thrusts hitting the soft part of your cervix and making you see stars.

Aemond smirked at your incoherent moans, lowering himself until his face was close to yours, capturing your mouth in an aggressive kiss, uncoordinated tongues together, teeth practically devouring each other's lower lip. The exchange of saliva tasted like blood and your own cum.

He had not felt the sensation of being inside a woman in so many years that the pleasure was almost like losing his virginity for a second time. It was intense, strange and desperate. He needed more. He needed to fuck you deep inside, until you were like Alicent, carrying a part of him in your womb.

The faster he got closer to his orgasm, the more Aemond's low growls became whispers begging the Gods for forgiveness and also tearful moans calling you his mother. Prayers and cries coming from a filthy sinner in search of redemption, or from an innocent little boy who needed the love of the woman who gave birth to him.

With each violent thrust inside your tight and sore cunt, Aemond pictured a little silver-haired boy coming out of you after nine moons and destroying you just like he had done to Alicent during his own childbirth.

Now that the only woman who ever loved him with her entire body and soul saw him as a monster, Aemond wished that future routine nights with you in the brothel could fill the void inside his heart. However, deep down Aemond knew that no one could ever love him more than the woman who brought him into the world. For Aemond, failing Alicent was worse than failing the Gods. And there was no divine or maternal forgiveness for a murderer.

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42ap · 2 days ago

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Inspired by this scene from my Evil Twin AU novel:

‘As he climaxed, he pressed his face into the crook of Stan’s neck. Stan was warm. The room was quiet, safe, and a bit of light began to filter through the blinds, allowing Ford to see everything in Stan’s room more clearly. Strangely, he suddenly realized he hadn’t seen wooden planks like the ones making up the house in ages; most planets didn’t have tall trees. Earth should feel familiar, but it didn’t. He felt like a stranger here. Perhaps that’s why he had never actively tried to return all these years—there were some truths he also didn’t want to confront.

Stan's scent, after scraping away all the chemicals, hadn’t changed much over the years. If Ford closed his eyes, maybe he could still recall what home used to feel like.

Stan probably had no idea what Ford had left on his neck because Ford noticed the bathroom mirror Stan used was broken. Anyone living here who wanted to see what they looked like had to borrow a handheld mirror from Mabel. During the day, Stan would unknowingly walk around his little shop with the hickey half-covered by his shirt collar, telling tourists that they had to slice their hands and spill blood on the ground as a fun ritual before entering the shack. The only person who noticed was Wendy, who looked Ford up and down before disdainfully turning away. Not that Ford cared what she thought.’

#gravityfalls #artistsontumblr #gravityfallsfanart #fanart #digitalart #stanpines #fordpines #stancest #pinesbrothers #eviltwinau

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imawreck · 17 hours ago

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Darkness

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: You're left with flushed cheeks and a shared secret with the darkest part of Bucky Barnes... and you want more.

Author's Note: You guys fucking DEVOURED the last one so this is the sequel to the previous part, His. It makes more sense if you read the other first! If you like this content, drop a comment or an ask and I'll be sure to write more like it in the future! It gets a little feral and I won't apologize for it. Also, there is possibly a part three on the table if this ship sails like the last.

Warnings: Choking kink, metal arm kink, Cursing, mentions self loathing/guilt (it’s Bucky, kinda normal), Possessive!Winter Soldier, hair pulling, fingering, Dominant!Winter Soldier, hickeys, bruising, PnV, praise kink if you squint, licking, oral (fem receiving), knife play (?) and probably some more but those are the big ones.

Word Count: 6,899

It had been two days.

Two days since you’d tried and failed to lure the Winter Soldier into a cell. Two days since you’d felt his hands on your body.

Two days since he’d given you a taste of what you could have.

He’d left his mark on more than just your skin. Though bruises and love bites littered your neck, it was your mind that he’d left the most impact on.

There was hardly a moment you weren’t thinking about him, about Winter. About what would’ve happened if the agents hadn’t stormed the stairwell. If he’d been able to keep going.

And you wondered if you’d ever get another chance to see.

Bucky had recovered, his mind once more his own. You didn’t know if he remembered, or if he would say anything to you even if he did. It’d been radio silence from everyone in the tower other than Steve, who’d been checking in on you to make sure you were really alright. You were sure Thor would be here hounding you if he was on the planet too.

Apparently, the earpiece had fallen out a little after he’d cornered you. So Steve and whoever else that was watching over you didn’t hear much of the conversation you’d exchanged with the assassin. They’d had to rely on the cameras, which hadn’t been able to see you past the wall of a man caging you between his arms.

Which means none of them had seen what had happened, that this was something only you carried the knowledge of. A small part of you was relieved.

That still left one question unanswered: Did Bucky remember?

A sharp knock jolted you from your thoughts, dragging you back to the present.

Blowing out a breath, you got up and headed towards the door. “Steve, I told you I’m fine. I—“

But when you opened the door, it wasn’t Steve on the other side.

It was strange how different those blue eyes were when it was Bucky at the wheel instead of Winter. Lively, pooling with emotion where you’d seen cold calculation and unbridled lust just days before.

It was guilt swimming in those eyes now, red rimmed and bloodshot. His dark hair was disheveled like he’d been running his fingers through it all afternoon, and he wore a loose pair of sweats and a black long sleeve despite the summer heat.

He looked scared and out of place standing in the hall.

“I—uh, hey.” A poor attempted smile wobbled onto his face, and he brought his flesh hand up to run through his hair—a nervous habit he had when he was uncomfortable or anxious — just like you’d guessed. “Can we talk?”

You opened your mouth to answer him but no words left it. You could only stare up at him and nod, feet shuffling back to pull the door open further.

Bucky’s frame squeezed through the door and he padded further into your space with wandering eyes and furrowed brows.

It was impossible not to notice the changes you’d made in the last few months since your breakup. Bucky used to frequently stay with you, favoring your bright and comforting space over his own empty room. You liked your knick-knacks, and you were a sucker for creature comforts so you always had the softest blankets and the fluffiest pillows. And you’d always made sure Bucky had things he liked in your space.

You used to keep his favorite coffee stocked in the mini breakfast bar you’d made on a bar cart, and his favorite pillow and throw blanket was always neatly folded in the armchair by the window. You’d even set out copies of his favorite books in case he wanted to relax in your room instead of the commons area or his own space.

But now it was gone. The little pieces of him you’d made room for were removed along with the photos that used to line your walls and bookcase. Save for the one, of course.

And it stung to see the reality of what he’d done, the choice he’d made now reflected in the absence of everything he’d built with you.

He pried his eyes away from the empty shelves of your bookcase and glanced back at you, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I… Steve said that I went after you when I got back.”

His statement hung in the air for a few seconds, silence crowding you both and making him tense his shoulders the longer it remained.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I can’t imagine how awful that was for you. I-I never wanted you to see me like that. That- He’s not me, okay? God, I’m so sorry.” His fingers scraped over his scalp as he clenched his teeth, turning away and pacing a few steps.

Bucky couldn’t look at you, not after what he’d done. What he’d forced you to witness. He’d never wanted you to see him like that. It was one of his worst nightmares when you had been dating, and now it was a brutal reality.

“Bucky,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Did I hurt you? Did… did I do something to you?”

It struck you then that he didn’t remember what he’d done. What Winter had done. And your room was too dark at the moment to see what remained painted on your skin from the encounter.

You were both relieved, and utterly frustrated. Now what do you do? ‘Oh yeah, Bucky! I let you finger me with your metal arm in a stairwell for shits and giggles while you were all killer mode. No biggie.’ And then what, ask for him to do it again?

Yeah, definitely not.

“You didn’t hurt me, Bucky.” Your legs moved on their own accord, drawn forward by his obvious distress and the instinctual need to sooth his worries. “I’m fine, really.”

Bucky finally turned to face you, his eyes filled with sorrow. He chewed his cheek, his eyes searching your face for any hint of a lie. “I can't remember what happened, there's just glimpses.” His voice lowered, softened by the weight of his words and the fear woven in his tone. “But I can feel him. Stronger than before. Something’s different this time.”

You stilled at that, eyes glued to the side of his face.

“I can feel what he felt. I-it's like he’s just behind a curtain.” His right arm came up, his index finger tapping his temple, “Waiting.”

The haunted look in his eyes twisted a knife of guilt in your gut. You didn’t want him to feel guilty for what had happened, but it was unfortunately normal for Bucky. You understood it, respected his boundaries and his need to do anything he could to keep you safe. But you wanted exactly what he was keeping from you.

You wanted it so badly.

Could you tell him? Could you confide in him this secret you’d kept from lovers in the past? Something so twisted that you’d only shared it with someone equally as sadistic as you were flawed? Bucky was so much more important to you than any of them had been. You… you felt deeply for him. And it was obvious that the unknown was weighing on him heavily.

One more look at his shattered expression gave you your answer.

With a frustrated huff, you reached for his hand. You tugged it from where it’d curled itself into his hair again, and led him to the edge of your bed. “Bucky,” you started, keeping your voice as gentle as you could. “I need to tell you something. It’s going to be hard to understand, and you’ll probably think very differently of me, but I think it might lessen the burden I can see you’re putting on yourself.”

Bucky’s eyes fixed on you. Those brows furrowed over confused and tortured eyes, but it was obvious that he would listen.

You bit your lip, beginning to sweat as the nerves rattled through you. “First of all, I… I haven’t told anyone this. It’s not something I’m proud of, but rather something that just is. And it didn’t start with you. I mean—,” you let out a sound of frustration, “Fuck, I mean I didn’t date you because of it. It just sort of grew more complicated as we got closer.”

Those brows furrowed more and twisted his face into more concern than anything.

You kept going. “When you came after me, I was scared. Of course I would be.” You winced at the hurt that flashed in his eyes, but continued on, “But I also… I liked it.”

A shaky, bitter laugh left you. “I liked the chase. I liked it when he cornered me against the wall, when he—,” you paused, a feeling akin to resignation and begrudging acceptance settling into your bones. Your eyes found his metal hand, gazing at the light bouncing off the silver metal. “When he choked me with that hand.”

You buried your face in your palms, tears of shame threatening to leak from your eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt me, Bucky. He just brought to light these things I thought I’d kept from you.”

With another breath, one that felt like needles sinking into your lungs, you went on. “He made me feel good, Buck, in all the ways I’d always hoped you would someday. I feel like the worst person in the world for thinking that, for feeling the way I do, but I can’t help it.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Shame was writhing in your stomach and threatening to consume you. Tears pricked your eyes and wet your palms that still remained pressed to your face.

Bucky didn’t say a word, and you just let the silence thicken the air. You’d already said everything there was to say.

Your sin was bared for his judgment. “I get that you don’t want to be with me anymore—“

“That’s a lie.”

Your head snapped up at that, teary eyes wide as you took in his surprised expression. An expression you watched morph into confusion, and then something else. Realization, maybe.

Bucky went on, “I never wanted to stop being with you, Y/N.”

A piece of you settled deep in your soul at that confession, and you leaned in to listen. Every word from his lips an answer to the question haunting your every thought for the past three months.

“On that mission, we came across intel that there might be a mole in the tower and that they were going to try and trigger the Winter Soldier. I… I was scared, Y/N.” Grief washed over his face as he folded his hands together, knuckles turning white. “I was so scared that you’d see me like that and be afraid of me. I was terrified of hurting you, of— of killing you, that I had to make it look like you didn’t matter to me. I had to make it real, so that whoever saw you and I would think you didn’t matter and leave you alone. I was trying to make you less of a target.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his confession, at the thought that these past two months of utter disaster had been the result of Bucky trying to protect you from himself.

“You could’ve talked to me,” you muttered, sniffing and wiping your face in a poor attempt to rid it of the mascara you knew had run. “You could’ve told me what was going on.”

Bucky’s head shook, “There wasn’t time. You have to understand.”

You nodded, even if you didn’t truly understand. The guilt and remorse on his face told you he was on the edge of crumbling, and if agreeing with him kept him from breaking, you’d give it to him.

Another long silence blanketed the two of you. You watched his face, his eyes, as his mind mulled over the information you had exchanged with him.

Those blue eyes found your’s after a while, something steely in them that wasn’t there before. “Friday?”

The AI of Stark Tower answered politely, “Yes, Mr. Barnes?”

“Initiate Soldier Protocol in Y/N’s room and cut camera feed. Don’t alert anyone.”

Soldier Protocol.

Your eyes widened, and a chill ran over your skin. Soldier Protocol was something Bucky had come up with when you’d first started dating. It was a safety protocol installed into yours and his own room to ensure that if the Winter Soldier was triggered, it would keep whoever was in the room safe, or keep whoever was trying to get inside from entering. It was a double edged sword, really, because if you were trapped in the room with him, then you couldn’t get out. Bucky had made sure to teach you some basic self defense moves on the very slim chance that would ever happen and had shown you ways that you could use to evade and make an escape to the bathroom if needed. Even though you’d thought of all the holes in the protocol, you couldn’t bear to voice them if it helped ease Bucky’s nerves knowing that if something were to happen, that you’d have an extra wall to keep him from getting to you.

“Confirm Command; Soldier Protocol, Miss Y/N?”

You hesitated, voice wavering just the slightest as you whispered, “Are you sure?”

Bucky nodded slowly, giving you the confidence you needed to answer the AI.

“Confirm Soldier Protocol, Friday. No alerts or cameras.”

The calming voice answered once more. “Command Confirmed. Soldier Protocol initiated.”

Your eyes followed the windows as metal safety doors shut out the dim light of the day. One after another they locked out the outside world and left the two of you inside the confines of your bedroom.

You and Bucky, and your confessions.

“He wants out, Y/N.” It was barely a whisper, but the low timbre of Bucky’s voice reverberated in your bones. “He wants you.”

There was concern laced in his words, but there was also more. So much more that you knew you’d have to talk about later. You’d have time to unpack all of this, what it means for the two of you, later. Right now?

Right now you needed Winter as desperately as you needed air.

“What… How can I help you, Bucky?” Your hands shook at the thought of Winter's return. Of what it would bring.

Bucky pulled his lip between his teeth, his hands running through his hair before twisting themselves in his lap. His eyes were wide, as if he didn’t quite believe he would say the words spilling from his own mouth. “I want you to trigger the Winter Soldier. Feeling him there— it’s driving me mad. An-and now that we know he won’t hurt you and that you… you want him—.”

You reached for his hand, concerned that if he kept squeezing them as tight as he was that he’d break bone. “Bucky, it’s okay.” You tilted your head, smiling softly at him, “Take a breath. There’s a few things I want to set straight before we jump into this.”

His voice lowered, “Okay.”

Bucky was obviously torn up over this whole thing. And as excited as you were to repeat what went on in that stairwell, this was someone you cared about for more than just sex.

This was Bucky.

This was the man who’d apologized with the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever laid eyes on the day after your first encounter with Winter. The same man who’d apologized for months after with cute little notes and trinkets he knew you loved and still kept in that shoebox under your bed. The exact same man you’d opened your heart to one Saturday night over a tub of butterscotch ice cream and the third playthrough of your favorite movie. He didn’t complain that you’d watched it back to back either.

This was the man you’d fallen in love with in just a few short months.

The realization settled into your heart, and that warm tingly feeling swept over you as you tightened your hold on his flesh hand and reached for his metal one too.

Bucky hesitated, jerking it away for a moment before allowing you to tug it into your lap. “Buck,” you started, thumbs swiping over his hands in slow calming paths. “It isn’t just the Winter Soldier I like about you. You know that, right? Because if you don’t, I’ve failed as your lover. And as your friend.”

Those blue eyes darted between your own, searching there like a man searching for salvation. You gave his hands another squeeze, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I… I love you, Bucky. You. I think I’ve known for a while now. I was just too scared to admit it out loud. I haven’t had the best run with guys in the past, and you’re so good that I was afraid I’d ruin you somehow.”

Your eyes fell to your joined hands, and this time he was the one to squeeze back.

“I know it’s kind of shitty timing, but I need you to understand that I’m not with you for any other reason other than the simple fact that I adore you, Bucky Barnes. Everything about you.” You shook your head, frowning. “I meant it when I told you I wasn’t with you just because of Winter. I’ve always had this attraction to… well, you know. Dating you just made it more difficult to hide when you were obviously so uncomfortable with it. I didn’t want to make things hard for you. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“Doll,” he mumbled, the name drawing your eyes to him. You’d always loved it when he called you that. “Say it again.”

You frowned, confused for a moment, before a small smile drew itself onto your face. “I love you, Bucky.”

A choked sound fell from his lips before his arms circled around your waist and pulled you into his lap, his face inches from yours. “Again. Say it again,” he begged, his breath fanned over your face as his fingers fisted the back of your shirt. “Please, doll, say it again.”

You folded your legs around his hips, threading your fingers into his hair and peppering kisses on his face. “I love you.”

“Me?” It was the most broken sound you’d ever heard.

You grabbed his face, tilting it up to look at you and tried your best to pour every ounce of love into your expression. “You, James. I love you. I’ll say it a billion times if I have to until I get it through that ridiculously handsome head of yours.”

He laughed at that, broken as it sounded. “I love you too, Y/N. God, I fucking love you.”

Soft lips crashed into yours, dancing a familiar dance as his flesh hand slipped under your shirt and glided up your spine. Your breath caught as the cool sensation of his metal fingers followed after it, his arm wrapping around your back. You smiled against his lips, leaning into him more.

You nearly pouted when he pulled away.

“Y/N,” those eyes, less uncertain and more determined now, swept over your face. “I want you to trigger him.”

You frowned, “But Bucky, you—.”

“I need this.” His voice was surprisingly steady, “I need to do this otherwise it’ll drive me mad. Feeling him there— Jesus, it’s like someone’s scraping a knife against my skull.”

Metal fingers drew circles against your back, “Are you okay with… with seeing him again? I’m not confident enough to do what he did yet. I need more time to come to terms with the damage this hand has done.” He pulled the appendage away, looking it over before his eyes found you again. “But I… I can tell he won’t hurt you. I can feel it,” he pulled his flesh hand away and pressed it over his heart. “Right here.”

He laughed, almost incredulously. “Even the Winter Soldier has fallen in love with you.”

All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. He wanted you to trigger the Winter Soldier. He said that he loved you, and that Winter did too.

It would really fucking suck if you were dreaming.

“I don’t know your words,” you mumbled, suddenly shy in the light of his proclamation.

This time, the smile he gave was one that reminded you of those old photos from the 40s you’d seen in the history museum. The one where the left side crooks up a bit more than the right. He didn’t release you, but instead wrapped his left arm around your hips and leaned back to rifle through the top drawer of your nightstand for the notepad you always left in there.

He pulled it back to himself and released you only long enough to scribble down a few words and tear off the page. “You’ll have to memorize them. I don’t want them to leave this room.”

You nodded, because of course he wouldn’t and you’d rather swallow hot coals than ever betray him. Your eyes scanned the page a dozen times when he handed it to you, lips moving in silence as you played with the foreign vowels.

All the while those strong hands of his trailed along your back and hips, sometimes exploring your upper thigh.

It made your mind foggy, and you had to keep yourself from squinting to focus.

After you’d finally memorized them, you remove yourself from Bucky’s lap and padded over to your bookcase. You snagged the candle lighter from a shelf, and then removed the bag from your trash bin. It took a few tries, but once the lighter ignited, you let the flames eat away at the page before dropping it into the bin and watching until it was nothing but ash at the bottom.

You could hear a breath of relief leave the soldier from where he remained seated at the edge of your bed. He looked somewhat relaxed, but a tension still ran along his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You returned to the bed, smiling a bit as his arms wrapped around the back of your thighs.

Bucky hummed, low and steady. “M’sure, Doll.” He leaned his head against your stomach, and your hands found his hair on instinct.

He hummed again at the touch, and his arms tightened around your legs before he lifted you. Bucky turned quickly, one knee coming up onto the bed before he laid you down with a thump on the mattress.

You smiled, laughing a little as you bounced from the sudden drop. Bucky grinned back, his eyes shining. “Missed you, you know. I’m sorry for not telling you.” He leaned over you, hands planting on either side of your head. Nothing but honesty shined in those blue eyes as he looked down at you. “I’m sorry for wasting three months, and I promise I won’t do that again.”

Butterflies stirred in your belly, and you could feel the flush of heat on your neck as you leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips, “Better not.”

Before you could think much of it, Bucky reached over and flicked the lamp on. You were too busy feeling fuzzy inside that you’d forgotten the very prominent marks littering the delicate flesh of your neck.

Marks that would always make Bucky drown in guilt.

“Fuck, doll.”

He stared at your neck, horror painting his face in the lamplight. His body lifted until he was sitting on his knees over you, hands resting on his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them as he took in the damage he’d left.

This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. “Hey, no—,” you gripped the front of his shirt, the sudden motion catching him off guard as you pulled yourself up to his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes. You would’ve liked to yank him back over you, but you lacked the ability to battle his serum-enhanced strength. Sitting up did just fine.

“You don’t get to feel guilty for this. Not now, and not anytime after this if you… if we’re serious about doing this.” You stared him down, unwilling to allow him even a glance away. “I told you, I liked it. I told you that it didn’t hurt. You need to trust me as much as I trust you in this. That’s the only way this,” you motioned between you both, “is going to work.” You lowered your voice, nearly mumbling the last part. “I can’t take another step back, Buck. Not after three months, and definitely not after that.”

Bucky’s eyes danced between yours for a few moments. They darted down to your marred skin and back again several times before he blew out a breath and nodded reluctantly.

Your shoulders eased too.

“Now come back here and kiss me, soldier. Your girl’s in need.” You smiled, quirking a playful brow in an attempt to draw him back in.

It worked. That smile pulled at his lips, small at first but quickly blooming as you began peppering his jaw with kisses.

The kisses started gentle and exploring, and the touches soft and sweet. You hadn’t felt his skin against yours for three long months, save for two days ago, and you’d missed everything that made him Bucky.

You’d missed how the stubble of his chin brushed your cheeks when you kissed, and how he held your face like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. Delicate and worthy of worship.

You’d missed him so much it hurt.

“Bucky,” you panted, tugging his shirt as you kissed him. “I love you.”

A deep, rumbling groan left him, and his tongue swept across your bottom lip. “I love you, Y/N. So damn much.”

His flesh hand cupped the back of your neck and guided your head to the side so he could place the tenderest kisses over each hickey Winter had left. “He’s a brute,” Bucky mumbled against the column of your throat, stealing your breath. “If he hurts you–.”

“He won’t, James.” You pressed your forehead to his shoulder, biting your lip as his flesh hand trailed all the way from your neck to the base of your spine. “I know it.”

You only got a hum in response before his lips crashed into yours again. Bucky’s hands were everywhere, confident and warm on one side and tentative and gentle with the other, much colder one. The contrast sent delicious tingles along your skin wherever he touched and only served to heighten your anticipation.

This was the first time Bucky himself had allowed so much of a brush of his metal arm against you, let alone tender touch.

His palms mapped every dip and crest of your body, his touch growing more needy with each sweep of his skin against yours. His tongue slid over your lips again, a silent request that you were all too happy to accept.

You couldn’t help the satisfied sound that escaped you as the taste of him swept over you, familiar and strong. Things only hastened from there. It was like a switch had flipped and he couldn’t bear not to have his hands on you.

He kissed you hard, chasing you with lips and tongue like a man starved. The feather light touches of his hands turned more firm as he held your hips and pulled you closer. Bucky’s chest heaved, his breaths fanning over you between kisses in hot puffs.

You could tell he was still holding back. That he needed this as much as the burning need in your core told you that you did. “Bucky,” the sound was practically a whine, “Please.”

His fingers curled against your hips, “Fuck. Okay, okay.” Wet kisses were trailed down your neck as his hands slipped beneath your shirt to sweep calloused thumbs over your aching nipples. “Say them, doll. Say the words.”

You deserved a fucking gold metal for succeeding to pull your mind out of the fog he’d clouded your brain with. It always happened with him. Your mind just short circuited every time he cast you a heated glance, and this? Well, it was a miracle you could remember your own name.

You opened your mouth, the words you’d memorized tumbling out one after another.

“Longing.” Bucky grunted, but didn’t stop in his ministrations as you spoke the next.

“Rusted.” Another grunt, and a tremor through his shoulders, but his lips never left your skin. In fact, it just seemed to spur him further as his hands tugged your shirt down to reveal the delicate skin of your breasts.

“Furn-,” you gasped as his lips locked onto a nipple, tongue teasing expertly over the nub. “Furnace.”

The hum he released sent skittering tingles across your body in the most delicious way.

“Finish, baby.”

Fucking hell. What was the next word?

“Daybreak,” his hands lowered to your ass and held it firmly against him as he licked and sucked the sensitive skin of your breasts, never missing a beat. “Seventeen.”

Those devilish hands dragged lower, fingers trailing along the seam of your panties through your leggings and along the underside of your thighs where they met the curve of your ass. Inches from where you needed him most.

You could barely suck in a breath, utterly overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth on your skin and those hands mapping your body in agonizingly slow strokes that sent waves of need straight to your core. “Benign,” his body arched over yours, easing you into the mattress, “Nine.”

Another shudder this time, and you could see the ripple of muscle beneath that tight black shirt. God did you want it off of him.

“Homecoming.”

A groan, and a shake of his head. It was the first indicator that he was uncomfortable.

You hesitated at the pained sound, but you didn’t have time to ask a thing though. Not when his head snapped up and those wide, wild blue eyes found yours. “Don’t stop,” he panted, cheeks flushed.

So you didn’t.

“One.”

Wet lips trailed kisses down the exposed skin of your stomach, the tips of his dark hair trailing down as he kissed past your naval and kept going. Lower, lower, lower…

“Freight Car.” The words sounded strangled in your throat through your labored breathing.

The kisses stopped abruptly, and Bucky’s body went stock still.

You weren’t even sure he was breathing until the even rush of an exhale swept against your stomach.

And then he chuckled.

It wasn’t the kind you’d normally hear from Bucky. It wasn’t filled with joy, or playfulness. This one sounded depraved and downright corrupt.

The hairs on your neck raised, and that sharp bite of panic jolted through you as you stared down at his large frame hovering over you. You couldn’t see his face from this angle, and the lack of any hint of what was going through his head only heightened the tension building in your body.

“Told you, didn’t I?” His voice was a rumble in the silence, and you gasped when his tongue swept a path up the center of your belly. “You fucking need me.”

Cold fingers hooked the waistband of your leggings and shucked them off in one quick motion, the cool air assaulting your exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. You simply stared up at him and tried to remember to breathe beneath the weight of his eyes on your body.

Those cold, lust-lidded eyes.

“Winter,” you breathed, a thrum of excitement mingling with the nerves tingling under your skin. The ache you felt was at the forefront of your mind. Bucky’s gentle touches had served to stir the need that was already brewing.

Now, Winter has come to finish the job.

He smiled, slow and sultry. “Needy little thing, aren't you, Dollface?”

You bit your lip as heat crept up your neck.

Winter’s body rose to his knees, his hands curling around your thighs in a bruising grip and lifting them over his shoulders. You yelped, but it didn’t stop him. Those thick corded forearms locked your legs in place over his shoulders, his face centimeters from your core and the stubble of his jaw tickling your thighs.

You were almost certain you'd soaked through the thin pair of panties you wore.

His hands dragged up your thighs, fingers slipping beneath the fabric at your hips as he held your eyes.

And then he ripped them at the seams. The puny fabric fell to the mattress in tatters, and all you could do was gawk at him.

“Don’t wear those when you’re with me.” Winter ordered against your thigh, his tongue swiping a path up the inner stripe of skin.

The action sent another wave of want through you, the anticipation of what he was going to do serving to build your nerves higher and higher.

He drew you closer by your hips, humming against your skin. The sweep of hot air over you was a welcome sensation and you arched into it. Your heart pounded, and the angle in which your body was held, your head still resting against the mattress along with your shoulders, made it hard to think.

Winter stopped just short of brushing his lips over your sensitive clit. You could’ve cried right then and there. Blinking up at him, you caught the wicked grin plastered on his face.

The soldier above you looked downright god-like bathed in the dim light of the room. His eyes gleamed, and that silver arm danced with every move he made. Every devious stroke of cool fingers against your body.

You knew this exact image would be carved into your mind for the rest of your life.

“Beg for it,” he ordered, his grip turning nearly bruising. “Tell me how badly you want it.” His lips brushed your core, just a whisper of scruff on your sensitive skin.

You squirmed in response, chasing the feeling. Normally, you would rather die than beg a man for anything. But Winter? He had a special way of breaking you down. “Please, Winter, please. I-I want you. I want you to–.”

He didn’t even let you finish before his tongue delved into your core.

You felt every sweep, every brush of that expert muscle laving over you. Desperate, needy sounds were echoing through your room, and a part of you knew they were yours. That they were spilling from your parted lips in broken sentences begging him for more. You were too focused on where his tongue toyed with you to care about anything else, though. Every pass of his tongue on your clit, or a sweep against your clenching walls made it harder and harder to ground yourself.

You were crawling closer and closer to the edge.

Your fingers were curled into the bedspread, and your hips ground into his face and bucked against the solid grip of his arms over your thighs. Winter groaned into your heat, the rumbling vibrations pushing you closer to euphoria.

Dazed, you tried to focus on his face, tried to make out his features in your love-drunk state.

Winter's eyes were closed, and his face never came up once for air. Not even when you could feel his chest shuttering, and those muffled grunts became more frequent.

And God did they feel good.

Your chest heaved, your legs trying and failing to move an inch against his iron grip. As those vibrating groans shoved you over the edge with a cry.

Your brain couldn’t focus, not with all the blood rushing through your head and the thundering sound of your own heart in your ears, or the blissful sensation of release crashing over you in waves.

“So dirty, Dollface. Letting me ruin you like this.” Winter eased his grip on your shaky legs, his hands dragging up your thighs to grip your hips. “Letting me brand you, taste you…” He licked his lips, tasting you on his stubbled face. His body leaned forward, your legs parting around his hips as he planted a burning kiss to your lips, “Fucking perfect.”

You panted, blinking to focus on his words as you came back to yourself.

Winter was lifting himself off of you, his eyes raking over your disheveled form as he slipped off the bed and stood to his full height. Those blue eyes held nothing but burning desire, muscles flexing as he yanked off his shirt and rewarded you with the view of his sweat slicked torso.

The sight was erotic. His hair damp with sweat, and his face glossy with the remnants of your release, chest heaving as he sucked in much needed air.

Winter reached forward, his cool fingers wrapping around your ankle and tugging you towards the edge of the bed with a wicked grin. “Gonna make you come again, Dollface. Need to hear those pretty sounds you make.” His flesh hand grabbed your calf, pulling you closer. “Wanna hear my name on your lips again, and again, and again.”

His metal fingers gripped your thigh hard enough to leave bruises, but that didn’t bother you. You loved the reminders that littered your skin from the last time Winter branded you with his affections, and you relished each one that would follow.

With a quick, strong motion, he flipped you on your stomach. Your chest bounced against the bedsheets, the friction against your pebbled nipples sent a jolt of pleasure down to your toes making you moan into the comforter as he brought your hips up and adjusted your knees against the bed.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He panted, pressing himself against your ass.

You could feel him through the sweats still hanging from his hips. The length of him pressed firmly against you, brushing your sensitive core and making you groan again. You wanted to feel him, needed to know what it was like to be with Winter the same way you craved intimacy with his counterpart.

“Please,” You begged.

With a grunt, the sweats were yanked down and he thrust harshly, seating himself completely in one swift motion.

His moan rumbles through you, setting your nerves alight. “Oh god…”

And then he starts moving.

One stark difference between James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier, was that one was gentle and kind, and everything you’d want in the man you’d take home to meet your parents. And the other? The other was the kind of man that would carve his name into your skin with a smile and defile you in unspeakable ways, rough and raw.

Winter snapped his hips at a breakneck pace, pulling out only to plunge back in with a force that made you see stars. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, clinging to the sheets as he drove you into the mattress. His cock hit all the right places, those quick, constant motions driving you closer and closer to another release. His grunts and puffs of breath only added momentum.

Tears pricked your eyes, your heart hammering and your skin on fire as pleasure coursed through you, building higher and higher.

A cold palm slipped along your belly, snaking its way between your breasts and firmly wrapping around your neck, squeezing those delicate pressure points that made your head spin. He lifted you from the mattress, his pace halting almost completely as your back met his heaving chest.

Winter’s raw voice met your ears as you whimpered at the loss of friction, teetering on the edge of sanity as your core wept for attention. “Gonna cum if I keep that up, Dollface.” His voice is choppy, puffs of air hitting the side of your neck as he talks. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

His dick pushes in again, dragging slowly along your walls as he groans in your ear, your own voice joining him in a broken harmony. “‘M gonna need this every time. Need to feel your tight cunt, hear your pretty cries…” His tongue darted out to slide over your cheek, swiping up a tear that had fallen from your damp lashes, “Taste you every. Single. Time.”

Those hips snapped back into their brutal pace, slamming against your ass as he clutched your frail neck in his metal hand, the other coming up to grip your hair and tug your head back as he sucked more love bites along your neck.

You moan, tears of pleasure falling from your lashes as you near the edge. Winter’s grunts and shaky breath vaguely registering that he’s nearly there himself.

He sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, the combination of pain and utter pleasure shoving you over the precipice as you open your mouth in a scream. That metal hand snakes up to stifle it as his hips jerk a few more agonizing thrusts before shuddering with his strangled moan.

You’re left limp and breathless, utterly spent and draped over his arm with your head lolling against his strong and heaving shoulder.

Winter slips from you, repositioning you on the bed like an offering on an unholy altar. With his hair plastered against his forehead, those dark strands utterly soaked with sweat, he smiles down at you.

“Again.”

Tags<3

@mrsnikstan / @sunnyhummingbee / @millercontracting / @veysxrge / @almosttoopizza / @tiredsleepyandreading / @lauratang / @buckyssugarchick / @tranquilty / @8crazy-freak8 @thatonewriterchick / @kennysbadkitten / @black-cat-2 / @urbanleftovers / @hellsenthero / @knowingnothingnoel / @appeys-world / @bubblegumbeautyqueen / @rianxx / @ponyosmom35 / @atomicwinter2213 / @ariana-l / @savannahrilee-blog

#sequel #fanfic #smut #winter soldier #marvel #bucky barnes #drama #the avengers #x reader #x yn #mcu

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ledesaid · 1 day ago

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Moments before 8 am

►►►►►►►►

"I am not going to school."

"Excuse me, what?" That's enough for Guy to turn down the TV volume.

Billy is sitting in front of Guy, who doesn't look very happy, and the reason is not that big of a deal, or so Billy thinks.

"Kid, all children have to go to school, otherwise the whole point of skipping a day or two is lost."

Billy's expression triggers a staring contest that leads the older one to look for something in his closet.

The staring contest resumes when the Lantern crosses his arms while holding a somewhat folded backpack in one hand, obviously attesting to having accompanied Guy at some stage of his life.

It was already a Monday and it wouldn't be long before the school buses picked up the children from the street.

"Come on, Cap, it'll be just one day and you can wear the clothes I bought last time."

Guy had taken him out, amid shouts and explosions from the watchtower; after the mutiny to steal part of the buffet, hiding in his modest apartment in Baltimore was the best option.

He shared it with Billy, as it should be, and now Monday had come to bring up that issue.

Courtesy of his nosy neighbor. Who didn't take long to make Guy understand that she was five seconds away from a call to social services if he didn't send his kid to school, because she didn't want him to be a delinquent like Guy. Obviously, she didn't know that he had a college degree and was a former police officer.

And although Guy had every intention in the world of making those couple of points clear to the annoying woman, it would be an unequal fight and he didn't play dirty. How difficult it is to have codes these days.

"I'm not going."

True. Billy. Only recently did he learn of his super-steroidal superpowers. The kid was doing a good job, he was eleven years old and that left him at least six years of his life managing on his own.

"Help me, Cap, that woman is going to bring trouble to both of us."

He admired him, he had grown up quite well despite his unfortunate circumstances. He didn't want a father or anything that defined itself as such, but he was open to looking for companions and friends.

If he understood correctly, this kid had been out of school for four years and that put him at a huge disadvantage with the other kids his age.

The process would be tedious and long, but Guy had a couple of teacher friends who could help him without asking too many questions.

He hoped the kid wouldn't ask about the strange sandwich he was preparing for lunch.

The clock ticks on and no progress. Time for bribery.

"Did you know I was a cop, Billy?"

"Is that a threat, Guy?"

Bad move.

"It's more of a... I can ask a friend to take you in a police patrol."

Billy smiles.

"Not bad at all. Actually, that sounds awesome! My friend Freddy would be jealous if I sent him a photo."

It would be a one-time noisy event. Billy thinks that. He could do something like that and then disappear as if nothing had happened. But one thing was missing for it to be memorable.

"Only if you include a pair of police sunglasses."

"Deal."

"But only for today."

"I have no problem with that, I’ll use the morning to move, and you'll be free to walk among pubescent youths like the demigod you are."

Guy hoped the day would be good enough for Billy to go back to school the next day. But if not... he had more cop friends in other states to try again.

#fanfic #ao3 #cómics de dc #dc comics #billy batson #shazam #capitan marvel #billy needs friends #capitain marvel #guy gardner #father guy gardner #green lantern #dc captain marvel #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics #captain marvel

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scariusaquarius · 1 day ago

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rehab. 4.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: This chapter is going to contain some very dark and graphic scenes. Please read carefully. We're finally going to get a look into the Winter Soldier's head!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3

The second that she had awakened from cryostasis, the soldier observed immediately that something was amiss. Muffled voices slowly started to become clear the more conscious she became, seeming to be arguing with one another until the soldier was finally able to move.

For a moment, it had been jarring. The scents, the environment, the stale air...something was different. Unlike the hustle and bustle of that laboratory that the soldier was used to, there was unnerving silence that accompanied the two unknown men.

The Enforcers, her Handler, the nervous scientists, and HYDRA militia-alike were absent. There was nobody there to frantically make sure that her awakening was going well; no Handler nor Enforcer to make sure that the Winter Soldier was compliant.

No, there were only these two strange men that she knew immediately weren't with HYDRA.

Alert: Facility compromised. Protect HYDRA associates. Retreat to Gutzkow.

The words had rang heavy within her mind, but despite the need to carry out the sub-orders, her body took a moment to actually move. During this time, the soldier was aware that the two men were observing her; quiet and cautious and nervous. Her mind scrambled for a slight second as she recognized the Fist of HYDRA, glitching as if her brain was a computer, and she attempted to gather her thoughts together.

Her foot moved with the intention of engaging to protect the associates of HYDRA that were still in the building, but the weakness that came with being thawed from cryostasis left her unable to withstand her own weight.

Weak. Unacceptable. Лох.

There was a pain within her mind despite there being no known injury, and when the blonde man caught her and helped her to sit down, a voice within her mind began to whisper like a long-lost friend that she hated with every fiber of her being.

Orders received: Retrieve Fist of HYDRA. Lethal force authorized. Deliver to Gutzkow and Report to Rollins. Heil HYDRA.

Before she had been put into cryostasis, the soldier recalled being given these final orders. She was not allowed to remember anything aside from the orders she received, but despite the fact that remembering meant punishment, her mind forced her to envision the last few moments before she was put under.

Her Handler's face was stoic despite the disgusted look within his eyes as the pod door descended; that familiar freezing cold feeling beginning to crawl up her legs as the man stood outside of the door. His mouth moved to deliver his orders; the volume of his voice reverbing around within her mind like an amplifier in a cathedral; penetrating through her entire psyche as her body began to freeze.

We will be waiting, Soldat.

The only thing that broke the soldier out of her mind from the memory of receiving her orders was the Fist of HYDRA speaking to her; attempting to give her orders that he was not authorized to give. Despite the desire to resist, she could not go against her true orders.

Disobedience will not be tolerated.

She was huddled into a corner of a cold room; the concrete walls seeming to close in around her as the Handler struck her with his belt over-and-over, angry and red within his face as he shouted profanities and insults at her. She could feel the need to scream, the pain of the sharpened studs cutting into her naked body becoming unbearable, but the soldier could not scream.

She would not speak unless given permission.

"You think you are allowed to look upon me, soldier? Your gaze disgusts me. You are worthless. You are nothing. You are vile; defective. Abonimation! Show me, soldier, show me how disgusting you are and spread your legs."

In the corner of her eye, the soldier could see the Fist of HYDRA grabbing the black book from her pod, and she could not keep her shoulders from squaring in anticipation. She had waited for him to say the words, to activate her and force her to follow new orders as everyone before him had done, but it was not needed.

HYDRA's programming ensured her compliance even without verbal instruction.

дничный день.

The Handler was holding the book with a bored expression upon his brow despite the horrific screams coming from the soldier's mouth, slowly pacing in front of her as the nodules of the Mind Chair released from her head; her body forcefully taking in gulps of air as the pain swept through her skull; a dizzy feeling fogging her mind.

Крест. Разбить. Стимуляция.

The pain was ebbing away, her mind slowly becoming blank as the words seemingly echoed all around the room, her Handler staring down at her from above his nose; the only familiar thing being the look of delightful disgust he wore when around her.

Честность. Спорт. Ось.

It was hurting. The memories were hurting. She didn't want to remember this. She didn't want to hear these words. The soldier knew that being here was wrong, but the confusion tickled at her as her body complied against her will. Being in this moment was wrong, but no matter what she did to fight back to grasp that familiarity, HYDRA would always be one step ahead.

Resistance is futile. You serve no purpose other than to carry out your duty to HYDRA.

Предположение. Север.

It was starting to blank; her mind becoming nothing more than mush for her Handler to play around with as he waited to say the last word with morbid amusement at the look of fear and pain that was crossing her face.

She could not function unless given orders. She would not move. She would not breathe. She would not see nor hear unless given permission.

Her body trembled, shaking as her lungs began to burn slightly; gaps of time beginning to formulate as the soldier became faint until suddenly, everything washed away and became clear again.

Северное сияние.

Like clockwork, her body became relaxed as the familiar feeling of hollow loyalty and a need to please filled her. She was ready to comply and carry out her mission.

Retrieve Fist of HYDRA. Lethal force authorized. Deliver to Gutzkow. Report to Rollins.

She had been aware of the Fist of HYDRA ordering her to follow, and her body moved obediently, following him to the quinjet with the blonde man and waiting; waiting for the opportunity to carry out her mission.

Despite the urgency to fulfill her duty and report back to her Handler, there was a feeling that poked at the outlying tresses of her mind; foreign and confusing that the soldier desperately grasped onto.

She almost felt nervous, even when she was told to sit and she complied without question.

Flaw detected. Reprogramming required.

Report to Rollins.

When the two men had been distracted, she had taken that moment to silently stand and slip the knife within her boot out. However, despite the stealthy steps and silent breaths she took, the true Winter Soldier would always be better.

Her mind had focused on the fight; focusing on ensuring her Handler's satisfaction, but she didn't anticipate the skill and strength that came with the blonde man. He was obviously enhanced, and his shield was familiar to her though she could not place it. However, any attempt to remember was shattered when her knee exploded with pain, and she crumpled.

Failure is not an option. You will succeed.

Every hit, every punch, every kick was brutal; the soldier unable to contain her frustration and desperation to win, and when the Fist of HYDRA had punched her hard within her stomach, she could not help but to retch loudly.

"Despicable! What good is a soldier that can't even withstand pain?!"

Her moment of weakness allowed the Fist to get the jump on her, and all of this had led up to her being imprisoned and compromised. Her Handler would be furious to hear that she had failed.

You will do what it takes. No matter the cost.

Secured to the nines, she was not able to resist. The soldier was malfunctioning, unable to move and comply, and she could hear within her mind over and over.

Flaws Detected. Reprogramming required. Flaws detected. Reprogramming required. Flaws detected. Reprogramming required.

But these scientists were not authorized to reprogram her. These people that were beginning to unwrap syringes and fill them with a clear liquid weren't HYDRA. They weren't allowed to touch her like this.

You will do what it takes. No matter the cost.

The second the syringe had touched her skin, the soldier tried to fight the best she could. Her legs were too anchored, arms and wrists strapped too tight, and the only thing the soldier could do was to yell and scream in frustration and fear. She was failing. She was failing and malfunctioning and it was her fault.

It was her fault. She was a disgrace. An abomination with the audacity to fail.

How pathetic.

A stick, a poke, and a burning sensation, and her eyelids were fluttering. The soldier was compromised. She needed to move. She needed to get out of here and complete her mission.

Error: unable to comply. Flaws detected. Reprogramming required.

For a moment, things were blank and quiet and dark. She could not hear, she could not see, she could not smell, she could not feel, and she could not move. All that she could comprehend was an endless darkness until there was an image beginning to form before her.

The environment began to change, morphing from darkness into a brightly-lit lab that the soldier recognized; a morbid comfort coming across her as she sat within the Mind Chair. Her Handler was standing before her, saying monotonously.

"You are another head of HYDRA. You serve no purpose other than HYDRA. You will be complacent or face consequences. Disobedience will not be tolerated. Will you comply?"

Though she tried to speak and answer, it was as though there was something covering her mouth. The soldier could not answer, and the Handler's face darkened with anger, fear coursing through her as he stepped closer; throwing the book down.

"Will you comply, солдат?"

Once again, the soldier desperately tried to speak, but there was no mouth to speak from. There was no point in trying now, however, she could see it within her Handler's eyes. He was already past the point of forgiveness, and when he snatched a cattle prod from the table beside him, the soldier began to tremble.

The pain was real to her. The pain of the electric shocks and trying to scream from a mouth that did not exist were horrifying to her as her Handler shocked her and grabbed her by the back of her neck; dirtied nails digging into skin so deep that the soldier related it to the feeling of being stabbed.

The concrete was harsh against her skull, disorientation skewing her vision, and a kick to her stomach made her roll over onto her back; the fluorescent lights above her blinding her blurring vision. Tears filled her eyes, and she panicked, attempting to fight back blindly as her Handler laughed at her.

"Oh, so the scum thinks she can fight? Как вы смеете верить что у вас есть свобода не подчиняться!"

Her movements were sluggish due to the electricity that ran through her; her Handler's boots and hands unforgiving as he beat her. Over and over, he stomped on her body and limbs; uncalculated and random. The heel of his boot connected with her hand, crushing her fingers, and she was beginning to sob.

"Disobedience will not be tolerated."

His tone was angry, hissing at her as he kicked her in the face, and when she closed her eyes, the scene disappeared. The soldier immediately became aware that this was a dream.

No, not a dream...a memory. She was remembering.

Remembering means punishment. Remembering means there is a flaw within her design. Remembering means she must report to her Handler for reprogramming. Remembering...remembering...

Flaws detected. Reprogramming required. Reboot suggested.

There was a flash within her mind, a face of a woman, and the soldier tilted her head slightly as she looked at the stranger. The stranger tilted her head as well, and the soldier narrowed her eyes. The stranger copied her, and there was a feeling of unfamiliar dread filling the soldier.

The soldier lifted her scarred hand to the stranger, and the movement was mirrored. It was like the soldier was touching glass, and with a startled realization, she realized that this was glass.

A mirror. The stranger in the mirror was her.

(E/c) eyes that were wide with horror stared back at the soldier, her unmarred mouth gaping with surprise, and the soldier realized that she was wearing a lab coat. There was an emblem embroidered upon her left breast, the words slightly blurry, and she was wearing a nametag as well.

(Y/n).

Was that her name? Was that her name before she became a head of HYDRA? Was it true that she had existed before her time as солдат?

Error: system malfunction. Reboot required.

She was falling. Falling down into the void, and though she wanted to scream, the soldier's mouth stayed closed.

She was not allowed to speak unless given permission.

No matter the cost.

Succeed. Succeed.

...

......

succeed what?

STORY NOTES: The soldier awakens from cryostasis with the knowledge that something is not right. Her Handler and the personnel of HYDRA are missing. The soldier is aware of the pre-existing orders that she received before cryostasis, and begins to carry out her mission.

The soldier then experiences a malfunction and begins to reflect on memories of her Handler when she remembers that inability to complete her orders results in undesirable outcomes for her. She is struck by a memory of when she had attempted to resist her duties, and was met with harsh punishments; her memory alluding to her Handler sexually assaulting her for her resistance.

Despite the soldier experiencing malfunctions within her programming, her desire to please her Handler and to report back to HYDRA enables her to carry out her mission. She reflects further on how the fight between the Fist of HYDRA and the unknown man went, of her failure, and she becomes scared of the realization that she had failed her mission and had become compromised.

Although she tries to fight against the scientists within the unknown lab, she is sedated and falls to sleep. It then that she begins to dream, a memory of a time she had disobeyed her Handler coming to her mind, and she realizes that she is dreaming when the memory fades.

She then is standing before a woman she has never seen before, the woman copying her movements and expressions, and the soldier is startled to realize that the woman she is looking at is her. She discovers the woman has a name, but before she can think more, HYDRA's programming kicks in again, and she is forced deeper into sleep. End Scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Праздничный день. Крест. Разбить. Стимуляция. Честность. Спорт. Ось. Предположение. Север. Северное сияние. - Holiday. Cross. Shatter. Stimulation. Integrity. Sport. Axis. Assumption. North. Aurora Borealis.

Лох - Stupid/Sucker

солдат - soldier

Как вы смеете верить, что у вас есть свобода не подчиняться - How dare you [to] believe you have the freedom to disobey

TAGLIST: @mgchaser @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @aash3

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america

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divinebeautyrevealed2 · 1 day ago

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Top Five Models: Bio for Veronika Zemanova.

"I was born in a small city in the Bohemian region of the Czech Republic on the 14th of April, 1975. My childhood in The Czech Republic was a lot different than it would have been either in another time (for instance now, after the fall of Communism) or another place (like in the West). Although it was different, it was still wonderful, as all childhoods should be. My parents were great and I had a lot of good friends. At an early age I became very interested in biology and the visual arts. I dreamed then of becoming a biologist. In 1989, I entered my first year of gymnasium (or high school, as Americans call it). This happened to be the year that everything changed for everyone, not only in the Czech Republic, but in all of what used to be the Eastern Bloc. The first years of the new system were particularly difficult years for just about everyone. It was during this time that many beautiful Czech girls left for the West, looking for opportunities to make more money than they had a chance to earn in the Czech Republic. I was, of course, too young to leave, so I stayed and finished gymnasium."

"After gymnasium, I spent three years at a photography school. To make for money for school (which was expensive) and living expenses, I did a whole bunch of different things: I was a bartender, a saleswoman for such things as wallpaper and photographic equipment, and I started my own photo studio. The studio was just beginning to be successful when someone stole all of the very expensive equipment, some of which I had not even paid for yet. At this point I was forced to return to working for other people (I much prefer working for myself). I bought a large make-up kit and began working as an assistant to photographers and make-up artists. It was very difficult work and did not always pay that well, but I enjoyed myself and learned a lot that is useful to this day. One day, I had a big job scheduled for the next day and was preparing for it when I realized that someone had stolen my entire make-up kit! I went to the photographer in tears of frustration to tell him that I could not do the work. He suggested that I work the event as a model instead. Thus began the wonderful modeling career of Veronika Zemanova!"

"I was very surprised to find that after that first modeling job (which I hadn't believed I was pretty enough for) I was being offered all kinds of other modeling jobs all over the world. Initially all I wanted to do was to make enough money to pay off all of the equipment that had been stolen, but soon I had made enough to not only pay that back, but had enough to start an entirely new and better studio. I was working at the studio as a photographer, agent, and make-up artist while also doing modeling work for others. Soon however, the modeling became too time consuming for me to put in the necessary hours at the studio, and so I sold the studio. These first years of modeling were not easy! Remember, at first I did not speak any English at all! Being in new countries alone, finding myself in strange and even risky situations, and so forth. However, I don't want to sound as though it was only bad or difficult; I was able to travel extensively, it was exciting work, I learned English (finally!), and made many beautiful photos of which I am still proud. And good money!"

"After I had been modeling for a while, I decided to start a web-site with an Italian photographer. The idea to do this came about after seeing so many photos of myself on the web. Eventually however, I decided to disassociate myself from the site, and am no longer connected to it in any way."

"I created my own web-site and it was very successful. I believe this will be the best site of its kind and that I will really enjoy the chance to not only model, but photograph, act as an agent, and maybe even do make-up! I hope you enjoy it as much as I will enjoy creating it!"

"I always wanted keep my private life totally unknown to the public. That is what all the glamour models do. But I have decided to break the rule to reveal that I was married on November 12, 2003, in a ceremony performed on the beach of the island of Mauritius. I did it because I am in love. I have also decided to quit my glamour-modeling career. I had a choice between a career or a good relationship. I have chosen to make the man I love feeling happy and comfortable with me. This is why I have chosen to stop modeling. Do you think this is risky? But that's what love is about. You need to take risks. Please do not be sad for it and wish me luck."

Veronika's modeling career which began in ernest in 1997 would end after a 12 year run in 2009. Those years would furnish us with well over 30000 photographs and videos which will forever immortalize the beauty which was/is Veronika for this generation and those to come. Her very last professionally taken photo was shot by Scotty JX at her Ibiza property on Sept. 28, 2009.

Even the photographers who worked with Veronika were awe struck by her beauty as a few of them recount below:

Early on Veronika went to Italy and worked with such greats as Roberto Rocchi and Alberto Magliozzi. Roberto Rocchi even went on to quote in his book "Forme e Percorsi Del Corpo" that Veronika was "a wonder of nature".

J.Stephen Hicks went on to write in his Hall of Fame post about his experience with Veronika:

"Veronica Zemanova was (and is) truly one of a kind. And I was the first American photographer to shoot her. Someone from Prague (can you believe I don't remember who) sent me photos of her and I (we) immediately made it our mission to contact her, fly her to the U.S. and shoot her. We agreed by e-mail to do several days of work in our studio in L.A. and then fly her to Mexico for additional scenes. Upon arriving at LAX, Veronica was shy and honestly a bit untrusting. She'd just turned nineteen at the time and was green in every way. Veronica grew up in a little Czech town called Ceske Budejovice and her beginnings were poor and without stability. One thing was for sure, Veronica had no idea how truly beautiful she was."

"We spent the first days shooting her giving her complete direction. Seriously, dictating every move of her body from head to toe, including expressions. It was a bit like working with a perfect doll that we were animating. And honestly at that point in her evolution, not really trusting us and not really knowing her beauty and being such a newbie model, I think she wasn't having a great time. Despite knowing she was gonna get a bunch of money her modeling personality was kind of benign to be honest. She wasn't mean or bitchy, just kinda stuck in neutral. Funny thing was though, it didn't even matter. 'Cause Veronica was flat out GORGEOUS or would the word be SUBLIME or RAVISHING?"

"Lets just say she was simply STUNNING, BREATHTAKING, and MIND BLOWING"

“We shot her a ton on her first trip to the U.S. and we also took her to Mexico for some unforgettable images. She came back and shot with us several times after her first journey. The last time we shot her she was a few years older, had new boobs (crazy huh?) but best of all she'd met her husband, a man she said loved her more for who she was than what she looked like. And Veronica was beaming, warm and happy. And we were happy for her."

"There will never be another Veronica I'm certain. She was one of kind that will never be reproduced unless computer generated. I consider us oh so lucky to have experienced shooting her at the very best time in her career. Her images of beauty will live on forever".

#veronika zemanova #veronica zemanova

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concretejunglefm · 23 hours ago

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Poltergeists: Chapter 15.

you and me against the word, you were my man and i your girl. we had nothing except each other, you were my whole world.

Summary: It's been a year since your best friend Noah went missing, two years since you moved into the house you abandoned after he went missing from it during the night. This is a recount of events leading up to and what happened after the night he went missing and all of the strange events that occurred during your time living in that house.

Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 6, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 9, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Bonus Chapter, Chapter 14, Bonus Chapter

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader, possibly more BO members.

CW: Missing person, elements of supernatural horror, mentions of blood and possibly violence, unreliable narrator. will update as it goes on. Heavy trigger warning for mentions of alcohol use, ptsd and panic attacks. This chapter contains mentions of physical self harm and medicating with alcohol and pills. Please take care of yourself.

WC: 1.7k.

AN: This series will be told throughout a variety of flashbacks and present day, all which will be marked.

Divider: Silent-stories.

Tagged: @enemiestolovershoe, @fadingangelwisp, @littlepeachwhispers, @concreteangel92, @deathblacksmoke, @1toreyouapart, @lacy1986, @chaoticwineaunt, @ichoosetenderomens, @baddestomens, @blade-dressed-in-red, @halfalgorithmhafdeity, @geminigirlfromfinland, @fuck1ng-queen, @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard (if anyone else wishes to be tagged lmk)

FLASHBACK

1 DAY SINCE NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE.

Nicholas stayed.

You didn't ask him to, but when you woke up you found him slumped at the other end of the couch, a blanket pulled loosely over him and the remainder of it draped over you.

You're careful not to wake him as you move off the couch, pulling your phone out from your pocket to see it's still early.

6:34am the time on your phone reads.

You don't know how you've only slept for a few hours when you felt exhausted last night and can still feel the tension of it now throughout your body, but instead of retreating for more sleep, you head towards the front door and slip out before Nicholas can wake and see you've disappeared.

Detective Green is in the same coffee shop as you. It's quiet in there this time of the morning and as soon as you enter, you catch his eye.

"Well good morning m—"

"I really have no interest in entertaining any more of your theories, detective." You interrupt him and the word detective is said with a bite.

Yesterday had been ruthless enough with his relentless questioning and to see him today, when you were still fresh in your turmoil, was enough for you to lose any offer of pleasantries.

"That was a little rude, don't you think?"

You glare at him in response as you wait for your order. You don't have the energy for him, not right now.

"It's lucky that I bumped into you, actually." He pauses but you don't bite. "I had some more questions to ask you about the other night. We can do it here if you like."

You continue to ignore him and from the corner of your eye, you catch his gaze firmly on you.

"Or we can do it down at the station." He follows up his offer with a sip from his coffee cup, as though he's giving you anything of a fair choice.

The questions Detective Green had for you were the same as before, only this time they'd been for clarification purposes.

By the time he was satisfied and you left the coffee shop it was past 9am. The rest of the town had woken and everyone's lives carried on the same, except for yours.

Nicholas had text and tried to call, multiple times and they all went unanswered. As you climb into your car, instead of driving back in the direction of home, you start your route around town.

Despite the previous night's events still fresh in your mind, the vivid memory of Noah being dragged away from you and calling out for help, coming back in flashes, you were convinced that you could somehow find him out here.

If you explored every inch of this town, returning to all his favorite spots, you might find him nestled away somewhere and he wouldn't be gone, he wouldn't have been taken from you.

You see him in almost every face you pass, until you do a double take and realize it's not him. You find yourself driving in circles, the mixtape he made you back in high school playing on repeat from the cd player on your dash.

At one point it was the soundtrack of your life which became the one that underlined the romance that had always been there. Only now it became the one of your mourning, but how were you to mourn someone you didn't believe to be dead?

It was when you reached the edge of town you finally came to a stop, pulling up into the roadside and climbing out the car.

The road stretches past the city limits line but you don't go any further, stopping before you fall to your knees against the dirt and the gravel as you let out a shrill cry.

It's loud and haunting. It's everything you've been bottling up for the last 24 hours. The pain, the grief, the fear. It comes falling out in a shrill banshee cry, your body shaking as the tears start to fall again.

He's gone.

Every part of you doesn't want to believe it, but you can feel it in your bones, he's not here. No matter how much you hold on, and wish, and pray; nothing is bringing him back.

7 DAYS SINCE NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE.

It's been a week and you haven't moved off the couch.

You haven't showered. You’ve barely eaten. You just about move to go to the bathroom but then you return to the pit you've made for yourself, one which consists of a rotation of Noah's hoodies that still smell like him, using it to blanket yourself and your grief.

If it wasn't for Nicholas you wouldn't eat at all. He can't be with you every moment of every day, but he tries his best. He comes over, he cooks for you, or brings you food and he cleans up the growing mess you leave behind.

You've turned to bottles to numb the pain. The remainder of cheap wine which sat in your fridge and cupboard has been polished off. You use it to sleep when you're not medicating yourself with something else.

In the bathroom cabinet you found some old anxiety meds you stopped taking after they made you feel too drowsy to function. In this case you were perfect because to be awake meant roaming the house like a ghost and crying over Noah.

At least if you were asleep you could convince yourself you were away from this nightmare.

15 DAYS SINCE NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE.

The days are blending into one.

When you're not recovering from sleeping the day away with an alcohol or medicated fueled slumber, you're spending your days recounting the events with Detective Green.

"If you could just walk me through what happened again?"

"Is this really necessary?" Nicholas asks. He took the day off to be here, to be with you. He's become a round the clock babysitter, almost. It's like he's afraid to leave you alone.

Maybe deep down you like that because you're scared at the idea of being left alone too.

"It's fine." You assure Nick, unsteady on your feet as you climb the stairs and talk Kit through the same sequence of events you have been ever since it happened.

You don't miss the remarks he makes about you still remaining in the same home where something tragic happened, but you've lost the strength to snipe back. You allow for every verbal jab to strike you because maybe this is what you deserve.

The guilt you've been harboring continues to fester and grow, consuming you as it gnaws away and eventually you snap.

28 DAYS SINCE NOAH'S DISAPPEARANCE.

It's almost a month before everything spirals out of your control. You held on for that long, allowing yourself to bury everything you knew to be true, even going as far as gaslighting yourself into believing your own lies.

Now you can feel it. It's slowly beginning to crumble away, the cracks showing on you in the way they do within this house, spreading further, showing the rot that's hidden beneath.

There's a rot inside this house, one which tethers itself to you and even without Noah here, without him being tainted by you, you can still feel it.

It's an infestation which needs to be removed. You know now what you need to do; you need to cut it out.

The faint sound of a key in the lock alerts you to the direction of the front door, where you see Nicholas stepping inside. He starts to call out for you and pauses the moment his eyes settle on you in the kitchen. "Bub— what the fuck?"

You're sitting on the floor, your arms outstretched with blood trickling from wounds you made along each forearm. "I'm sorry." Your voice is soft and tired as he rushes over to you.

You hear the thud from the bag of shopping he'd brought in as it falls to the floor and the minute he's in front of you he's assessing your wounds, pulling off his hoodie to wrap your arms and suppress anymore bleeding.

You hadn't cut deep, just deep enough to release the rot you always felt spreading beneath your skin. You weren't intending to harm yourself either, not to a severe extent.

"I'm sorry." You repeat yourself and he shakes his head dismissing your futile attempt to apologize.

"Come on now, it's okay. We'll get you patched up and you'll be okay."

You shake your head and when he finally looks at you, you know that he sees the redness and puffiness of your eyes from when you had been crying hours prior to this.

"I'm sorry, it's all my fault." You keep repeating yourself, your words barely making sense as you continue, ignoring Nick's own attempts to calm you.

"Hey no, it's not."

"It is. It is."

Finally you snap and your eyes lock onto him as your confession comes spilling out. "I was there Nick. I was there."

"What do you mean you were there? Where?" You can see it on his face, the way his brow furrows as he attempts to put together the puzzle pieces of your broken confession.

"Noah. I was with Noah that night. We... I was in the room with him when it happened. It's all my fault." You start shaking, your eyes closing as the tears push to fall once again.

You feel no movement come from Nicholas, but he doesn't let go of your wounded arms either. You can only assume he's taking in the weight of your words and you fall forward to rest your head against his chest, your own heaving as you let out another choked sob.

You'd held onto the truth for a month. You had been there in the room when it happened. You had been the one fighting to pull him back.

You had been the one who witnessed the creature crawl out from the depths of the house and threaten to take him from you several times prior.

Worst of all, when asked by the creature who should go, you told it to take him.

#poltergeists fic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo x reader #concretejunglefm fics #Spotify

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alternate-universe-archivist · 1 day ago

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Fae AU where Viktor is a fairy (with butterfly🦋 wings of course) and Jayce is obsessed with proving the Fae are real.

//conceptual, hurt, happy ending 1k words

Some believe in the supernatural and some don’t but most neighbours agree that young Talis has always been unhealthily obsessed with what they call the Fae, especially fairies.

Claiming he was once rescued by one in the forest on a cold winter night when he was lost, Jayce spends hours of his time trying to find that magic again. He has been called crazy and worse, even the best willing people told him that such efforts come at too great a cost, for even if they were real, the Fae keep themselves hidden from humanity.

Jayce doesn’t know though, that there is indeed one fairy that is just as intrigued by other spieces as him. Viktor remains small and invisible, hiding himself behind the books in Jayce’s room, beneath unworn clothes and fabric or the plants he tenders to. For the Fae must never expose themselves.

As years pass Jayce grows curious and desperate enough to try even more unsafe methods of establishing communication with the Fae. Viktor stresses each time another dangerous ritual is done, for the human seems to underestimate the danger some of the Folk pose—not all are gentle. For that very reason Viktor steals the cookies and milk Jayce leaves at his doorstep, takes the seeds left at the fairy altar, rings the carefully strung up bells, dusts the precious crystals, all so no entity more malicious can accept the gifts.

Jayce’s believes grow stronger each time milk is missing, the flowers bloom overnight, when he hears music coming from the windows, when he finds shimmering dust on his pillow. People only call him more and more insane.

Viktor feels a little guilty, would he have listened to his fairy mentor Heimerdinger had he never gotten himself in this predicament. But he can’t just leave him be now. Jayce is only attempting more dangerous rituals, his room ever more fanatic but cozier, the tea he brews smelling so divine. Sometimes he considers revealing himself—against all what he’s taught before. It could bring devastation to those he belongs to…

One day, on a particularly cold autumn morning, Viktor wakes on top of a messy shelf in Jayce’s room. Strangely, the bed below is empty. Delicate wings flutter through the house. No one seems to be around.

Viktor panics when he sees the latest research laying on the table. The notes mention fairy rings: mushrooms growing in circles that lead to the fairy realm. They’re made to lure in children, not adults, and not all fairy families are kind to visitors.

Viktor scouts the forest, trying his best to fly as fast as possible even with one disabled wing. Eventually he finds Jayce only a few seconds away from stepping into a huge fairy circle.

“Please let me interrupt!” tiny Viktor yells while dashing in front of Jayce. Before he can stop and think he has already exposed himself.

Jayce seems to be frozen in place, either by fear or amazement.

“Please go back,” Viktor urges him. “This isn’t safe.” Jayce’s eyes follow him as he flies closer—trying to push him farther away. It’s pointless.

“I knew you were real,” Jayce finally speaks. There’s tears in his eyes. “I knew it.”

“Yes,” Viktor admits. “But you still need to go back. And don’t ever try to contact us again.”

Viktor goes invisible once again. He feels terrible about it, but it’s for the best.

Months pass. Jayce’s experimental rituals have stopped. There’s only one ritual he follows now.

Even when no one’s around he talks, praying that who he saw in the forest that day is listening. All he wants is to see them again.

No one answers.

Jayce went back to the fairy ring of course. Only it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, he couldn’t find one in the whole of the forest.

“Don’t you talk because I’m not a child anymore?” Jayce asks. “Can’t we see each other because I’m human or do you not want to be seen?” he can only ever ask one-sided questions. “Do you dislike humans for what we do to nature?“ His shares everything that comes to mind: his feelings, his thoughts, hopes, dreams, childhood memories.

Jayce tries his best to draw the face and wings he saw that day. He can never get it quite right.

One night Jayce falls asleep crying under the sounds of calm rain. He has never felt more alone. All he has is short memories. Years of research all for a single moment that will never be repeated again.

When he wakes it feels like he’s still dreaming: there’s colorful dust laying right beside him.

Things slowly go back to how it was before. Milk and cookies start to go missing, music plays, sometimes he spots a flicker, and now he even finds notes scattered around the house.

“I can show myself, but do you promise not to tell anyone?” one such notes asks one day.

“I promise,” Jayce swears. “Please. I just want to see you again.”

One morning Jayce wakes not only to dust or flickering light or music, but a small creature sitting on his desk.

He has never been so happy before. They talk for hours, asking each other so many questions, Viktor gets to sit in Jayce’s warm palm, Jayce finally learns Viktor’s name.

Apparently fairies age much differently than humans. Humans age faster, for one.

In an effort to be together forever they do one more ritual. Jayce loses the mobility in his legs, but he gains one of Viktor’s wings.

Finally they can go wherever they want together.

…Heimerdinger is a little upset when he finds out but eventually forgives them.

#jayvik #viktor arcane #jayce talis #viktor #fic #au #fairy #alternate universe

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sturniololuv08 · 14 hours ago

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TreeHouse Chapter 5

"We are not family."

Summary: Chris' first day in public school.

"First-day jitters are real, and they're not exactly butterflies, more like a swarm of angry bees."

⚠️This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.⚠️

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

Chris' POV:

It was my first day of school. I had a fresh cut on my arm because Matthew came home upset after the game. Nick held me down, and Matt relieved his anger issues. It wasn't as bad as other times, only because our mom came in and reminded him I was going to be around other people today. She didn't care about me. I was wearing my long-sleeved shirt to cover the fresh wounds and jeans to hide the old burn marks. I had my book bag, and I felt more nervous than anything. Matt and Nick have already left. I had to take the bus, which wasn't bad. The bus was going to be time away from all of them. I was slowly walking to the bus stop with my hoodie over my face. Nick hit me in the mouth and split my lip last night when I squirmed from the pain. I tried my best to clean it up and make it not noticeable, but some things just were no matter what I did. I saw a group of kids ahead of me at the bus stop, so I waited, unsure of how to join the group without questions. None of them have ever seen me before. I spent years in my room chained to the wall with nothing but a shred of hope.

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" A guy asked his girl friend.

"Because I don't want to talk about it without Julia." The bus pulled up, saving her from the conversation for just a moment. I started walking to file in at the back of the line of students.

"Never seen you before." The driver said as I stepped up the stairs. I slowly lifted my head to look at him, not sure what kind of response he was looking for.

"I'm new." I whispered. I didn't want to say the wrong thing. I shuffled my feet down the skinny aisle slowly.

"Take a seat." The attention directed at me started pounding my heart. I looked up to see what seats were open. I locked eyes with a girl with brown doe eyes in the back of the bus. She was the girl who didn't want to talk to her friend at the stop. She stood up fast upon seeing me. I looked back into her eyes, trying to understand why she was standing. She was beautiful. "Please take a seat!" The driver yelled a little harsher. She sat down with her mouth slightly agape. I sat randomly beside some strange kid and kept my head down. As the bus pulled into the parking lot drop-off, I started to regret being excited about school. I flowed off with the kids and went to hide in a corner away from everyone until the first bell rang. I wasn't sure how anything truly worked for public schools. I was bound to mess up, and one mess-up was all it took.

I looked around and saw Matt and Nick talking and laughing. I felt a tingly sensation in my gut. Matt caught me looking his way and glared at me. I quickly looked in the opposite direction and saw the girl from the bus with her friend and another girl. The two were laughing, but she wasn't. She was staring off into space. She snapped out of it because the bell rang in everyone's ears. I had to stop off at the office to get my schedule. Luckily, no one in the office questioned why I didn't start school with Nick and Matt. They just handed me a few used books and a schedule. I stared at it, trying to figure out how to read it. I desperately wanted to ask them for help or directions, but the lump in my throat burned my words before they could surface. I started walking down the halls aimlessly.

"Need help?" I turned around to see the girl's friend. He was tall and sporty.

"Yeah." I hesitantly handed him my schedule, and he peered over it.

"Ah." He boomed. I jumped and gripped my books tighter. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. You have the first period here. And then after you'll go back this way and head to the first door on the left. There." He pointed around the hallway we were standing in.

"Thanks." I snatched my papers back and started in the direction of my first class. I slid in just in time for the bell to go off.

"Late. No hoods in class. Sit." I avoided eye contact with the teacher as I followed every direction. I could feel them looking at me harder. "Christopher, right?" They moved to be standing in front of my chosen desk. I slowly lifted my head. "Nice to have you in class." They said softer than their initial tone. I jumped back into my seat when she moved her hand in front of me. She eyed me. "What can anyone tell me about The French Revolution." She continued waltzing around students. I was just pleased I didn't have this class with Nick or Matt. I listened and tried to understand every date, name, and piece of information being said, but the truth was that none of this made sense.

I didn't learn much growing up. In the basement, I was allowed to watch a few movies and read books, even though I wasn't sure how to read some of them. I tried my best to learn what I could from Matt and Nick whenever they were around me. It was always hard because they were never hanging out with me or being nice to me. They played with me, but never in a childish manner. The bell rang, and I dropped my book. "Try to relax." The teacher picked up the book for me. "I know it's your first day, but it'll get better." She handed me the book with a smile. I examined her face for a moment, trying to see her intentions before accepting the book back in my hand. I started walking down the crowded hallway to my next class. It was gym, so I was hoping I'd be able to get away with not wearing a school uniform, at least for today.

"You can watch today if you'd like. The school is aware of your condition."

"My condition?" I started panicking. If they knew and called my parents, it wouldn't end well. My parents would think I told someone something and blame me.

"The germ thing. It said it sometimes makes you a little weaker, so I thought today you could just watch. Get to know the class a little." They were super accommodating. "You can put your bookbag in the locker room." They nodded me in the right direction. I followed their instructions and walked into the doorless room and saw everyone laughing, changing, and putting their things away. I walked around looking for a locker to claim. It wasn't until I saw him that I froze.

"Woah, you guys look like -"

"Brothers." Nick finished.

"No way, there are three of you?" Someone else said. I felt my body heating up.

"Yeah, but he is younger." Nick looked angry all the attention was on us. I was frozen. My eyes looked around the room for an escape, but all I kept finding was a new pair of eyes watching us.

"Sup, Little Nicky." Someone tossed something at me. I dropped down to my knees and started sniffling.

"What -"

"Everyone out!" Nick yelled. People started scattering. I stayed on my knees with my head out of sight. I knew this wasn't going to end well. The chattering noise stopped. "Stand the fuck up!" He yelled. I slowly rose, my knees shaking violently once I was all the way up.

"I'm... I... I'm sor-" I stuttered, my tears at the corner of my mouth.

"Shut up." He demanded, and I jumped. He grabbed my arms before I had a chance to come back down from my jump and slammed me into the lockers with a loud bang. I whimpered, scared of the beating that was coming. "You will not fuck anything up for me. Do you understand?" His question was rhetorical. "Now everyone knows we are brothers because you are in school, but we are not family. You don't talk to me. Got it?" He screamed so close to my face I could feel his lips brushing my nose. "I asked if you got it?" He smacked the side of my face with his palm. I could feel the sting lingering. My ear was ringing.

"Yes, Nick." I whimpered.

"Don't fucking talk about me to anyone either." He said, walking out of the locker room. I knew then no matter what I did, my second-period class was always going to be the worst.

A/N Soooo? What's the vibe?

TreeHouse Taglist:

@trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @shadowtheism @fratbrochrisgf @forgottxen @loveparqdise @courta13

This fic is TAGLIST SPECIFIC, meaning in order to be tagged in this, you HAVE to be on the list. I'm doing this because of TRIGGERS.

REBLOG INSTRUCTIONS: I don't mind just please stress the trigger warnings so no backlash comes back to me!

No one likes gym class but Chris definitely HATES it now... 😰

#victim!chris treehouse #victim!chris #victim!chris x nessie #nessie treehouse #treehouse #christopher owen #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo au

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changelingsandothernonsense · 2 days ago

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Wip Whenever

I think I might sequester wip posts to once a week on a Thursday (coz it's Thursday). I'll post art and maybe a writing snippet if I'm up for it. Just gotta keep wips low-key.

anyway I got tagged by @skyrim-forever @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark Tagging @nyarevar and @archangelsunited. No pressure 🫂 The rest of the post is under the cut.

I've been working on the render that I started in December, just have his hair and some extra lighting details left.

And an idea for the next render

And a snippet from You, where Josh gets harassed by Hircine again.

“Fine,” I finally replied, shoving the ring back in my pocket, “What do you want me to do.”

The spectre nodded again, pleased with my answer, “I see you’ve matured since we last met, Blodskaal. I expected to hear protests?”

I sighed, “An what would refusing the Lord of the Hunt do? I’m old Hircine, I’m too fucking tired to argue.”

“You are a strange one, Nerevarine but I will make use of your—” The spectre paused for a moment and blinked its large eyes at me again, “Compliance.”

I grit my teeth as Hircine continued to rattle on, my hand still clasping the ring that I had shoved into my pocket.

“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he believes is his sanctuary,” Hircine continued, “Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunter but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter who has lost my favour, flay the skin from his body as you once did centuries ago and make it an offering to me.”

I shook my head as I finally let go of the ring in my pocket and folded my arms, “You want me to do what I did to Heart-Fang? Why should I do that? That kid’s done nothing to me.”

“Did Tharsten Heart-Fang do anything to you in the Hunting Grounds, Blodskaal?” Hircine countered, “Or was he acting on his nature?”

I rolled my eyes, “Heart-Fang attacked me in that maze, I don’t much care for his reasoning. That kid back in the gaols did nothing but annoy me a little. It’s not an equivalent.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before, Blodskaal.”

‘He’s right, Sero—'

‘Shut it,’ I mumbled under my breath. The last thing I needed was Nerevar’s input. It’s his bloodthirstiness that got me into that mess out on Solstheim in the first place. I was content pissing my time away watching that mine.

“Not an equivalent,” I spat, replying to the two of them. I’d killed my fair share of people for ridiculous reasons, sure but I didn’t relish in having blood on my hands. Well, not the part of me that I associated with my old self anyway. There was a part of me that relished it but I’d always attributed that to Nerevar’s influence. A partial melding between the two of us that didn’t quite work in his favour.

It's a part of me that does not mix well with who I want to be. It churns about in my gut and merges with my paranoia like a demented slurry. I’d always tried to push that desire out of my mind, but there's always something that grabs me and throws me back into wanton violence. Then I spend all my fucking time justifying to myself why I did it in the first place. If they attacked me, then I have a reason to kill as I wish.

The thought just makes me feel sick.

“There is no retribution in the hunt, Nerevarine. I do not seek vengeance as you do, no. Merely the glory of the hunt,” Hircine’s voice boomed throughout the clearing, and I struggled not to cup my hands around my ears. That kind of vulnerability in the face of the likes of Hircine would be a grave mistake on my behalf. Though it seems that the spectre noticed my discomfort regardless, “Nerevarine, there are countless others that would gladly accept my favour. They will hunt him while you delay. It is your choice.”

“I’m not looking for your favour,” I replied flatly, “If I recall you orchestrated this whole thing to lure me out of hiding. Why the fuck would I seek you out of my own volition?”

“Be careful with your words, Blodskaal,” Hircine threatened, “Do not think you have the upper hand here just because you possess my artifact. You may have once been favoured by Azura but she has long abandoned you. You crave that favour again. That is why you will do as I command, because you are compelled to do so by your very nature—”

I spat on the ground in front of me, the taste of ash burning in my throat as my fury rose. I hated this sort of tactic, insult aspects of myself that I had no fucking control over and attribute everything I do as an inevitability because of that. As if I was never capable of change. That I needed to be treated like shit just to get me to comply. I was no stranger to it, whether it was my bastard of a grandfather, Orvas Dren, Caius Cosades, Nerevar, the Daedric Princes, the fucking Tribunal! Fuck even you at the end reduced me to nothing but the curse that corrupts my flesh!

Everyone who ever believed in me is either dead or too far away to help me right now. All I had at the end of the day was myself and I’d been fighting alone for two human lifetimes at this point. The only person who could stand up for me is myself and I knew there was one thing this fucker was wrong about.

Azura never truly abandoned me, I abandoned her.

“Fuck this,” I growled, turning away from the spectre. I was done parlaying with a fucking Daedra. It’s rid myself of the ring in some cave or a deep hole or something and hope that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass again. I heard my guardian move and crackle as Hircine’s voice boomed through the clearing once again.

“You never had a choice.”

And my own voice echoed his words as I hit the forest floor.

#wip whenever #my art #my writing #danger!josh #teldryn sero #dunmer #nerevarine #skyrim #the elder scrolls #hircine #morrowind

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aikrus · 3 days ago

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a haunted home

He knew it was going to be an adjustment. In the foster home, it always had been, and being a new addition to someone's family was something he was quite used to.

He knew there would be growing pains, but nothing warned him to be worried about sitting cross-legged on the last bar-stool table eating cereal out of his ramen bowl.

Shinso honestly wasn't sure what did it, but in an instant, Aizawa-san's face turned cold and tired, and he walked away.

Yamada-san was similar in a way. He would awkwardly chuckle and walk backward until he could escape sometimes, but mostly, he tried his best.

Still, it was almost as if they were playing a game with him. They'd lightly suggest an activity for them to do with bated breath, like he was crossing a land mine.

Shinso wasn't sure what caused them so much stress and yet knew to abstain any burden of guilt from falling upon himself.

Later that evening, Shinso sat in his new room. It was bigger than any space he'd ever had to himself before, with clean walls painted a soft gray and furniture that looked sturdy and functional. The bed was already made—something Yamada-san had insisted on doing before Shinso arrived—and there was a desk by the window with a view of the street below.

He didn’t hate it here. It was just… different.

The door creaked open, and Aizawa stepped in, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Shinso tensed reflexively. He wasn’t sure if this was about the cereal incident or something else entirely.

“You settling in okay?” Aizawa’s voice was low but not unkind. He lingered by the doorway, clearly uncomfortable.

Shinso shrugged. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Aizawa nodded, looking down at his feet for a moment. Then, as if gathering courage, he spoke again. “If you need anything, you should… tell us. We’re not used to this either, but we’re trying.”

“I know,” Shinso replied, his voice steady but distant. “Thanks.”

There was an awkward silence before Aizawa nodded again and left the room. The door clicked shut, and Shinso exhaled slowly, slumping against the headboard of his bed.

Yamada’s approach was entirely different.

The next morning, Shinso came down to find Yamada dancing—yes, dancing—in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and singing along to some ancient rock song.

“Good morning, Shin-man!” Yamada greeted him with a wide grin. “Hope you’re hungry! I make a mean pancake.”

Shinso hesitated in the doorway, unsure how to respond. He’d never met anyone so… exuberant.

“Uh, morning,” he mumbled, moving to sit at the counter.

Yamada slid a plate of pancakes in front of him and beamed. “There you go! Syrup’s right there. Oh, and Aizawa’s probably going to grumble about the mess later, but don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up.”

Shinso nodded and started eating, the awkwardness palpable. Yamada didn’t seem to notice, though, continuing to hum and talk about random things: a new album he’d found, a stray cat he’d seen outside, plans for dinner.

It was overwhelming, but… not bad. Different.

The days blurred together after that, filled with small, strange moments that slowly chipped away at the walls Shinso had built around himself. Aizawa’s quiet attempts to connect, Yamada’s boundless energy and enthusiasm—it was all so unfamiliar.

One evening, Shinso found himself in the living room, sitting on the couch with Aizawa and Yamada. They’d invited him to watch a movie, and though he’d initially planned to decline, something in Aizawa’s expression had stopped him.

Halfway through the movie, Yamada’s loud commentary had Shinso stifling laughter, and Aizawa’s dry retorts only made it worse. For the first time in a long time, Shinso felt… something warm. Something close to belonging.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but maybe—just maybe—this could work.

But cracks began to show.

One evening, Aizawa came home late, exhaustion etched into his face. Shinso had left his training gear scattered in the hallway—a mistake born of distraction rather than defiance. Still, Aizawa’s patience snapped.

“Is it that hard to clean up after yourself?” he snapped, his voice sharper than usual. “We’re not here to babysit you.”

Shinso froze, his throat tightening. “I didn’t mean to,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Yamada stepped in quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Hey, hey, it’s not a big deal! I’ll help clean it up—”

“That’s not the point,” Aizawa interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He needs to take responsibility.”

Shinso didn’t argue. He didn’t apologize either. He simply picked up his gear and retreated to his room, the familiar weight of isolation settling over him.

Yamada, too, struggled in his own way. His attempts to connect with Shinso sometimes came off as overbearing, and when Shinso withdrew, Yamada couldn’t hide his hurt.

“Do you even like it here?” Yamada asked one day, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Shinso hesitated, unsure how to respond. He didn’t hate it. But he didn’t feel like he belonged, either.

“It’s fine,” he said finally, the words hollow.

Yamada’s smile faltered, and he nodded. “Okay. Cool.”

The tension between the three of them grew, each misunderstanding compounding the next. Aizawa’s guarded nature made him come off as cold; Yamada’s enthusiasm felt suffocating at times. And Shinso… Shinso was caught in the middle, unsure of how to bridge the gap.

One night, the breaking point came.

“You don’t trust me,” Shinso said quietly, his voice trembling with restrained emotion. “You say you want me here, but it feels like you’re waiting for me to mess up.”

Aizawa looked taken aback, but his face quickly hardened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Shinso shot back, his frustration spilling over. “You get mad when I make a mistake, but you never tell me what you actually want from me. How am I supposed to…” His voice cracked, and he looked away.

Yamada reached out, but Shinso pulled back, retreating to his room. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the apartment, leaving Aizawa and Yamada standing in stunned silence.

The spiral had begun, and despite their best intentions, the fractures in their newfound family seemed to widen with every passing day. Yet, beneath the tension, the desire for resolution remained—a fragile thread that might still hold them together if only they could find a way to reach it.

The first small step came from Yamada. Late one night, when the house was quiet and Shinso’s door was firmly shut, Yamada knocked softly. There was no response, but he spoke anyway, his voice low and steady.

“Hey, Shinso. I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. If I’ve been too much or made you feel uncomfortable, that’s on me. I just want you to feel at home here, and I know it hasn’t been easy. I’ll try to do better. That’s all I wanted to say. Good night.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just walked away. Inside the room, Shinso sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the door. The words lingered, settling into a place he didn’t realize was waiting for them.

The next day, Shinso left his training gear in the hallway again. But this time, before Aizawa could say anything, Shinso quickly picked it up and muttered, “Sorry about that.”

Aizawa paused, caught off guard. His sharp response died on his tongue, replaced by a simple, “Thanks.” It was a small exchange, barely significant, but it felt like a turning point.

Yamada suggested a game night that weekend. Shinso hesitated but agreed reluctantly when Aizawa gave him a rare, encouraging nod. The evening was awkward at first, the silence punctuated by Yamada’s forced enthusiasm. But as the games went on, something shifted. Shinso found himself laughing—really laughing—at one of Yamada’s ridiculous antics. Aizawa even smirked, though he tried to hide it behind his drink.

By the end of the night, the tension in the room had lessened, replaced by something softer. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Over the following weeks, the bonds between them began to solidify.

One afternoon, Aizawa invited Shinso to join him in fixing some of the apartment’s small maintenance issues. At first, Shinso was reluctant, unsure if this was some kind of test. But Aizawa handed him a screwdriver and began explaining how to tighten a loose cabinet hinge.

“You’re pretty handy,” Shinso said after a while, surprising himself with the casual compliment.

Aizawa glanced at him, a faint smirk on his face. “Comes with living alone for so long. You’ll pick it up.”

“Maybe,” Shinso said, focusing on the task. It wasn’t much, but the quiet teamwork felt… good.

Yamada, as always, leaned into his exuberant personality to create moments of connection. One evening, he dragged Shinso into the living room, holding a box of old photos.

“Check this out! Baby Eraserhead,” Yamada said, holding up a photo of a younger Aizawa scowling at the camera, wrapped in a gaudy scarf.

Shinso snorted. “How did you even get this?”

“I have my ways,” Yamada said with a wink.

Aizawa walked in, saw the photo, and sighed. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” Yamada teased, nudging Shinso. “Admit it, this is the best thing you’ve seen all week.”

“It’s up there,” Shinso said, smirking. For once, the banter felt natural.

The most surprising moment came during a training session. Aizawa had set up a small obstacle course in the nearby gym to help Shinso practice both his physical skills and quirk usage. After several attempts, Shinso finally nailed a particularly tricky maneuver.

“Nice work,” Aizawa said, his tone genuinely approving. “You’re getting better.”

Shinso’s chest swelled with pride. “Thanks,” he said, the word feeling more meaningful than it usually did.

Later, Yamada insisted on celebrating with takeout, and the three of them sat around the table, joking and sharing stories. Shinso found himself laughing until his sides hurt, the awkwardness of those early days now a distant memory.

But as they started to settle into their new normal, Shinso couldn't shake the feeling that it was all too fragile.

One evening, when Aizawa and Yamada were both out, Shinso wandered the apartment. He found himself staring at the family photos Yamada had insisted on putting up in the hallway. Most of them were older pictures of Aizawa and Yamada—snapshots of a life Shinso hadn’t been part of. There was one newer photo, though: a candid shot Yamada had taken during game night. Shinso was mid-laugh, Aizawa smirking in the background, Yamada grinning like a kid who’d won a prize.

He reached out to touch the frame but stopped himself. It didn’t feel like his place. Not yet.

The next day, during breakfast, Shinso finally broke the silence that had been gnawing at him.

“Why me?” he asked abruptly, his voice low. “Why did you take me in?”

Aizawa looked up from his coffee, his expression unreadable. Yamada froze mid-bite, his pancake halfway to his mouth.

“What do you mean?” Yamada asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“You could’ve picked anyone,” Shinso said, his gaze fixed on the table. “So why me?”

Their was silence before he asked the question that broke Yamada'sheart, "it wasn't just because you saved me, was it?"

Aizawa set his mug down with a sigh. “We didn’t ‘pick’ you like we were shopping for groceries, Shinso. And this certainly wasn't a decision we made on the job.”

Yamada nodded, his smile soft. “When we decided we were ready we knew we'd want to look at every age range from all the non-international agencies. When we saw your file, we… well, we recognized you. We saw potential. Not just in your quirk, but in you. You reminded us of someone.”

“Who?” Shinso pressed, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Me,” Aizawa said simply.

Shinso blinked, startled. “What?”

“I was a lot like you when I was younger,” Aizawa continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “Quiet, reserved, didn’t think I fit anywhere. But I had people who gave me a chance. They didn’t make it easy, but they didn’t give up on me, either. And I thought… maybe we could do that for you.”

Shinso didn’t know what to say. He stared at Aizawa, then at Yamada, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, what he said! And, I mean, come on, Shin-man, you’re awesome. We’re just lucky to have you around.”

Shinso’s chest felt tight, a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m worth all this effort.”

“You are,” Aizawa said firmly, his gaze steady. “And if it takes you a while to believe that, fine. We’ll wait.”

Yamada grinned. “Yeah! Besides, we’re stubborn. You’re stuck with us.”

For the first time, Shinso allowed himself to smile—a small, tentative thing, but real.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll try.”

And for the first time, it felt like they were all on the same page. They weren’t perfect, and they weren’t always going to get it right. But they were trying. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

One evening, as they were cleaning up after dinner, Shinso surprised himself by speaking up. “I… I’m glad I ended up here,” he said quietly, looking down at the dish in his hands.

Aizawa paused, his expression softening. “We’re glad too.”

Yamada grinned, throwing an arm around Shinso’s shoulders. “You’re stuck with us now, kid.”

Shinso rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. For the first time, he felt like he truly belonged.

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koji-haru · 18 hours ago

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Time Travel AU Part: 26

Two yellow eyes stared back at Adam with impassive dullness as he laid on the grass on his stomach, his legs slowly swinging back and forth just as Amora’s long tail swished behind her. Under the shade of thick, fluffy clouds, in the middle of a vast meadow, the two were locked in an unintentional staring competition. Neither the man or the cat had made any other move for a few minutes now, nor had they spoken a word to each other. Both seemingly too stubborn to give in. Or perhaps only Adam was the stubborn one, and Amora was just being what she was, a jaguar who probably couldn’t even fathom what the human in front of her was attempting to do.

Still, Adam kept his recent suspicions regarding the animal as he squinted at her, his golden eyes enshrouded with scepticism at the seeming innocence before him. Never in his excessively long existence had he ever directly spoken with an animal before. Truly, without a shadow of doubt, he knew that animals couldn’t speak a human language. The only instance he knew of an ‘animal’ talking was when a certain white serpent convinced the second woman to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. And even then, that wasn’t truly an animal, but a now former angel.

Wait.

Hold on…

Somehow squinting even harder to express his growing suspicions, Adam gauged carefully the jaguar before him, ensuring not to miss any particularly off about the animal’s body language. From the way her ears flicked from time to time, how both of her paws were laid in front of her or how her eyes might be able to reveal something. Anything at all. And yet, no matter how meticulous Adam tried to be, Amora gave no hints, just her usual mildly standoffish self. There were no words of admission, no cloud of magic to reveal an unknown angel, and no ethereal voice echoing in the back of his mind like the one he had in that one dream. The only sounds around them were the chirping of the birds flying over them and whistling of the winds as it passed by the sea of grass.

As one last attempt, Adam decided to regard the animal directly. “You know Gabriel had left already, and it’s just us in the garden for a while,” he said as he laid his chin over his folded arms.

No response. Well, none except for a large paw placed on his face as he heard a loud yawn from the large cat. Adam let out a loud sigh, tilting his head to the side so that he was facing the blue horizon, the large cat’s paw sliding off onto the grass. His entire body sank in defeat, the softness of the grass bringing him some sort of mild comfort. The possibility of his mind being driven to insanity from isolation now became something he truly considered, because at this point, not even he was entirely sure what he was expecting to come out of a jaguar. A jaguar that had never spoken to him, except for in that one dream. But even then, it was a faceless voice…

The softening rays of the afternoon sun felt like a soothing blanket over him – a warmth in addition to the robes he wore, the whistling lullabies from the winds flowed over his form, rocking him gently, kissing his eyes close towards peaceful slumber. As he felt his consciousness take a momentary break from the outside world, the breeze that brushed over his body took on a different form – one that felt peculiarly out of place. A little lighter than the rest, a strange coolness with its touch, flowing out of sync from the rest as if it didn’t belong.

Not now, but soon…

Adam jolted awake. The last few remaining light of the day was already being swallowed up by the unreachable horizon as a creeping darkness inched its way over the garden. Pushing himself off the ground, he found that Amora was no longer in front of him. Eyes wide and a sudden rush flowing through his veins, he sat up even straighter, looking around his surroundings for a trace of his animal companion until his searching eyes landed on two figures in the sea of green with him. With hushed movements, Michael and Amora, who very much still looked like a normal jaguar, were wrestling and playing around on the grass. Though to what extent was the play, Adam wasn’t sure as Amora had her teeth around the angel’s head while Michael tried to carefully pry the animal off of him without using too much force, his wings fluttering lightly behind him.

“What are you two doing?” asked Adam, the peaceful normality in front of him a bizarre contrast to what he thought he experienced mere moments ago.

“Oh! Sorry, did we wake you?” Michael turned to face Adam, both hands still holding open the large cat’s sharp jaws, a large amount of drool soaking his hair and dripping onto the collars of his robes. “We are, uh, just…playing?”

Moving his gaze slightly up to carefully observe his feline friend, Adam searched once more for traces of abnormality, anything that didn’t belong. Ironic, considering who Adam truly was and the circumstances of his stay in the garden. He wondered if this was what Lucifer felt like back then, feeling like something that wasn’t supposed to be existed and yet he couldn’t gather nor provide evidence for it, just his sole gut feeling and bizarre instances. Regardless, just like Lucifer back then, Adam found nothing to indicate anything odd with his animal companion.

And so, brushing off the strange whisper he thought he felt against his ear, Adam got up to assist Amora’s removal from Michael. With a clear and obvious bias towards the first man, Amora easily unlatched from the angel, whose appearance was now a wet sloppy mess, and obediently followed Adam’s commands to sit quietly on the grass away from Michael.

“Don’t bully Michael too much, okay? He’s got plenty of other things to worry about already,” Adam lightly scolded the large cat, a finger lightly pressing against her nose.

“We were just playing! I’m sure she likes me well enough,” Michael added in the background, sounding blindingly optimistic about Amora’s clear opinion of him. It was apparent that the jaguar didn’t hold any hatred for the angel, but Adam thought her partial distaste for Michael was something that was particularly obvious. Especially given that Amora seemed to enjoy messing up the angel’s appearance whenever she could, or when she would often try to get in between the two.

Even though Adam thought that the answer was apparent in Michael’s behaviour, he still wanted to ask a certain question. If anything, at least to cross it off his list.

“By the way,” Adam started, turning around to face the angel as he took a seat beside Amora, one hand idly brushing her spotted fur. “Can you talk to animals?”

The question seemed to have caught Michael a little off guard as he stared blankly back at Adam without a word for a few seconds before blinking then directing his eyes up into nowhere in particular, brows furrowed slightly, a thoughtful hum in the air. “Hmm, I haven’t really tried to, but I’m quite sure I couldn’t. Why?”

“Oh, just wondering,” Adam casually answered back as he leaned over Amora, her fur feeling both warm and soft beneath him even as some managed to poke through the fabric he wore. Despite having just woken up from a short nap, Adam was already feeling the tug of sleep pulling at his mind once more as the sky grew darker and darker, slowly blanketing the garden into comfortable darkness. “Gabriel just mentioned being to talk to them earlier today.”

“Oh. Well, Gabriel can communicate with every living thing,” Michael added before muttering a quick, “...even though you might wish he would stop sometimes…”

A soft chuckle left Adam as he heard the little complaint his angel rarely expressed. The corners of his eyes crinkled as a smile slid onto his lips as an overflowing warmth settled in his chest at the mere sight before him. The darkness of the night, the world around them were dressed in shadows of dark blue, distant silhouettes of towering trees surrounded from multiple directions. And yet, the only silhouette that Adam had eyes on was one belonging to a winged figure in front of him, the pale blue glow of his halo along with the stars scattered across his cheeks the only light he needed in the darkness. Adam let out a quiet yawn, stretching his limbs a little before snuggling back onto Amora and returning his gaze back towards the enchanting angel before him.

Michael crawled a little closer towards Adam, his robes shuffling softly against the grass, his delicate face a beautiful glow that the first man couldn’t help but admire. “Should I leave you to rest for today?” he whispered, voice lighter than the kisses from the evening air.

“Mmm, no,” Adam mumbled as he slid down Amor’s fur and rolled to the side to make some room for his angel. Patting the grass beside him and with a pleading shine in his golden eyes, Adam asked Michael, “Stay with me?”

With such an earnest request, Michael had no other choice but to accept. Not that he wouldn’t take whatever excuse and reason he could get just to spend more time with his human. Especially since he had barely gotten to spend any time with Adam today, his time having been consumed by his other duties. Laying his head carefully onto Amora’s side, making sure that the animal was fine with his presence first, Michael laid beside Adam, the two facing the deepening night.

“Well, this is unfortunate,” Adam laughed a little. He had wanted to spend the night simply watching the stars with Michael, possibly renaming some of them again, but the clouds didn’t seem to want to work in his favour tonight. Dark grey clouds obscured most of the stars in the night sky, with even the moon’s pale light barely peeking through its thick cover. It was one of those nights when the garden was almost in complete darkness. “We can’t see anything at all.”

“Hm, let me try something,” Michael said as he opened his palm into the air, and from his pale fingertips emerged glitters of gold, ethereal and bodiless in their glow, reminiscent of an old star’s distant light. As more of that golden light left his fingertips, floating lightly in the air and spreading into the night sky, the dark world around the two of them slowly began to brighten up.

And even though the stars of the sky were hidden tonight, reflecting just as brightly golden were the stars in Adam’s eyes as he followed the glitters’ mesmerising dance in the air. With curious, yet gentle hands, Adam reached out to the floating lights with some sticking onto him though there was no sensation upon contact.

“Look!” Adam said as he turned to his side, wanting to show his angel his gold flecked hand, and was met with a loving, yet amused smile. “What?”

Michael pointed to his cheeks just below his eyes, that amused smile still present on his lips. “We’re matching.”

And surely enough, when Adam pulled his other hand, the one without the gold flecks, close to his face, a faint golden glow was reflected back against his skin. He didn’t need some sort of mirror to see it then as he immediately realised what he currently looked like. And then suddenly, the night lost its cool hold on the first man as that familiar mellow glow resettled inside his chest, staining his cheeks a warm pink. Though instead of his usual instinct of wishing to immediately withdraw himself from the situation, and perhaps it was due to the soothing cover of the night or maybe something entirely different, Adam instead preferred to stay as they both basked together under the golden lights. And so, following the guide of the mellow comfort within his chest, Adam pulled Michael towards him, peppering his cheeks with feather-light kisses as he felt the angel’s hands wrap around him in return, snuggling even closer to him. Under the glow of the light an angel made, the two spent the night together in each other’s calming embrace, lulling one another into restful sleep.

Even when the stars weren’t shining, and the darkness of the night was its peak, beside Adam was his own starry night, one that would never leave him in the dark.

Part 25

Part 27

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #guitarhero #michael x adam #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin adam #time travel au #🛡🎸

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