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sashaisready · 1 day

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This Must Be The Place: Chapter 17 - You got a face with a view

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None, bit angsty

This is a Bucky POV! Bit of a shorter chapter but I thought it might be nice to get some of his insight before we hurtle towards the finish line…

Just to let you know I’m going on vacation early next week for a week, so I’m not sure when the next update will be – so please bear with me! If I don’t manage before, I will post once I’m back w/c 8th July. As always, your reblogs and comments mean the world – thank-you for coming along for the ride!

Bucky sighed heavily as he watched your car become a small dot on the horizon. He couldn’t believe he had found you out here, he was only passing through after dealing with some MC business on the edge of town. What were the chances it would be him to find you, of all the people who drove by this way?

He had been confused to see a car parked up in the middle of nowhere, miles from anything, only to feel bile rising in his throat when he recognised that distinct Mustang.

He thought something might have happened to you, relief crashing over him in waves when he saw your bewildered face staring back at him through the window. He managed to maintain his composure even when he saw the beginnings of a bruise on your cheek, despite the rage that simmered in his body. But he could see you were upset, maybe even a little scared, so he managed to push his own feelings aside. He didn’t want to distress you any further, but had a strong idea of who might have led you into this precarious position...

You wouldn’t let him help you. He had half expected it, but he still scoffed that you’d rather stay out here alone than take what was being offered. But…he also kinda got it. He was stubborn too. He understood that you didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of him, didn’t want him to think everything between you would now be forgiven.

He didn’t push you. He knew you well enough to understand that badgering you would only strengthen your resolve to stay put.

He just wanted you to be safe.

It didn’t even occur to him to leave. That was never a possibility. He did consider calling the guys and arranging a tow for your car, or for a ride for you, but he thought you might not want him meddling without asking. And he knew you wouldn’t want your car taken back to his auto shop, wouldn’t want another link to him – and you might think he’d done it on purpose to get you to talk to him.

Fixing Sally at roadside was his best bet. Then you would be alright but could still leave on your own accord. He’d tell Steve to bring his toolbox and he’d try his luck with you in the morning. Maybe Steve could throw in some food and water, too. You’d need it after sleeping in a car all night.

He had grimaced about his bed (or lack thereof) for the evening, but he’d done worse. It was one night. And it was worth it for watching over you and keeping you safe.

He wasn’t worried about passersby or getting jumped, his reputation preceded him enough that nobody within a 100-mile radius would dare even approach him if they saw him here.

It had sucked. It had been shit. He probably got two or three hours' sleep, max, but he’d done it. And as you gawped at him the next day, still beautiful in the morning light even though you were bruised and dishevelled, he knew it had all been worth it. And it had warmed him slightly that he’d caught a glimpse of awe in your eyes when you realised what he’d done for you.

Every part of him wanted to follow you as you got back into the car, to tell you how he really felt and how deep his feelings really were. Your casual relationship was never just casual to him. He had fallen for you, hard, maybe since day one. He had tried to fight it, tried to remind himself that it always had an expiration date and he shouldn't fall too deep... but being with you was the most natural thing in the world to him. Watching you smile at the bar, stolen glances across the room, waking up with you in his arms…they were some of the happiest days of his life.

That was partly why he was so upset when he thought you’d stolen, it had broken his heart as well as his trust. He’d always had a problem with impulsivity, with flying off the handle, giving into urges and emotions without thinking it through. Maybe part of him wanted to sabotage what the two of you had so it would be easier when you eventually left him. He had a few ideas like that, but still didn't fully understand why he did it. But he knew for certain, checking that purse was the biggest mistaken he’d ever made. He had to live with that. He understood that.

But maybe he should tell you all this. What did he have to lose, really? You were leaving, anyway. Once that house was on the market it was game over. It would be snatched up quickly, and then you’d be gone from this town, and his life, forever. At least he’d know if he’d done everything he could, he wouldn’t be an old man on his porch years later wistfully wondering if things could’ve been different had he told you the truth.

No. That wasn’t fair. To truly love you means respecting your wishes, and letting you go. Even if it hurts every fibre of his being to do so. Even if he’s desperate to grab you and kiss you every time he’s in close proximity to you. It would be selfish of him to dump his feelings on you like that. If he’d learnt anything from the misery of the last few months, it was that he needed to put you first – even if it wasn’t what he wanted.

He could live with the pain. He’d managed it so far. He had suffered and he would continue to suffer. This was his punishment, for not trusting you, for not believing you. It would follow him to his grave.

There had been nobody else since. No Amber. None of the girls at the bar. Sure, he’d had offers, but he simply wasn’t interested. They’d only remind him that they weren’t you.

When he heard about Quill, it felt like he'd taken a bullet to the gut. Actually, it felt worse than that. Bucky had been shot a couple of times and he'd happily take another bullet over that specific brand of pain. It was more painful than when he lost his arm. He nearly vomited on the spot when Steve told him. Since then, he had been a shadow of his former self, even if he (mostly) put on a good front to continue his role as President.

None of it mattered. You were selling up and moving on, and all that was left to do was let you go. You can’t keep a bird in a cage just because you don’t want to lose it. Keeping something that doesn’t want to be kept means you never really had it in the first place.

He had told you he wouldn’t touch Quill, but he seethed inwardly as he thought about the unsightly bruise and how it got there. How you ended up in your heels and evening dress at the side of the road. You had warned him not to do anything, and he wouldn’t. He respected your wishes. But once you’d gone? Well. That might be a different story. He already knew where Quill worked. Where he lived. Where he hung out. Who his friends were. The statute of limitations on Bucky’s promise to you would run out the day you left him forever.

He cranked his aching neck and pumped his metal arm back in place as he got back on his bike. Life must go on.

But he had one thing left to do.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

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class1akids · 1 day

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what are you hoping for todofam?

1. Touya wakes up - if Touya just dies that fully invalidates Shouto's endgame and efforts to save him and it would feel kind of pointless not doing that in the battlefield then. We have never seen the family - all 6 of them together - talking, arguing. So at the very least that should happen. I want this to be Toya's fix-it - waking up, this time his family being there.

If he's in a coma, that's a bit better because there is still hope - but it would also feel like a cop-out.

2. Enji figuring out a real way to step up as a father. His atonement needs to be backed up by meaningful actions and I think he needs to figure out a way he can keep his promise - to keep his eye on Touya and to let Shouto walk his own path finally.

3. Shouto’s extraordinary efforts should be acknowledged, but I hope he gets released from the family hero role and can be just a kid and son loved for who he is without any strings attached (that goes for all the kids actually)

4. If Endeavor’s apology to the family gets addressed, I hope we will see the nuanced responses rather than the “it’s all water under the bridge” kind of response Aoyama got. I don’t mind if Shouto decides to forgive, but make it have nuance pls

5. I want to hear what Touya wants to say. As much as I enjoy him being a “bad, uncooperative victim”, I want to feel like he’s got something out from the family coming together for him and that they accept his rage. I especially want him to say something to Shouto that shows that Shouto being there for him mattered in some way. Both Ochako and Deku got some kind of acknowledgement/ feedback from the villain they went into extreme lengths to save, but Shouto didn’t get anything from Toya other than rage directed at him. Doing the right thing of course doesn't always come with a reward, but since Shouto's entire endgame is about saving Touya, some kind of tiny pay-off would be nice.

6. Touya’s future fate and the public backlash - I think it’s important to address this in a wider society context. Touya was clearly mentally unstable so I’d prefer him getting some long overdue therapy, rather than death row/ Tartarus but this should be an option for others too. And maybe it’s too optimistic, but I’d like to hear all sides of the arguments of what to do with the villains, not just strawmen arguments. I want Touya to see that the family is willing to face whatever consequences with him and won’t disown him for his crimes.

7. There are some other smaller things I want to see:

Shouto and Rei talk (they never speak to each other on-screen) and hug

the cut masterpiece line from 390 being addressed

some positive effect of Touya copying Phosphor

Rei’s future (she should live in the new house) what happened to the sidekicks - what will happen to Endeavor’s agency

Shouto asking Toya about his favorite food

a slow, painful, but cautiously hopeful path for healing

#c1a asks #todoroki shouto #todoroki touya

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total-drama-brainrot · 3 days

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Owen vampire anon here! Thanks for replying

I do like the idea of a whole horror concept of Owen, might like to play into that scenario one day. But i feel like it would be way more funnier and just...more Owen if it was kept in a more comedic light.

Hear me out on this scenario, everyone knows well enough that Owen might be a vampire. (People got this idea from some of the ideas you listed, and maybe the fact that Owen has mistaken them for food way too many times to be suspicious). But Owen is convinced that no one knows, so in the confessional he's just like "no one must know" dramatically

And then Noah walks up to the confessional like "My best friend might be a vampire. Crazy shit i know right?"

Also it would be really funny if Owen is convinced Izzy is a vampire too due to all her biting, when its really Izzy just doing fun pay back for all of Owen's blood sucking.

Yes! I adore fun light-hearted AUs, and having the vampire Owen AU focus mostly on the hijinks he gets up to in order to protect his "secret" (despite everyone knowing there's something up with him) is so fun. So good. 10/10 concept - especially since it plays into is canonical inability to keep a secret.

I think the initial misconception that Izzy is some sort of supernatural creature would be really funny; a fellow vampire, some sort of werefolk, a zombie(?). Anything known for being as feral and bite-happy as Izzy tends to be. She'd absolutely try to play into the idea, but I can't see her being very convincing at all despite her abilities as an actress - thus she'd be outed as a normal(ish) human being pretty quickly.

Though she'd be more than contented to be Owen's main bloodbag. Izzy's absolutely the type of person who'd have a weird fascination with the supernatural (her actions in the Egypt episodes of World Tour attest to this) and being the primary foodsource for a vampire would be right up her alley.

I see their relationship playing out a lot more vaguely than it did in canon - neither would ever cross the boundary of confirming whether their relationship is official or not, and (if we're getting a little angsty with it) Owen's happier living with their indeterminate situationship than risking asking Izzy to be his girlfriend, only to learn that she barely tolerates the company of a "monster" and doesn't share the sentiment. Or worse. Of course, that's pretty out of character for Izzy, but she is fairly unpredictable and Owen's got good reason to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his "condition".

I didn't want to talk about Noah in the OG post since a lot of my blog in practically centered around him, but I did have an idea for a scenario where Owen is convinced that Noah is also a vampire, hence why he befriends him so quickly and easily. Because Noah's got pretty much all of the characteristics; he's cold to the touch, generally avoids sunlight and going outside, his footsteps are feather light to the point he moves around silently, he sleeps a lot during the day, ect ect.

To Owen, the only logical conclusion is that Noah is also a vampire who's really bad at masking it. In actuality, Noah's just kind of a weirdo. And anemic.

So Owen's fairly open about his vampirism to Noah, wholly convinced that they're both in the same boat. And Noah takes it in stride because he ran out of fucks to give the moment he arrived on the island and, in all honesty, Owen's pretty good company.

Then you get a scene like the one you proposed - Noah goes into the confessional, says something along the lines of "So my best friend is a vampire. I didn't realise reality TV shows cared that much about their diversity quota, but here we are." And plays off the whole situation in his usual unflappable and snarky way. Did he just have his perception of the world as he knew it shattered under the news that vampires are real? Yeah. Does he care? Not really.

Cue shennanagins where the rest of the Island knows that Owen is a vampire... and maybe they even think he turned Noah? And our favourite idiots are completely unaware and trying desperately to keep Owen's vampirism a secret.

I think it'd be really cool to have someone else on the island be a different type of supernatural being too, and have them work as an antagonistic force towards Owen in this AU. Or have someone be well versed in the occult and, using their knowledge, act as a de facto vampire hunter in a cartoonish game of cat-and-mouse between them and an oblivious Owen. Cough cough Gwen cough.

#I have a lot of ideas about vampire Owen's adventures on Total Drama and most of them are so very silly.#total drama #td owen #td izzy #td noah #td ozzy #👈 technically?#vampire owen au #silly ideas #replies #kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)

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thetxtdevil · 21 hours

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Blueberry Pie

Soobin x Reader

summary: Baking was a passion for the both of you, however why does it take so long for the dessert to cook

content: short and sweet smut :) bf soobin, gf reader, vaginal fingering, penetration, no protection, pull-out

word count: 1.3k

the fruit collection

with loathing painted all over your facial expression, you reach further into the unmaintained refrigerator, blaming no one else but yourself for making it a mess. you were originally relaxing with your boyfriend, soobin, when you got up to get a snack the smell of rotting food hit your nose. loudly, you moan in disgust knowing what you have to do.

now you were crouched down cleaning out the fridge. realizing how much take-out you've been eating from the lack of fresh leftovers and an abundance of spoiled food.

"thats done for, thats nasty, i guess this can hold on for a little longer..."

soobin looks at you with an expression opposite from yours, he couldn't help but find your current attitude cute. loves when you’re doing the bare minimum because he loves you that much. although he could watch you all day he decided to help by going through the pantry also seeing things that may need to be thrown out.

your ears perk when a loud beeping comes from the fridge telling you to close the door. stretching out of your crouched position, you walk over to soobin to see how he is doing. you then notice a cluster of flour, baking powder, sugar, extract laying out excluded from the pantry. looking back at soobin you caught him staring, he quickly focuses on the cereal boxes.

you walk towards him "the baking stuff looks fine i don't think we need to throw them out" you say trying to get in his line of sight.

"yes they're fine but,,," he finally glances at you, something about your smirk gets him going "maybe we can make something?"

you hum at his request looking over at the pile he made and then to the fridge.

"i think we have blueberries that survived the clean-out"

"blueberry pie?" soobin grins leaning into you for a small peck of the lips.

"blueberry pie indeed."

and there you two were making the filling for the pie. soobin close to you making it difficult to move, but you didn't mind the attention.

"can you pour 2/3 cup of sugar, sugar?" you ask while throwing a berry in your mouth.

soobin blushes at the given nickname and does what you ask. handing you the measuring cup of sugar he leans on the counter watching you whip the filling ingredients. you glance over at him with a smile you reach for leftover blueberries, feeding one to him. he accepts the offer staring into your eyes, lips close to your fingers, he eats the berry satisfied by your blushed face.

you shake your head "you're trouble binnie"

you pour the filling into the dough bowl. the dark blue color in contrast of the light beige dough made your mouth water. soobin rolls out more dough and cuts it into strips. both of you intricately cross the dough making a criss-cross pattern. holding up you look at the beauty that you guys made you place it in the oven. straightening your back you twist your body to look at your boyfriend. ignoring the fact that he was checking out your ass you lean forward to kiss him. then you continue to clean up the kitchen.

soobin again watches you keeping a close eye on your movements. how you arms flex when carrying the bags of sugar and flour back into the pantry. how your lip pout in concentration whipping way any crumbs. he can't help but to look at the curve of your body when you're hunched over at the kitchen sink. soobin didn't care for the taste of the pie when he really wanted a taste of you.

he struts over to you wrapping his big arms around your waist. your look up over your shoulder to see him staring at you. you smile and go back to scrubbing a bowl. soobin lowers his head to your neck and kisses the skin. his hands start to wonder your body then grinds against your ass. you realized you lost all attention to the dishes when you scrubbing came to a halt and the sponge was out of your hand. you turn your head to soobin again, cupping his face, and kissing him deeply. you turn your body to get into a more comfortable angle. soobin's wondering hands lowered themselves, one being on your hip and the other between your legs.

you gasp at the feeling "was this your plan all along?"

he flashes you a dimple smile before continuing the make out session. you start to move your hip with soobins hands to get more of that pleasurable feeling. leaning your head back you bring your hands to your breast rubbing the harden nipples.

"god you're hot" soobin whispers to you.

his hand from your hips to you hands he takes one of them off. soobin bows his head in between your boobs and begins to suck and bite your free nipple. you whine and getting irritably hot, you grab to his shirt to get his attention.

"want your dick" you pant at him.

his head snaps up looking at your frustrated pout he was making sure he heard you right. you give him a little whine from your impatience he instantly flips you back towards the sink. tearing your shorts along with your panties down, soobin looks down smirking at the dark patch dampening the cloth. chest on your back, fingers back to your cunt, he whispers into your ear "are you sure that you weren't planning this all along?"

with a firm grip on your hips, he pushes them back to his pressing his hard-on. you groan knowing he was as horny as you and bend your back to display yourself to him. soobin pushes a his two fingers past your fold and into your pussy. you lay your head down on the counter top, eyes closed to concentrate every feeling you had of his curling finger pressing against your gummy walls.

"please, soobin" you whine moving your pussy closer and closer to him.

soobin sighs at you lovely whines and silently agrees to let you have what you want. while still having his long fingers inside you, he drags his shorts down. lining his girthy cock to your soaked hole teasing the tip until slamming his whole girth stretch you out nicely. soobin doesn't wait to move, he wanted to do this all afternoon while cleaning. what a patient boy :( soaking in your warmth and tightness and your pornographic moans. you had your head on your arm protecting your skull from being thrusted into the granite. the heat from both your boyfriend and the oven cooking the pie was overstimulating.

*beeeeeep*

your eye widen "the pie!" you turn your head towards the timer to see it was out

soobin's thrust hesitate for a second just to become as fast as he could. he leans over you back bitting your sensitive skin. wrapping his hand over to your sensitive clit to rub giving your belly a pleasurable heat feeling.

"are you going to last any longer" kissing your shoulder while watching your head frantically shake side to side.

he smirks adding more power to his thrusts to have that feeling of your pussy clenching around him. whiny moan fell from you lips as your cum drips. soobin pulls out quickly jerking himself to cum on your back and your plush bottom. you stay bent over, back rising and falling trying to catch your breathe. you yelps at a feeling of your boyfriends tongue cleaning up his mess.

enough energy to lift your body up and reach for a cup filling it with water. soobin kisses your forehead say sweet things.

"you're forgetting the pie" soobin whispers into your ear

you eyes bulge out of your head rushing over to the oven half naked to grab oven mitts. lifting the pie out of the oven you place the beloved sweet on the countertop. steam flourished from the dessert, the tart yet sweet scent filling your nostrils. the crust was dark close to be burnt but the reason for your forgetfulness you deemed to be valid.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🫐

#txt imagines #txt devil #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt x reader #txt x y/n #txt x you #soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin x you #soobin x y/n #soobin scenarios

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romance-rambles · 3 days

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modern alkaid | the duality of pining

Alkaid's first night at in The Intermission goes badly. The next day, however, turns out for the better—as it so happens, the girl he loves might love him back.

6.3k, set during TE3, alkaid-typical anxiety + pining + happy ending, reader is mc, series: none

IF ALKAID LEAVES HIS ROOM and walks in a straight line, remembering to take a right turn before he crashes into the wall, he will come across an ordinary door.

It is blue in color, with a pop of silver provided by the cool-toned hardware. Many like it can be found installed in every door frame housed by Mrs. Santos' hotel; within Alkaid's suite alone, there are three examples to choose from—the front door, his door, and...

The door that belongs to you.

An ordinary door, made extraordinary by the girl staying in the room behind it—by you, the girl of his dreams. The one who'd fished him out of the snow and watched the aurora alongside him. The reason he'd chosen to go to St. Shelter Academia in the first place.

It's like something out of a dream, really.

To think you're sharing a suite with him—that he's separated from you by only a short trek to your door. There's a common area in between, and it would be so easy to waste the night away, chattering about something—or nothing—whilst sitting on the sofa.

How wonderful it would be to walk outside his room and be able to check up on you. To ensure that when you need someone by your side the most, you're not alone, even if you keep your secrets close to your chest.

He has some too, after all.

It only matters that you're okay.

And even taking into account their relationship status, the situation has all the markings of something that could be so terribly domestic that he can't help but want.

In the morning, you'll both walk into the lounge after, hopefully, a good night's sleep on your part. You might forget to brush your hair, and when he playfully points out your bedhead, you'll grouse about how perfectly awake he seems to be.

Alkaid will only laugh, painfully aware of how much he adores you. As you fix your hair in the bathroom mirror, oblivious to his longing glances, you'll strike up a random conversation with him—probably related to food. After freshening up, the two of you will head down together, and he will do his best to ignore Mrs. Santos' knowing looks.

And tonight, once you've relaxed a little, you'll probably go take a—

He pauses his thoughts there, before they can spiral to places he knows would make you uncomfortable, if you ever learned of them. After all, his keen gaze had not missed the flash of uncertainty that crept into your otherwise relieved expression that morning. Nor had he missed the way you'd locked yourself in your room the moment you entered the suite.

The daydreams he holds dear are likely the last thing crossing your mind right now. No matter how comfortable you may be with his presence, there are some concerns that aren't easy to shake off.

It is a fact Alkaid knows painfully well.

With a sigh, he sits up on his bed, legs still hanging over the edge. Considering the speed with which you agreed to spend the night with him—in the suite—he suspects you didn't want to trouble him with the task of finding a place for you to stay.

You must be regretting your choice right about now.

At that thought, his lips pull into a frown. Will you...will you be able to sleep well tonight?

You made it no secret that you enjoyed exploring this quaint little town. So much so that before they had returned to the homestead, the two of you briefly discussed your plans for tomorrow, vague and unfinished as they were.

A rough night is the last thing you need.

He could never forgive himself if you walked out your door, bleary-eyed and exhausted—with only enough energy to eat breakfast before you went back to your room to nap.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, as a plan forms in his head, Alkaid stares at his door.

It does not have the privilege of being made extraordinary simply because of the person residing in the room behind it—it is an ordinary door, as it had been this morning, and every other time he'd stayed in this particular suite. But it is through this door that he can make amends.

In that regard, he supposes it deserves some kind of credit.

THOUGH THE HOTEL DOES OFFER room service, he's always preferred to go down to the kitchen and grab the simpler orders by himself.

These days, Mrs. Santos only tends to sigh as she waves him back to his room. Sometimes, she'll let him make his order himself if she's busy. But when he'd first started this habit, after she'd offhandedly mentioned how exhausted she'd become after a day's work, he'd been met with some amount of resistance.

It had taken almost a year to wear her down.

"Here you go: a warm glass of milk," she says, handing him the glass. There's a knowing glint in her eyes, but it does not sufficiently prepare him for her teasing. "Are you having trouble sleeping? She's such a nice girl—I can see why you like her."

Alkaid flushes, instinctively spluttering out an unintelligible defense of his crush on you. Mrs. Santos only laughs wistfully and pats his shoulder. Her husband had died a few years ago—she's likely remembering him.

The thought helps him regain some of his lost composure. Unfortunately, by the time he clears his throat, she's already ushering him back to his room. He has no time to explain that the glass of milk is actually for you, or that he'd appreciate it if she'd tone down the teasing.

After all, he suspects her good-natured teasing likely contributed to your extreme discomfort at being alone with him.

He can still feel the lingering warmth of your hand from when you subconsciously held his hand, in order to escape Mrs. Santos' words. It is overshadowed by the heartache that comes with the memory of the distance you'd maintained early on in their day out, before you seemed to grow tired of your hypervigilance.

Alkaid makes a mental note to discuss it with her tomorrow as he climbs up the stairs, back to the second floor. It wouldn't do for you to be uncomfortable in your own suite.

But for now, all he can offer you is this glass of warm milk he's put on the table.

"Are you awake?" he asks softly, though the light seeping out from your room gives him a good idea of the answer.

When you first respond, your voice is startled and a bit shaky.

You repeat your words again. It still doesn't sound like the voice of someone comfortable with his presence outside her door. Instead, there's a hint of urgency in your words, one that screams at him to leave you alone.

The sound breaks his heart into such tiny pieces that it would take centuries to piece them together. Somehow, Alkaid manages to pull himself together quickly, carefully collecting the shattered fragments for his future self to deal with.

"I've ordered you a glass of warm milk. It's on the table," he tells you, keeping his tone upbeat and cheerful—just slightly above a whisper. "Drink up and rest well."

His hand is splayed out against the door's surface. Alkaid can't help but wonder: are you on the other side, holding out your hand like he is?

It seems almost disrespectful to ponder the thought.

After all, he knows it isn't true. That would imply that the respective situations they've both found themselves have any sort of equivalence, beyond the discomfort they both feel. And even that is different, in its source—you do not want to be here, and he wants what will make you the happiest.

Reluctantly, remembering he can't stay here forever, he pulls his hand away. You'll need to come out in order for his plan to be successful, after all. And the fact that you didn't open the door right away means you won't feel comfortable if you know he's there.

"See you tomorrow," he says, before returning to his room to grab a change of clothes.

All things considered, Alkaid's uncertain whether you'll take a shower. But just in case, he'd like to finish up quickly. The sun has long set, and though you aren't a stranger to staying up late, he doesn't want to impose on you more than he already has.

Quietly, he slips inside the bathroom—stares at the worried young man watching him from the mirror. He can't help but remember when he'd spotted you from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Not for the first time, he'd thought his senses had betrayed him.

Alkaid was in the middle of wondering if you'd like his quaint little escape back then. Then, you were there, observing the courtyard and telling him about how your accommodation woes. The spare room in his suite, he'd thought, was only going to rot.

After all, what good would the privileges at his disposal be if he could not aid the girl he loves in her time of need?

"What should I do?" he wonders out loud as he runs his fingers through his hair. How can I make things better?

The man in the mirror does not offer him a response.

THE LIGHT IN YOUR ROOM is still on when Alkaid walks out of the bathroom and into the living room.

His hands pause their gentle drying of his damp hair. The towel they'd been using—a light blue one, in keeping with the theme of the suite—droops, the bulk of its weight coming to rest atop his shoulders. Alkaid pulls at the fabric and, from the back, wraps it snuggly around his neck.

As he is, he must look like quite the sight. Lips parted in surprise, and bright green eyes transfixed on the siren song that is the warm light seeping out from under your door—

And oh, what a beautiful song it is, drawing him to its domain so skillfully that the memory of his short trek escapes him.

All Alkaid knows when he comes to is that he is standing at your door once again, loosely curled hand poised to knock. Uncertainty leaves it lingering in the air, a few painful centimeters away, right before it resumes twisting his heart into another painful arrangement.

That the warm glass of milk he'd brought up for you seems to have vanished from its place on the table provides little relief. How can it, when his mind seems insistent on playing round after round of its latest obsession?

(Are you awake?

Are you asleep?

Are you in the midst of a beautiful dream?)

And the only one who can free him for the never-ending cycle does not wish to see him.

THE NUMBER OF SPARKLES FROLICKING in the grass turns out to be nine. Twelve, five, nineteen, forty-nine—after a few rounds of the game, he turns to his side. A stray thought about his cat's friendship with Beanie distracts him from his counting, and he is forced to discard the results of the sixth game.

He soon turns to his other side.

Sleep does not come to him that night. When he moves on from counting ragdolls, Alkaid distracts himself by softly singing a lullaby. It does not work. He switches, instead, to wishing on some distant star, hidden by the half-darkened ceiling.

That does not work either.

Eventually, he gives up and opens his eyes.

The town outside is quiet. Only his breathing disturbs the silence. Somewhere beyond the foot of his bed, a blue nightlight glows softly. His phone, once he retrieves it from the nightstand, reads 2:00 AM on the lockscreen, above a photo of Sparkles.

A pair of arms—clothed in a familiar, baggy beige sweater—hold his beloved ragdoll in place, atop your lap. The peace sign your hand had been making is just barely visible, most of it having been cut off when he'd cropped the photo. Your braid happens to fall in front of Sparkles, who eyes it with ill-intent.

Alkaid's never asked whether you'd be okay with him putting you as his lockscreen, because you'd been the one to offer this one up. He remembers you smiling oddly once he showed you the finished product. You would go on to show him that same smile again—when, after mulling over your expression, he concluded it was some sort of test, where the correct answer was no, and made amends accordingly.

It goes without saying that he's never tried changing it after that. He can't, not when you have your own version of it with Beanie on your phone.

Glee had sharpened your smile into something teasing when he took notice of his inclusion. Just his arms, the same as in his own lockscreen. You made no effort to hide how much of it was motivated by some kind of spite, but the same went for how much you adored it.

Because whenever you'd look at it, your gaze would grow soft. It was as if you were watching something so incredibly precious—a treasure you would not trade for the world.

And like clockwork, a traitorous part of him would wonder if some of that affection was aimed at him.

"I'm sure—" Exhaling deeply, he traces the curved path your arms take with his thumb. Once, you'd mentioned the shape's resemblance to a heart; he hasn't been able to unsee it since then. "—whoever that ends up being instead will be the luckiest man in the world."

And perhaps Alkaid will get to reintroduce himself to him, if their friendship survives the night.

It has to.

After all, he hasn't gotten the chance to show you the pictures he took today, some of which, as usual, feature you among the sceneries of Mrs. Santos' hometown. His favorite is the one he took of you watching the sunset.

The warm colors of the sun had imparted a golden hue on your hair. Your back was to him; your hands were tied behind your back. A gentle breeze disturbed the serene moment at the same time you turned around.

With a press of a button, your welcoming smile became forever memorialized—and it will remain so, for as long as you want to keep it.

And he will remain by your side, for as long as you want to keep him.

MRS. SANTOS IS ALREADY TENDING to her garden when he comes down to the courtyard.

The moon is faintly visible in the sky, even as the lightened skies beckon the sun to climb out from under the horizon. As usual, Alkaid passed by only a few stragglers in the common area downstairs. You were not one of them.

Because before he left the room, your snoring could be heard from the living room.

Even on an ordinary day, when you don't have classes, there'd still be some time before you wake up. Today, he expects you'll need at least an hour more and—

Alkaid blinks as a yawn cuts through his thoughts. Unwilling to grant him the possibility of dodging the same accusations, his concealed eyebags remind him of their presence. They sit heavy on his undereyes; it is enough to have him contemplating a nap.

"Good morning, Alkaid."

That doesn't mean he'll go through with one.

When he pulls his hand away from his mouth, a polite smile awaits Mrs. Santos. He nods, returning her greeting as he would on any other day. Yesterday's vow remains fresh in his mind, quietly but insistently urging him to speak up.

"There's something I wanted to discuss with you," he says, his tone both firm and polite.

The older woman looks concerned. With some difficulty, she stands up, a hand on her knee offering her some support. Mrs. Santos puts away her gardening tools and observes him carefully.

"That's not something I hear everyday," she says, her tone humorous. He feels his shoulders relax slightly. "Why don't I brew some tea first?"

Without skipping a beat, he agrees. "Alright, I'll come with—"

She disappears inside before he can finish. Alkaid follows her. When they both return, sometime later, he is dutifully carrying a tray with three cups and a tea kettle, and Mrs. Santos is quietly grumbling about it.

They go through the familiar motions in silence—arranging the cups and pouring the tea. The third cup is left empty, though neither of them discuss why. It is their understanding, implicit, that if you come down stairs, you certainly won't say no to some tea.

When all is said and done, he begins to speak. It's a rather long-winded speech, something he's come to expect when it comes to you. You did not go out of your way to ask this of him—it would not be fair if you were judged for it.

"So, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tease us about our—" His mouth seems to have some difficulty sounding the word relationship out. Alkaid swallows with great difficulty. "She isn't interested in me, in that way."

Surprise registers on her face, eyebrows knitting together. She purses her lips, then opens her mouth. It closes before she can say anything at all. Her lips purse into a thin line.

"I see," she murmurs. A realization dawns upon her. "Has she—"

Cutting herself off, without prompting, Mrs. Santos shakes her head. Even so, he knows what the question on her lips was. Because Alkaid has wondered the same thing before.

Has she said that?

He brings the teacup to his lips. In doing so, he manages to cover up the downturned edges that speak of his thoughts on the matter—the hopes he once clung to, the ones he still can't shake off.

Have you said that?

You haven't.

You've never commented on how often he happens to be passing by your house, a box of cake in hand. Or how your friend Stella seems to be of the (correct) opinion that he's in love with you, a fact she makes sure to bring up every time she sees him. Or how you end up so often on his camera reel that it's much easier to count how often you don't.

What you have said is that you like spending time with him. That when you end up in a slump, he's the person you think of. And when you finish a painting, he's the first person you think of. And when you're doing nothing at all—

But they say actions speak louder than words.

Your actions last night can't speak any louder. The only way for him to reconcile your distant behavior with your general eagerness to spend time with him is simple.

You do love him, just not in the way he loves you.

"Alright, I suppose I got ahead of myself," she agrees. "It's such a shame. She's the first—you would've made such a good couple."

Alkaid puts down his cup, narrowly avoiding a catastrophe as he swallows down the rest of his tea, just in time. Zaph had told him something similar when he'd returned from his trip. That everything about him screamed he was in love.

He supposes time has only made it more noticeable.

"Thank you." Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, he smiles weakly at her. The moment he retracts his fingers, it slips back out. "I hope she'll be able to enjoy her trip fully."

Mrs. Santos only smiles sadly at him.

YOU COME DOWNSTAIRS EARLIER THAN expected.

The tea is still warm, and Mrs. Santos has yet to finish her usual rounds of the courtyard. When he asks about how you slept, whether your early rise is related to him in any way, you stumble over the only word that slips out.

"N—no," you say, discomfort flitting across your startled expression.

Alkaid doesn't get the opportunity to clarify your wording. Before long, you're sitting beside him on one of the white chairs, hands wrapping around your cup. He pours you some tea, carefully eyeing the steady stream of steaming liquid to ensure you don't get splashed.

You do not have the face of someone who would rather be anywhere but here. After taking a sip, you sigh happily. Eyes narrowing fondly, he smiles and pours you another cup when you finish.

It is with that same gaze that he watches you accept Mrs. Santos' flowers. You cradle them in your arms gently, their light purple color a lovely contrast to your cream cardigan. Then, you turn around and Alkaid forgets how to breathe.

Whatever it is the older woman says register in his mind as a jumbled mess of sounds, like a series of words he ought to be familiar with. The longer you watch him, the easier it becomes for his true thoughts to slip out.

You are, and always will be, the most lovely person in the room. You're—

"Beautiful," he says earnestly, his gaze lingering on your nervous smile.

By the time his mind catches up to his mouth, it is, in some ways, too late to worry about how you'll react.

A flush creeps up your neck, to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. On one side, the latter is made more prominent when you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear awkwardly.

You almost seem pleased with the compliment.

He does not think about it. Not now, not when Mrs. Santos ushers you back to the table and you set your flowers to the side, in a vase at the edge of the table. Dark purple meets green as you sit down, your lips curving into a gentle smile.

Last night's worries keep him from enjoying the sight properly.

In the background, Mrs. Santos is asking about something. Alkaid hears his name and yours—and the word together. The look the older woman sends his way leads him to believe she doesn't see the problem with her question.

It says, See? I didn't tease either of you.

Seemingly unaffected by the question, you take a big bite of a chocolate-filled croissant. Your blissful expression is perhaps the biggest compliment you could pay the older woman—second to only the way you reach out for seconds.

As you lick off the leftover chocolate on your lips, your hand hovers over the assortment of breakfast items before gleefully plucking another two croissants from its plate. Meanwhile, his plate remains untouched.

Alkaid chews on his lip, worried that perhaps you're doing too good of a job at being polite.

"Well, Alkaid here—" You reach over and nudge his elbow. "—promised he'd show me around town again. I hope that's still in effect?"

You say that as if he'd ever say no to you. He chews thoughtfully on a pastry and wonders if that might be a good thing. In that case, perhaps you'd feel less pressured to do things with him—

But your expectant gaze returns his thoughts to their normal direction.

"Of course," he answers, condensing all his longing into only two words.

The third one borders on a near-confession—an implicit acknowledgement of his affection—so he leaves the Anytime out of it. It does not stop Mrs. Santos from giving him a knowing look.

"Is that right?" She smiles pleasantly. "You two enjoy yourselves, then. I'll make sure to whip up something nice for your last night here."

Your face lights up in delight.

"That's—ahem." Coughing into your fist, you pretend to be unaffected by the allure of the older woman's words. You haven't known her long enough to find out she's already prepped the ingredients the night before. "You don't have to do that, Mrs. Santos. Last night's dinner alone was more than enough."

"Don't be silly," she says, waving your concern off. "I'd do the same for Alkaid—oh! That's right. Do you have any requests, Alkaid?"

He does not—but you do.

So, Alkaid smiles and pretends his motivations for putting the spotlight on you aren't selfish in nature. That he does not to do this to be able to see that same blissful expression on your face again, this time with the knowledge that he played a part in your happiness.

"I enjoy anything you cook, Mrs. Santos," he says smoothly, before nodding his head at you. "Since it's her first time here, I think it's only fair that she gets to pick."

The older woman laughs, not unkindly. You shove another croissant into your mouth. A silent understanding seems to form between the two women at the table, one that, Alkaid feels, has everything to do with him.

But they do not enlighten him on what that understanding is.

Instead, the conversation continues where it left off, so seamlessly that he can trick himself into thinking the interruption never happened.

You talk about food, then flowers, then your time at St. Shelter Academia. Mrs. Santos tells you stories about him, of when he was younger and would come with his family—most of them being decidedly embarrassing, particularly since you're the one listening to them. And you drink them up with the same eagerness that seems to consume Alkaid when it concerns you.

The matching lockscreens come up once, as well.

He finds himself being stared at—almost disapprovingly—by the older woman. It reminds him of your odd expression, on that day. But before he can ponder what it is she knows that he doesn't, you rescue him with an apologetic smile—one that'd have him forgiving you immediately, if there was anything to forgive.

(There isn't.)

And even when he backs away from the conversation with warm cheeks and the word beautiful rattling around in his brain—even though it is entirely your fault, there is nothing to forgive.

Even though he wonders, again, when you glance at him after your devastating blow—that is his own fault.

Because last night, he'd sworn he wouldn't do this again. Last night, you seemed like you didn't even want to see his face. Last night, it seemed so easy to think he wouldn't fall back into old habits again.

Is it about him? Is it about Beanie instead?

Alkaid swipes an assortment of fruits from the center of the table. Pretends those questions won't be eating into the time he could be using to sleep. He is nothing less than his normal, polite self, even as the hurricane called you tears up his sanity.

When you look at him and smile contentedly, he adds another cause to the list.

THE PAYMENT ALKAID REQUESTS OF you, when paid in full, takes the form of a flower tucked behind his ear.

It is your idea, something spur-of-the-moment that pops into your head when you rest your hand on the bike's rear seat. You close the distance between them, and only when he replays the memory at night can he pinpoint the exact moment his fate is sealed.

There, as he's laying in bed—kept up by a situation that is in every way the opposite of last night—the sight of your eyes, glimmering with mischief, engraved into his memory forever.

In the present, however, as your hand reaches out for him, Alkaid closes his eyes.

On the front seat rests one of his hands; the other fiddles with the back of his shirt. They curl loosely into a fist as your cold fingers carefully brush his hair out of the way. His heart, as it beats only for you, tries to jump out of his chest. The trail you leave behind on his skin feels unbearably warm.

You laugh softly, to a joke only you know of.

It loops around in his mind like his new old favorite song, silencing any thoughts about how close you are. Yesterday's worries seem to flee his mind, your easy-going behavior a balm for his soul.

"Alright," you say, the sound of your voice returning to an appropriate distance. He opens his eyes to find you admiring his appearance. "I've paid your price."

The smile on your face would've stolen his breath away—if only he hadn't already forgotten how to breathe.

IN THE HOURS THAT FOLLOW, Alkaid falls in love with you, over and over again.

And the truth is, nothing in this world is easier—that if soulmates exist, then his heart knows, whether he is yours or not, that you are his. Even the heartache that visits him every time he leaves the present to court the future cannot deter him.

The most logical part of him points out that few women would act as you did this morning. The rest of him chides it for being so presumptuous, wielding last night like a dagger—so resolute in their conviction to keep him in his place.

Their job is made harder by the fact that you've once more taken to acting as you normally do.

Right now, the two of you are at a souvenir shop in hopes finding a present for Mrs. Santos. The idea came to you when they were at a convenience store earlier. You wanted to find a way to thank her for the lovely experience—and the love and care she put into every interaction with you.

"Do you think she'd like something like this?" you ask, holding up a mug with a stylized design of a grumpy cat.

Though she is a lover of cats, Mrs. Santos is, rather unfortunately, allergic to cats. For that reason, ever since he was old enough to go by himself, he's always been a solo traveler. Sparkles is there with him only in spirit—and in the many photos he has of his beloved ragdoll on his phone.

Alkaid thinks the mug is a lovely idea. Both practical and aesthetic. It is only the words written above the cat that give him a pause, in fun, bubbly letters that hardly suit the design's star.

Rather than the always cheerful Mrs. Santos, he thinks it would suit you much better.

Seemingly reading his mind, you sigh despondently. "I'll keep looking. Come on."

This is only the second shop they've visited. This is only fifth thing you've discarded from your list. Alkaid stares at the long fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist and obeys.

The urge to grasp onto them doesn't entirely die when next you release his hand.

At that time, his watch reads 11:15. Thirty minutes later, you remain unsatisfied with the selections offered by this particular store. You drag him along to the next store, brows knitted in concentration as you mull over your possible choices. He mulls them over too, in hopes of speeding the process along.

Because there are still a few more places he thinks you'd like. But the sun steadily creeps up higher in the sky, constantly reminding him constantly of their limited time together.

Tomorrow, you'll return to Harp Island—and there's no word on when you'll come back here.

"I'll go take a look too," Alkaid says, after you make a beeline for the first thing that catches your eye.

"Would you?" As you put away a hairpin you can't seem to agree with, a relieved smile crosses your lips. "Thanks, Alkaid."

He returns your smile with one of his own—something he hopes will assure you that the end is in sight. Then, he leaves first, disappearing among the shelves with only a fleeting glance at your now distant figure.

ALKAID IS NOT A STRANGER when it comes to having eyes on him. Whether it's strangers on the street or the ghosts of his childhood, he's grown adept at hiding both his discomfort and his knowledge of them.

Still, when the topic of their discussion partially revolves around you, he feels compelled to step in and clear the misunderstanding.

"She's just a friend, I'm afraid," he says, smiling apologetically. "It's payment for a tour I'm giving her."

The culprits seems to be a pair of siblings, close in age. Over the course of their fervent but light-hearted discussion on whether men look good with flowers in their hair or not, he learned their names are May and Max—that May is the older one, and that Max is not infrequently teased for every possible reason under the sun.

They both startle easily at his interjection and glance at each other. A flush creeps up the girl's cheeks, half of which she manages to hide by giving herself a sidepart. Max only coughs politely.

The satisfied gleam in his eyes, despite his embarrassment, speaks volumes.

"Oh," she utters, clearing his throat. Max tugs at her sleeve, and May lets him drag her away—though not before she decides to offer him one last bit of advice. "I'd ask for more than one flower, then."

Alkaid merely smiles politely.

To charge anything beyond that would imply that spending time with you is not its own reward. To charge anything at all would, ordinarily—but he's found, more often that not, people tend to feel more comfortable when there's some form of reciprocity, when it comes to jokes.

If he insisted on going without pay, there was a distinct possibility of the mood souring faster than he can recite your birthday.

"What was that about?" a familiar voice rings in his ear, your warm breath fanning against his ear. He tamps down the urge to flinch, though he can do nothing for his warm cheeks. "I heard something about flowers?"

Carefully, so as to ensure you don't think he's running away from you, he takes a step back—puts his hands in his pocket. And when he looks back at you, you're doing a terrible job at hiding your smile.

The upturned corners peek out from behind your two fingers—but even if they didn't, he thinks your eyes would betray you.

"She seemed to think I should've asked for a higher price," he confesses truthfully.

There are three ways this can go. You can ignore his words entirely to show him the latest item you've pinned your hopes on. You can argue against it, with whatever argument you have on hand, and Alkaid will easily return the flower. And the third one, both the one most likely and the one he wishes for, is—

"She's not wrong." You nod, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. A plushie's leg peeks out from behind you as you walk up to him. "A flower isn't enough."

"What would you give me then?" he inquires calmly, as if his rapid heartbeat doesn't drown out all but the sound of your voice.

At first, it seems as though you have the answer already. Confidence drips from your tone for the first half of your sentence, but a distressed expression soon breaks out on your face. You purse your lips and cup your chin thoughtfully.

"Well, for something obtainable..." You mutter, sounding exasperated. He expects some of your next words to be a quip about how difficult it is to put a number on him. "Maybe a 100...maybe 200...300...? Your birthday is...so that many...?"

Alkaid hums, taking note of your wording. "And if it isn't obtainable?"

"It'd be hard to wrap," you caution him, having forgotten whatever plans you had for the plushie. As it swings behind you, he realizes it's a teddy bear. "But if I could, I think I'd give you the world."

The last of your words comes out softly, like a confession meant only for him. Your gaze softens, and though you seem like you're somewhere else, he can't help but think you're still thinking about him. And for the first time in a while, the contrarian in him remains quiet.

When Alkaid smiles softly, his heart feels lighter than it has in ages.

The girl he loves wants to give him the world—and though you keep your secrets close to your chest, you are not a liar. He will not make you out to be a liar, by wondering if you really mean it at all.

And it is easy enough. All it requires is framing last night's interactions with you a bit differently—that you were not afraid of him but of what he'd figure out. It's a thought he'd entertained on and off, but never with as much conviction.

In a way, the two of you are nothing less than birds of a feather.

"Just spending time with you is enough," Alkaid assures.

With a dramatic sigh, you hold the teddy bear against your chest and huff. His smile takes on a helpless tinge as he watches you shake your head. When you take note of it, your eyes narrow into what would be a ferocious glare if not for the faint pout on your lips.

"And we return to the crux of the problem again," you complain, shoving the teddy bear at him. "We'll come back to this. What do you think of this bear for Mrs. Santos? Doesn't it look like her?"

He takes a step closer. "Hmm, I think she'll appreciate it. Do you like it?"

Your nose scrunches up at his words. A sigh escapes your lips as you look longingly at the teddy bear, then at him. This time, you don't shake your head quite as vigorously as before.

"Alright, let's keep looking," you say, your hand wrapping around his wrist again. "You come with me this time, alright?"

The answer to that comes easily, even before you confide in him how boring it was without him. Alkaid chuckles warmly and quietly takes your hand, the way he'd wanted to earlier, with an explanation on the tip of his tongue—

"It's more comfortable this way."

Once the flash of surprise fades from your eyes, you grin at him. "You read my mind."

It takes some time before either of you are willing to let go.

#fics by aya #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time #for all time x reader #alkaid mcgrath #alkaid mcgrath x reader #lbc alkaid #lbc alkaid x reader #lovebrush alkaid #lovebrush alkaid x reader #rambles from here on ->#IT'S DONNNNEEEE i can finally go back to pokemon (no)#if you found alkaid annoying for at least half of this fic then good ive done my job #there isnt a man i hate more than mr. alkaid “would sacrifice himself for mc” mcgrath *hides the incriminating evidence*#i think if i'd waited a bit more i could probably start quoting lines from the actual TE but alas...i must move on #anyways happy almost spirit world release #specifically happy almost alkaid route release #the other two can get my well-wishes when i write something for them

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codenamesazanka · 3 hours

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Initial 426 thoughts

Endeavor stole the scene here. I feel it's not so much Family-Shouto/Dabi reconciliation as Endeavor's atonement arc conclusion. Shouto nearly felt like a sideshow. Supportive younger brother asking the cute line about soba, then going back to school with a shonen 'I'm chasing my dream!' line.

Don't get me wrong, that moment was so good. Dabi during the battle swore that their lines/path would never intersect, that Shouto's was too straight and narrow, while his was warped. That was the memory Dabi's recalling as he cries. That he said they would run in parallel, remaining apart—but then here was Shouto, asking him about his favorite food, wanting to intersect. And they do - they have the same favorite food.

But I wanted more. And because we can't have more because of Endeavor, I want Endeavor to at least get yelled at for this. I imagine it already happened before this visit, when the family received the diagnosis. This is after that, this after those feelings had run its course and they're resigned to this, what's left to do.

And so Endeavor gets to have his one final cool line, which is infuriating because it is a good line, responding back to Dabi's invitation to dance. It's such a good line that wonder if Natsuo saying that line was cool isn't Horikoshi patting himself on the back. But it shouldn't have been delivered here on the epilogue. It should've been immediately post Jaku, and Endeavor had been prepared to truly taste the hell of dealing with his son directly.

Fuyumi says she quit but I wonder if she wasn't asked to resign, or felt she had to quit due to her being from a perpetrator's family. Especially since she has to say she's already got another job lined up, referred by a student's mother.

Hawks becoming HPSC head makes me livid. Toga should've killed him. He goes on TV and admits he killed a guy without following proper procedure, and he's HPSC president, who will be in charge of making sure Heroes follow proper procedure. I guess things at least are more transparent!

You know Hawks still doesn't think killing Twice was wrong. So if something threatening comes up in the future, he might well think 'KILL THEM' yet again, and being HPSC president, give the order to do so.

Get Nagant out of jail. If she's afraid of being used, give her a vacation in Bali. Why stay in jail????

Feels like Horikoshi is keeping her in prison because she'll be too troublesome to handle if she's out. She'll bring up questions like "Can she function in society after 15 years? (Answer tends towards no, she said the world outside prison is scary) What will she do now, after all that? WILL THE TRUTH OF THE ASSASSINATIONS EVER COME TO LIGHT?" And we can't have that.

I hate this cutesy-ness with Mr. Optimism Hawks. Jail is a joke now, because meals are provided at taxpayer's expense and Nagant has been moved to a lower security prison (but prob not anyone else). Call her Villain 😋 as if that's not a label that's gotten people unfairly judged, or justified their killing.

The facility Dabi is in is probably a Villain Hospital. Those exist - they've been referred to a couple of times in the manga and vigilantes. Probably a combination of prison and hospital. So of course the guard's uniforms look a bit like Tartarus uniform. But white.

Which makes it interesting, because SPINNER is still at Central Hospital. Too weak to be a threat?

SPINNER.

SPINNER. 😭😭😭 If you look closely, his eyes are open. You can see his pupils. He's looking over at the door opening.

I'm so scared. SPINNER.

SPINNER.

#nalslastworkingbraincell #spoilers #bnha spoilers #edited: the line 'that's gotten people unfairly judged and killed' to what's currently up there

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whatspastisprologue-blr · 1 day

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Because 2 of my biggest hyperfixations are Interview with the Vampire and The Amazing Devil, here we go....

"Little Miss Why So" is, to me, based on my interpretation of the song, very much applies to Loustat in S1. To me, Madeleine is singing from the perspective of someone who is very depressed and who has a partner who is trying to cure her by, basically, loving her out of it. This is, to me, confirmed by the few lines that Joey sings, as though if he does enough good things for her, if he just shows her how much he loves her, she'll snap out of it. (And it doesn't work and they split up.)

I've been thinking about it a lot but especially in relation to the animation in S2E7 that depicts Lestat constantly doing things to make Louis happy/cure him of depression, while it doesn't work and Rue Royale gets more and more dilapidated until they can't even see each other over the mountain of newspapers, books, and other things. (I am completely sympathetic to Louis, btw, but I also know how scary and helpless it is to love someone and want to help them but you can't.)

Throughout LMWS, Madeleine lists all the things Joey's character has said or done and she sounds so exhausted, and there's this repeated "he said", and then she starts going into a mantra of sorts: "It's so boring, it's so boring, it's so boring....." And she caps it off with "et cetera" like she's just too bored to keep going but she could if she wanted to.

There's a few parts I want to call out specifically:

"I don't know how to reach you when you get like this. I've been waiting for you to come home."

This is Lestat's frustration, basically. He keeps trying to reach Louis and nothing is working. Even when Louis is home, physically, he's not present (I've seen great meta about Louis having a disassociative disorder). Special mention here to the line, "It's daylight again and you look like I've failed you." Lestat is a provider; it's something that he takes pride in and enjoys, whether it's his human family eating food that he hunted, or how he sent money and gifts to his human family after becoming a vampire, or the things he buys for Louis and Claudia.

"If I'm good, will you come back?"/"Stop asking why I'm sad, just know it's enough to know I'm sad." Madeleine and Joey are literally singing over each other here, singing at the same time. Their characters are speaking past each other. They're not listening to each other. Joey's character just wants to know how to fix her, what he has to do to get her to come back for him. Madeleine's character is just exhausted from having to provide reasons why she feels the way she does. Worse, her character continues (as though quoting Joey's), "Yeah, but why?" He's still asking her. He's not leaving her alone about it because he's obsessed with figuring out the problem so he can solve it. And it's driving her away.

"Why don't you just tell them all to fuck off, love, and be mine?" ("Them" probably being "those wankers that you serve all night".) For Lestat, "them"/"those wankers" is probably all of Louis's human connections.

As others have pointed out, "The Rockrose and the Thistle", another of TAD's songs, is a good example of how to love someone through depression instead of trying to love them out of it (too bad Lestat couldn't have heard it back then).

And while I could probably relate several other songs from The Amazing Devil to Interview with the Vampire, I'll just leave ya'll with this line from "Battle Cries": "This isn't a breakup, dear heart, it's a season finale!"

(Also, if you've listened to Little Miss Why So and you think that Joey sounds like Jaskier from Netflix's The Witcher, that's because it is! The Amazing Devil has 3 albums out, in case you want to hear more of his and Madeleine's phenomenal voices. Now, off you go, to be spellbound by these beautiful lovely Fae creatures!)

#joey batey #the amazing devil #tad #netflix witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher netflix #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #madeline hyland #loustat #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #Spotify

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gravitytrips · 2 days

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Part Four: Molded

Scout awoke in the BLU infirmary. That collar was no longer on his neck and the cloth-lined shackles had been replaced on his ankles and wrists.

Oddly, Scout felt….fine. Like the events of the previous night never happened.

He looked down at his hands, splaying his fingers out so he could see them. To his shock, his fingernails were unbroken. Had his horrible sickness and desperation to escape been nothing but a dream?

“Oh, so he finally wakes up. About time.” The twangy voice of the BLU Engineer said next to Scout.

Scout startled. He hadn’t realized that the Engineer had been sitting next to him.

The older man snapped the collar back onto Scout’s neck.

“Next time you go runnin’ out the base, I’ll just let ya die, y’hear?” The Engineer spoke in an irritated tone.

Scout nodded numbly. What was Engineer talking about? He hadn’t been out of his room at all last night. Scout just couldn’t keep quiet about this.

“Sir? What are you talking about? I didn’t leave my room last night.” Scout asked softly.

“Kid, what the hell’re you on about? You came runnin’ down the main hall last night, headed straight for the door. You’re lucky I pulled ya back before that collar o’ yer’s gave ya the lethal dose.”

Scout was confused. Had he been sleepwalking? Had it been a dream after all?

Scout studied the Engineer’s face. The man shifted uncomfortably, but his face remained calm. Odd.

Scout’s thoughts were interrupted by Engineer speaking again.

“Now if you’re done talkin’ nonsense, dinner’s ready. Tonight’s movie night, by the way, and doc said that I should invite you. Come if you want. The doc’ll take ya to yer room if ya don’t.”

Scout sat on the bed, puzzled.

As he slid off the bed and started after the Engineer, he couldn’t help but wonder: Just what is happening to me?

At dinner, Scout ate his pasta cautiously. He didn’t want to have a repeat of the night before. He stared at his food the whole time. Afraid to see those creepy looks again if he looked up. The BLUs chatted about how they had whipped RED in the match that day. Each gory death they described made Scout cringe.

Dinner was over quickly, and the BLU team filed out of the room and into the living room, where a movie was set up. They all chattered excitedly as they waited for someone to tell them what the movie would be.

Once the last man filed into the room, the door was shut, and strangely, locked.

Scout sat in the corner, not wanting to agitate any of the BLUs.

“It was th’ doc’s turn ta pick tha movie tonight, lads.” The team’s Demoman announced.

The Medic held up a stack of film reels.

“I have chosen the tapes from the testing of our beloved respawn machine.” The Medic said with a wide grin.

The BLU team cheered, seemingly ecstatic about this. Scout thought it would be boring, but he held his tongue as the team’s Heavy popped the first reel into the projector.

The words “THE RESPAWN MACHINE” splayed across the screen in a bright color and playful font. Scout was a little interested now.

All fascination Scout had drained away, along with the color in his face, as the first image appeared. A man, standing in front of the poorly-lit respawn machine. His eyes were gone. Blood ran down his face. Captions ran across the bottom of the screen, showing what the man in the film was saying.

The BLU team all pointed at the screen and laughed like they had just seen the funniest thing in the world.

Scout’s eyes zipped around the room as the disturbing reel continued to play, and the BLU team continued to laugh. Questions bombarded Scout’s mind. What were they laughing at? What could possibly be so funny? What were they seeing that I’m not? Scout’s head spun as the disturbing images continued to play on the screen.

RED Spy paced back and forth in the rec room. The other RED mercenaries watched him as he went. Spy seemed not only worried, but terrified.

“Vhat is it, Spy? Vhat kind of danger is Scout in? You are she only vun zhat knows.” Medic inquired.

It was true, Spy did know. He had lived amongst the BLUs to do espionage while the BLU Spy was living in Medic’s fridge.

Or, well, his head was.

Anyways, his experience at BLU was what had him so worried.

“They knew I was the enemy Spy long before I realized they knew. They toyed with me, tortured my mind, then killed me. I have no doubts that they will not hesitate to do the same to Scout.”

Spy looked pointedly at Medic.

“You see docteur, while the fine people of this team have done some very brutal things to our prisoners, they were all physical. The BLUs on the other hand….”

Spy trailed off, a pained look in his eye.

“The BLUs are the masters of the psychological”

@aerowolf

@callme-adam-iguess

@paranoidginger

@wokeuptraveledstraightintothesun

@ratlordsarah

#Fanfic #Emesis Blue reference yippee!!#I had to I’m sorry #Glass fic

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hidefdoritos · 1 year

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working in fast food will give you eating disorders you’ve never even heard of

#eating disorder tw #ednos tw #almost 6 full months out of Ch*potle #where the manager worked us for 10 hour shifts without breaks #which isn't illegal where I lived! (:#the hunger the nausea the hunger that turns back into nausea #the total emptiness in your stomach #the way that you stop feeling hunger #the way that the nausea stays #the way that you can't tell whether you're hungry or full when you do actually eat #shoving a meal into your mouth while your stomach revolts against it #keeping food on the line and keeping food from coming back up #the dread of work making you too nauseous to eat breakfast #the awareness that something is becoming radically wrong with your body #getting 10 hours of fitful sleep and watching your hair fall out in the shower #not remembering to eat on your days off because your circadian rhythm is so thoroughly ruined #months later waking up in a sweat #having nightmares that you're at work again #the first time that you notice you're hungry again #your stomach growls and your eyes fill with tears because here it is #audible proof that my body is relearning its sensations again #phantom memories of shoving chips in your mouth while scrubbing the grill just so that you can feel something #shaking your fist at the store when you drive by #random intrusive memories of the crap that your manager pulled #and the sunrise of the smile that cracks across your face as you realize that he has no power over you #not now and not ever again

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riacte · 3 months

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so hey guys i finished dungeon meshi yesterday and i'm still thinking about it

#ria.txt #i spoiled myself so at first i was like 'this is bonkers wtf are they doing in those last few chapters?????'#but then it was like. yeah. i see #love those ch when it's just clearly putting the squad into Situations #also. izutsumi #what i really liked was how tightly the protagonist and the deuteragonist were wound up in the overall themes #the plot the themes the conflict the characters it was very neatly connected #hence i am also now accidentally invested in whatever going on between laios and marcille #not just platonic not romantic not enemies i just think they work well tgt and deeply care for each other its great watching them develop #it's the leader + most trusted advisor / anxious girlfailure + the annoying freak she's somehow attached to vibes #haha that rabbit chapter with marcille. hahha i was like what the fuck man. it was funny and then boom whump [tears streaming down my face]#those shapeshifter chs were sooo much fun esp seeing other chara's perceptions of each other. stealing that #the changeling ones were great too elf senshi is the fucking funniest he looks sooooooo unserious #marcille's evolving perception with death starting with saving falin and saving the squad and her nightmares of outliving everyone-#-and her dad and her 'temper tantrum' and UGH when at the end she said she was fine with falin not coming back.... WAAA. OUGH.#i think dunmeshi handled the trope of 'prophecy of chosen one becoming king' pretty well and it makes sense why laios is the protag #the worldbuilding is so thoughtful as well i liked seeing different characters with different worldviews interact #very solid and well rounded series wooo #the main 4 has such a fun dynamic together #anyways. dunmeshi au.....#more like borrowing the worldbuilding bc charas are too nuanced for a one to one comparison #ren is like some prince of his own species but he's like 34th in line and no one cares about him so he fucks off to eat monsters #which is why he's both snobbish AND a total freak when it comes to his food taste #false is originally in for the money from ren and plans to scam him but unfortunately the cringefail swag captures her #martyn is Obnoxiously Clueless and thinks he's smart but he's not. he's resourceful but also pathetic and crazy #stress cant cook but she thinks she does so everyone goes (≖_≖ ) when she picks up a pot. they delegate her to killing and chopping duty #the mvp is iskall who keeps on saving everyone's asses and somehow has resources for everyone #i think ren is actually aware false is going to scam him but he has too much money to spend anyway and he thinks shes cool so he lets her??#and somehow she doesnt take the money and run. and goes back to eating monsters w/ the party. everyone is crazy

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weaselle · 4 months

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it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

#long post #sorry #i just have a lot of DO PEOPLE UNDERSTAND feelings left over from all my years in restaurants #restaurants #line cook #service industry

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waves-against-a-cliff · 2 months

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Simon Riley who after coming back to his flat (courtesy of the government) from his first deployment as 'Ghost', finds a momma cat yowling and crying. She's hurt and has four kittens tucked into her side. Simon takes them to the vet only to be informed that only one kitten survived and the momma is dead.

So he raises the kitten. Bhe bottle feeds it every two hours, keeps it warm and safe inside a box with a heating pad and a hoodie of his. He's sure that it'll die but he keeps trying anyways with the heart wrenching hope that he's wrong.

The kitten pulls through.

Now six years later, he has a sassy sphynx cat who cries and meows whenever she isn't fed on time. When his usual pet sitter bails on him just days before his next deployment, he scrambles. He never knows how long he'll be gone and that's an issue with pet hotels. He has to find someone trust worthy and capable of caring for his darling pet.

Then he meets you by pure coincidence. Ruthie had slipped between his legs on his way out to grab some more of the wet cat food she liked then made a bee line right towards you. She meowed and meowed until you crouched down to pet her. Simon swears he had never heard her purr that loudly before.

You smile up at him and comment on how he has a sweet cat (he doesn't. Ruthie knocks everything over and has broken so many mugs, plates and cracked so many screens he owns plastic versions of everything plus keeps his phone on him at all times). Simon says something about trying to find a pet sitter to you and immediately realizes what he said when you smile. "I can keep an eye on her for you. She seems like a sweetie." You coo and gently scratch under her chin. Traitor, it took him weeks to get her to let him do that. But how can he say no when she's already taken a liking to you.

#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon x reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod #cod ghost

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chxrryhansen · 4 months

Note

okay but rafe shamelessly peeking up your skirt is something so personal to me

omg omg wait s1 golf frat boy rafe x cutesy kinda bimbo reader??? COUNT ME IN. p.s- i have no idea how to play golf so i wrote my best interpretation😭

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you sat in rafes private golf caddy watching as he lined up his next shot, his backwards cap keeping his hair out of his eyes and his muscular legs spread wide as he takes the shot.

rafe had asked (told) you to come watch him play, he thought it would be a cute date idea for you both to get out of the house since it was way too hot to stay cooped up inside all day… when in reality he just wanted to show off his skills and impress his girl.

“rafeeeeey.” you whined in a high pitch tone.

he turns to look back at you with a sour expression, wiping the sweat from his brows with one arm, using the other to lean against his golf club. “quit distracting me. what dya’ want?” he pants in the summer heat.

“i’m boreddddd” you moan again, standing from your seat in the cabby and bouncing over to him.

his free hand reaches out to grip your face, smushing your cheeks together tight “what’ve i told you about the whining? daddy’s tryna’ play a game here, sweetcheeks.”

you look up at him with big puppy dog eyes “can you teach me? please rafey…i’m so bored just sittin’ here, daddy please.”

he lets out an irritated groan, knowing you were too ditzy to understand how golf works and way too uncoordinated to actually putt a ball. he looks back at you giving you a once over, a smirk appearing on his face.

“you know what? sure pretty girl, c’mere.”

you yelp with excitement, moving to stand infront of him, your short pink skirt barely reaching your thighs as you bounce over and your tits jiggling, practically spilling out of your tight shirt.

rafe stands behind you as he passes you the golf club, quickly showing you the correct way to hold it before he moves onto your position. kicking your feet apart and pressing down on your back with his thick fingers, forcing you to arch your back as he bites his lip, his cock already growing hard.

“that’s it baby, stay just like that. now, lift your arm up like this, and strike.” you beam at him while he instructs you before focusing on the ball.

you raise your arm holding the club tight before you strike it. not even noticing rafe bending down slightly, his legs still spread wide around your figure and his fingers lifting your short skirt, peeking at your cute, pink panties underneath, he lets out a low “fuckkk.” at the sight, not loud enough for you to notice seeming as you were concentrating.

“rafey! look! i hit it. look how far it went!” you gasp, raising one arm to block the sun as you search for the ball with your eyes.

“yeah babe, daddy’s super proud of you.” he mutters, not paying attention to a word you said, instead focusing on the slightly damp patch on your panties.

he brings his thumb to your pussy, rubbing over the soaked material. your panties beginning to stick to your cunt as he thumbs your sensitive slit.

you whimper in surprise, your head spinning to look at him in shock. “daddy! wh-what are you doing?!” you hush, eyes wide, looking around quickly to see if anybody had noticed what he was doing, which they hadn’t… yet.

rafe hushes you before pulling your skirt back down and giving your ass a harsh smack. lifting up from his bent knees and looking down at you with a large smirk.

“nice panties, baby. where’d you get em?” he asks rhetorically, a sly smile appearing on his face.

knowing for a fine fact he bought them, as he does everything else, your clothes, food, shoes. you name it, he bought it. because that’s what wealthy daddy’s like him do. and rafe is without question, wholeheartedly, your daddy.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron prompt #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron fic

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moonlesslights · 1 year

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Miguel O’hara in Love

Headcanons.

━━━━━━ ✿ 🕷️ ❀ ━━━━━

A/N: I was really looking forward to write this, because I just can’t get this whole idea out of my head.

Warnings: Basically none, a little bit of angst maybe?, some smut references and depictions. Miguel being Miguel. Kinda obsessive (?)

This text is based in that frase of Joe Goldberg: “There’s not a line, in the world, that I wouldn’t cross for you”. So be prepared.

Enjoy, my loves. Every comment or request is welcomed! 🤍

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Miguel was curious of you from the very moment he met you. Such a unique presence among all the others.

You had been bitten just a month ago. And it was hard for you. He saw you struggle, falling over and over again, training till exhaustion, fighting to be on the level of the others.

And the worst part of it all, was the guilt coming to attack him with every side eye Jessica gave to him. “If you weren’t going to help her, you should have let her alone.” The woman had whispered while both of them looked at you fighting to climb another building. Miguel knew she was right. He was the one who insisted in bringing you immediately after they found you (only a couple of days after the bite), even when Jessica insisted to give you time for you to figure it out alone. Miguel wasn’t having it, and now… “She’s been at it for the whole morning.” The woman pursed her lips, shaking her head.

What Jessica didn’t quite know was that Miguel hadn’t left you alone all this time… He wasn’t good at talking, that was true. He wasn’t good at showing his support with words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

You let out a pained groan when you finally plop on the concrete of the building’s rooftop. Every single muscle of your body aches and you can fell your heart pounding harshly against your ribcage, making it feel like every breath that makes it to your lungs it’s just a mere miracle.

The weight of the presence of someone standing beside you forces you to blink out of your thoughts. Tiredly, you look up, finding Miguel's mask glaring back at you with a deep frown you can make out of the way his eyes curve.

He holds a white little package on his right and he hands it to you before finally sitting down without making a single sound. It had all started like a little game between the two of you: You pretend you don’t see his figure hovering above a building while you train, or his silhouette watching you getting back to The Society place safely. You also pretend you don’t know it’s him who leaves bandages and painkillers over your bed every day with a little chocolate next to it. And he pretends he doesn’t know that you know.

You cross your legs and smile when you open the small box on your hands, smelling the sweet scent of warm and fresh food. You also take notice of how he changed one of the things he brought you last time, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you were sure now he definitely noticed you didn’t like it.

“Eat.” He orders and you are too tired to remark his tone of voice with a roll of your eyes. So you nod, bringing a big spoonful of pasta and vegetables to your mouth, thanking him with a big smile. Smile he doesn’t return. He never does anyway. But now it’s not like always. He’s pissed. “When was the last time you ate?”

You look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. You swallow, slowly, feeling his eyes burning on the side of your head.

“Mhm… Not long ago, no.” You answer, mumbling while you get more food into your mouth. Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Training this much without any nutriments won’t do anything good for you…”

“Training this much won’t do anything anyway.” You sigh, keeping then the fork between your lips. Miguel wishes to say something but he can’t find the words, he can’t order his thoughts inside his head to place them on his tongue and tell you just how much you have improved since the first day, so he gladly receives your bright eyes turning to him when you seem to remember: “But I finally climbed this building, see? Without using any web, only my spider fingers.”

The man nods at you waving playfully at him. The determination in your eyes even when your whole body wanted to give up, even when you know you’re still not close to go on a mission by yourself (or with anyone else), even when you probably couldn’t even sleep fine because of the sore bruises, the determination in your eyes didn’t flatter.

That made him feel something deep is his hands, a tingle he couldn’t control. And he hated it.

“Tomorrow at seven.” He sentences, standing on his feet again.

You frown, raising big eyes at him. The brightness in them when the weight of his words hit you destabilizes him.

“For real?”

“Yes.” He looks away. “If I don’t train you you’re not getting anywhere.”

His comment goes unnoticed for the excitement running all along your body.

“Ok.” You nod, trying to look professional but failing miserably.

He grunts in response, soon jumping off of the building and losing among all of the city chaos. In some minutes he would be back at the Society lobby. You… An hour. Give or take.

Training with Miguel was nothing but… Hell.

No, it actually wasn’t. You expected you could say that to make people thing you were having it hard, but he insisted on starting with the basics… basics that you already felt like being good at.

Still, climbing had become easier within the first week of training with him. The tips and advices he insisted you to follow helped you thinking of it more like a game than a must do.

Swinging was still a tricky one. You used to lose your balance when the demanded velocity was too much. Panic rushed over you, feeling like you would crash against a window or a fucking person, or another spider doing their own training.

“Trust your senses.” Miguel said to you every time you fell, and every time you death glared at him for that. He didn’t have one of the most important senses for spider people and he still managed to be better than anyone you could have known. You had them all, and they all seemed to be a mess when you tried to use them.

Soon enough, Miguel learned about a way to motivate you: Rewards. Most of the time was food, some others, the promise of letting you rest for more that five minutes was enough. For a week now, it had been a little bit different.

History. You loved it. And you changed any delicious and tasty food for hours listening to Miguel explaining everything about the multiverse and the tangled webs between all of you. He had told you about his first travels to other Earths at least three times, but you couldn’t seem to get tired.

You might not tell him how much his voice soothes you after a long day out, but it wasn’t necessary, he could see it. On the other hand, he definitely would never tell you how he glanced at you, completely asleep after another history session, memorizing every breath, every mole and freckle, counting every single one of your eyelashes like the stars on the sky above you.

No. You would never find out about that.

Today was supposed to be just like any other day: quiet, calm and premeditated. Nothing out of the routine you and Miguel had adopted for the past four weeks.

But with you, things were never that easy. Boredom was a dangerous thing for you, Miguel had learned it by now. The hard way. If something became not enough exciting for your restless self, you would look for that spark of adrenaline at any cost. It was part of your determination. Heart of a lion. He knew that. But it didn’t change the fact he would have to save you from breaking a few bones every once in a while.

“I’m sorry” You would say after he dropped you on the safe floor again. He would turn to look at you, fire running up his veins. Every time he wanted to yell at you, to snap and tell you it was the last time you do something like that. And every time he would sigh, pressing both finger on the bridge of his nose, finally grunting in a low voice:

“Desobedeciste deliberadamente.” A month was enough for you to know exactly what those words meant.

“I know.”

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“I know…” Then the bright eyes. Always the bright eyes. “But I have to try, I can’t depend on you forever. Getting hurt it’s just part of the way.”

He hated you were right. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got on his first years, of how many scars he still hides under his suit. Eventually, you would have to learn to stand up even if you’re bleeding. Even if you’re dying.

He is not mad at you for disobeying, that’s bullshit. He admired that of you, actually. You don’t act by fear, you do not fear him. You follow your heart even when you know you could get in trouble for it. No, he’s mad because every time he catches you before you hit the ground, all he can think about is that there’s going to be a moment where he won’t be there to do it. And the sound of your body crashing against the concrete, of your pain, would follow him till the darkest moments of the night, where he curses the day you’ll scream his name and he will be too far away to hear it.

“I want to change my reward for today.” You smile at him, both of your hands behind your back, making him suspicious of your teasing voice.

“You’re not going anywhere with Hobie.” He responds in a neutral voice, starting to walk in front of you.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head before getting in front of him and starting to walk backwards so you could keep facing him.

“It’s not that.” You insist. He doesn’t answer and you know that’s his way of telling you to go on. You sigh. “I want to see you without your mask.”

That makes him stop dead on his tracks. He tilts his head, questioning you with curious eyes. That’s all you wanted? No, you wanted that? Why?

Were you really that bored?

“I feel like everyone here has seen you at least one time, except for me. And it’s not fair.” You got a point on that. He spends most of his time training you, you share almost every meal together, he’s the last person you usually talk everyday because you’re too tired to do anything other than going to your room and sleep. You have spent entire days with him, you have cried and made a mess of yourself in front of his presence, and you didn’t even know his face.

You can deny the sting of irritation you get every time Hobie or Gwen, or any other come talking about what they said during the meeting before a mission, meetings where, you had learnt, Miguel used to take off his mask. Peter told you it wasn’t that big of a deal. You wanted to punch him.

“If that’s what you want.” Miguel crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “Now go tra-…”

You were gone before he could even finish his sentence. He sees your figure going around the building he chose for this particular session. Your swinging had gotten better over the last weeks and the confidence you had in yourself had also been improving, showing your true strength for him to see.

Jessica insisted on you being ready to train at the top levels with the others inside The Society training center, or at least to try. But Miguel profusely refused. He had designed many of the levels to train there, he knew the damage they could cause to someone not prepared to face them.

He blame it on his sense of responsibility over you the fact that he denied any attempt to put you on an unnecessary risk, but deep down, he knew that from the moment he stepped in front of you while you cried for that death he knew all too well now, and then observed how you wiped your tears and showed him your fists, ready to fight him despite everything… He was fucked.

You were the little thing he decided to protect even if it costed his life. The little thing that trusted his claws to hold at her, that puts its life on the line without a second thought. It is not his fault to have never experienced anything like this, to don’t know what to do, to act like a fool, to refuse to lose it… How they cannot understand?

“Done.” You jump in front of him, getting him out of his thoughts.

He looks up, seeing all of the targets on the building covered by a good layer of web. Your precision could be better, but you’re getting at it.

He sighs. He turns to face you completely before ordering his nanotechnology to uncover his face. Dark wavy hair falls onto his temples, brown skin glimmers under the heavy sun above you, full lips press against each other and two cold brown eyes glare down at you.

When you don’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”

You nod without waiting for another question.

“I just wanted to see your eyes.” You answer confident, smiling softly at him.

It is enough to say he never wore his mask on around you ever again.

Miguel O'Hara isn’t good in what emotion management respects.

He knows it, but he doesn’t have the time or care to try to do something about it.

It wasn’t that big of a deal…

Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal until one specially busy morning where he couldn’t make it to your first training, he went on looking for you… And he couldn’t find you.

He went to your room, your favorite places; he went looking all around the city, praying to find you just jumping above some buildings. But you were nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t until one Peter took mercy on him that pointed the worst place to be pointed: The training center.

With his heart going a thousand miles per hour, he started to look for you inside the complex. And when he caught a glimpse of Jessica looking up with a proud smile, he knew exactly where you were.

“She’s doing even better than I could’ve imagined. You’re a great mentor, Miguel.”

“Why is she here?” He answered immediately. Jess raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the uneasiness on his voice.

“Does that really matter? Look at her, Miguel!” She pointed at you with her extended hand. “Aren’t you proud of her?”

Of course he was. But what he couldn’t stand was someone else messing and taking choices over the one and only thing he has. So instead of answering her question, he sentenced: “Don’t ever get close to her again.”

“Miguel…”

“You can mess around with any other, but there is a fucking line, Jess. You chose yours, and I respect them. Don’t mess with mine.”

When he finally appeared in front of you, you smiled brightly at him. He looked like any other day, completely unfazed and with a calmed expression you were so used to see by now.

“Time to call it a day, don’t you think?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You were sweating, you arms were trembling and you could barely control your breath by now, and still… You shook your head.

“I want to try this level one last time.” He was ready to talk you out of it but your pleading eyes made him look down at Jess, who, with a single movement, made him understand what she was talking about.

“Fine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, got it?” His frustration made you giggle when you nodded.

You didn’t make it till the end of the level, but you tried, and that was all that mattered to you. To Miguel, having been able to take you to the wall before you crashed against a crystal under you was the main thing that mattered.

It had been a whole experience, but it remained like that. Enough time at least for him to push his way of react behind him. Until something made it snap again.

His eyes fly to all of the cameras in front of him, fixing his pupils in whatever screen he could catch a glimpse of your suit.

The threat they were expecting for your first mission ended up being a lot more aggressive and capable than hoped. You and your partner had already received a few good hits by the time Miguel reached for the Call button.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you hear when you press ‘answer’.

“Never better.” You reply, smiling at the interface of your pretty boss clenching his jaw.

“Need help?”

You immediately shake your head. “Not at all, we’re managing just fine.” Your figure distorts while you swing around. Heavy steps following you up close. “I gotta go, Miguel. See you back at home.”

“No, wai-…” He widens his eyes, trying to reach you before you end the call. His fists tighten and his eyes close, fighting to keep himself calm.

But our man can’t catch a break, because as soon as his breath starts to get back to its normal speed, a camera showing on one of the screens burst out with a big clatter, forcing his eyes open only to see his worst fear take form in front of him.

You were struggling against the anomaly, kicking your feet in the air and trying desperately to get his hands off your neck. Your partner was nowhere to be seen. You appear to lose you patience when you stop fighting and instead shoot webs to the creature’s eyes. The anomaly maddens, and throws you against the next building on the street.

Miguel's eyes follow your body across two cameras, watching in horror the blood dripping from your mouth when you cough after the blow, struggling to get on your feet again.

His hands move quicker than he can process, bringing all the information about the Earth you were on for him to see.

“Miguel.” Jessica calls from behind.

“Where the hell did you send her?” He whispers, reading the screen displayed. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go.”

“Miguel, look.” She insists, this time with a more demanding voice.

But the man can’t think of anything else more than you bleeding. Alone and injured.

“You said it was an easy one.” He growls in a low and dangerous voice.

“I’m…”

“I told you she wasn’t ready!” He snaps, looking back at her. His fangs pinch on his lower lip, so hard he can feel a drop of scarlet liquid running down his chin.

And it’s not until Jess takes a step back and Lyla calls his name that he realizes the way his claws had ripped the metal in front of him.

And then… A call.

He blinks out of his trance, looking up at the screen with your name on it. He hits ‘answer’ and your dirty suit and scratched face make an appearance.

His red eyes relax at the sight, returning to those soft brown irises and dark pleased pupils reserved only for you. He hides his fangs and his claws are no longer nowhere to see. Just you. It was just you again. And you were okay.

“Miguel, look!” You smile at him, pointing the camera on your watch for him to see your partner finishing to tie up the anomaly. “We got it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see.” He can’t help but let out a small glimpse of a smile over his lips, nodding at your excitement.

“Oh, you’re smiling. Wait for me to come back, I wanna see it in person.” And just like that, his smile is gone.

“Don’t take any longer. Both of you, come back as soon as possible.”

And with that, the call is ended once again, leaving him in a room with heavy air and thick silence. He jumps off of the platform, still glaring at Jessica in silence.

“You know that wasn’t right.” She whispers. “The way you’re acting it isn’t right, Miguel.”

He shakes his head, slowing his movements until he remains still just a few feet away from the entrance.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” He murmurs.

“Oh, now I don’t know?!” She opens her mouth with indignation, but Miguel doesn’t alter.

“It’s not like that and you know it.” He hisses. “I have lost everything in this world. I am utterly alone. And even between us, there a strings that doesn’t tangle. You have a husband and a soon to come baby, a family that awaits for you at home, but what do I have, Jess?”

The woman, for the first time, remains silent.

“I have her. I only have her.” He says. “Not a single thing in this world belongs to me but her. Everything else have been taken away from me, everything I once had has disappeared: my job, my life, my normal life. If she’s ripped from my hands, I have nothing left. And I cannot keep fighting for a life I don’t want to live. This is not only for her, Jess. If I lose her, I will tear the universe apart with my own hands.”

A single shiver ran down her spine, watching Miguel exiting the complex to find you arriving almost at the same moment.

She watched how his threat takes meaning when you wrap your arms around him and his eyes brighten at the sound of your laugh.

She knows that if they ever were to lose that light, the whole multiverse would dim with them.

Miguel wanted to own you.

He wasn’t good at hiding it.

His hands would come to your hips, grabbing your tights or caressing your waist under your clothes.

Your scent would drive him into his animalistic side at every given moment. Until the point he would have to step meters away from you during the meetings in order to keep himself from the smell of your hair and your soft skin.

But when he didn’t keep himself from you, he would come from behind you, embracing you with his whole body. His face would bury in the curve of your neck, sending shivers with his tongue coming out, tracing a single line till reaching your ear, where he would whisper what he wants, where he would ask you to let him touch you.

When you say yes, he would drop his head and sink your fingers on your tender skin, pressing his hips against your body when you throw your head back, allowing him to do as he wished so with you, to mark you as his as many times as he wanted.

“Miguel…” You sigh this time, feeling his hands clinging at your suit, desperate to touch your skin instead.

He had just returned from a mission that had kept him away from you three days. You had imagined he would’ve returned tired and ready to sleep for fifteen hours, but instead he took you straight into his bedroom and pushed you against the wall, where he now holds you still with both of his arms.

“Take it off.” He whispers, tugging again at your suit. He was being nice this time, and you thank him internally for that. You don’t have the strength to ask Lyla for another suit.

You complain with a happy humming, letting your body fully exposed before him except for your panties still covering your ass and pussy.

The man switches off his own suit, letting you see up close the tent under his boxers. His fingers grasp at your thighs, forcing your legs open for him. Two of his digits run along your folds over your panties for around ten seconds before he decides to tore away your undergarment and place his hand back at your sex.

You would have complained about his behavior but his fingers pressing down on your clit rip only a moan out of your throat. He plays with your sensitive bundle until you’re wet and seconds away from an orgasm he pretends to steal away when he stops his movements.

“No, please…” You cry out, your legs threatening to give up.

“Shhh, patience, mi amor, I’m not done yet.” With one hand he pushes you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his neck for support before he starts eating you out like a starved man.

You tighten your tights around his head, almost screaming at your over sensitive pussy being stimulated even more, with his tongue pushing in and out for a while until he takes it to your clit again, sucking in, ripping another hard cry out of you. You are so close. And when he finally joins in two of his fingers to curve inside of you, it’s your end.

You scream his name, clenching around his digits, making him growl enough to feel the vibration running down your skin. He guides you through all of it until you finally seem to catch your breath again.

But then, he takes out his fingers and drops his boxes to the floor. His dick throbbed painfully, making him hiss when he stroke it a few times before pressing against you, chest to chest, and bottoming out all the way with a single thrust.

“Fuck, Miguel!” You throw your head back as he does the contrary, sinking his fangs into your skin, trying not to lose control.

“May I move?” He asks, breathing heavily on your skin.

You nod.

“Yes, yes, please move.” He groan in pleasure at your words, starting to move your hips in and down to match the rhythm of his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against his ear while he pick up the pace. Soon enough, only the sound of skin slapping on skin could be heard around you, with nothing but your moans and gasps indicating him where he had to thrust, and his deep growls showing you how close he was.

“Cum for me.” He says, pushing your back back to the wall with his hand around your neck, squeezing you under his fingers. “I wanna see you cum.” He demands, making of his pace nothing but a mess of thrusts.

He was so close, he just needed…

“Miguel!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out desperate whimpers when your legs tremble around him and your walls clench around his cock, sending him so high he has to bite you again to avoid a throaty moan escape from him.

You could barely begin to feel your toes again when you feel him tightening his grip around you before walking out to the bed.

He was ready for the next round.

…

Thank you so much for coming all this way!

PD: I know Miguel fangs have paralyzing venom but let’s just pretend he can choose when to use it and when don’t.

This might not be good but I had the idea of this thread of story and I just wanted to write it.

I hope you have at least enjoyed some of it.

Love y’all. Sending a lot of love. See ya. <3

PD2: I’m trying to work now on a Sub!Miguel thing. It may be still a couple of days from it, but I want to be good. And I haven’t decided if it would be just porn or porn with plot. So let me know!

PD3: I’ll be doing cleaning and correction between today and tomorrow.

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