#top three worst gotta be Let It Be Me. Mouth of the Snake. And maybe one of the Goliath two-parters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lord-explosion-baku · 4 years ago

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Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

#bnha mermay #mermaid au #siren!shinsou #mermaid!hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha reader insert #reader insert #trident tale

801 notes · View notes

jeonbots · 3 years ago

Text

AJAR (1) | Jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook - fem. reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: demon!jungkook, nogitsune!jungkook, troubled!oc, minor character death, mentions of death, mention of a car accident, oc keeps nightmare-ing, jungkook is a fear demon, nogitsunes love chaos, mentions of sex, drinking, swearing, explicit sexual content such as oral (f receiving), fingering, breast playing, nipple sucking; dark rooms, blood, wounds, drugging, taehyung is a prick i'm sorry, poor oc just wants to sleep peacefully, jk won't let her, partying, overuse of the pet name ‘sugarplum’

words: 5k

a.n.: heyyyy! ik i was supposed to post that wizards of wavery place au but i havent finished it yet, i wasn't happy with it so i decided to change it up a bit. this story however has been in my drafts for about a year sooo here's the first part! it's gonna be a 2 part story :)))) enjoy

part two

/!\ UNEDITED /!\

—

You don’t remember the first time it happened. Or vaguely. Maybe five, six months ago? You’re not sure. But you do remember the darkness and the loneliness you felt at that moment. When you closed your eyes and you felt your body fall in an endless hole, skin itching uncomfortably. You had realized it itched because it was on fire, agony screeching out of your mouth and resonating in– in nothingness. And then you saw it. Its black, mundane eyes staring back at you like it was a hunter and you were its prey. You felt like suffocating until you had dug your nails into your palms hard to wake yourself up. Your body had jerked forward and you had screamed your lungs out until your throat burned, the tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. From this moment forward, you hadn’t sleep an entire night without waking up crying out loud in the middle of the night, your friend rushing to you. The first week, it was the same dream. The fall, your body on fire, the suffocating air, the piercing black eyes and your anxious and frightened awaking state.

The eighth night, you opened your eyes and found yourself on a cold floor, darkness surrounding you. You blinked a few times before adjusting to the poor lighting and suddenly your body shivered as you felt someone– or something– watching you intensely. You turned your head sideways trying to find the source of your discomfort but nothing was there. Until you heard it. A laughter. It was more of a snicker really, but it ran through your whole being, shaking your insides. The voice that had mocked you out loud had been so cold and dark, almost resembling a demon that you flinched. You tried to get on your feet but the cry that broke through you stopped you. You plopped back down on the floor, looking down at your body, taking in the deep cut and the blood pouring out of your right thigh.

“Help me! Please!” You cried, tears running down your face.

No response.

You lowered your head and sobbed. “I want to wake up.” You whispered, tears soaking your shirt.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. You weren’t sure. You just knew that you had stopped crying at some point. The wound on your leg didn’t seem to stop bleeding and you felt the life force being poured out of you everytime blood gushed out of your leg. You had laid back down on the cold marble, eyes closed and your arms and legs splayed out on the ground, resembling a starfish. The snicker from earlier returned and you abruptly opened your eyes, going in a sitting position and frenetically whipping your head around the area, searching for the source of your torments.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

The mocking grew closer and louder, and before you knew you were pulled back down on your back, breathe knocking out of you by the sheer force of the impact. You felt your arms move on their own accord, coming to lay against your sides as slender fingers grabbed your ankle and dragged you across the room, ignoring your pleas and cries for help.

“Let me in, sugarplum.”

It was softer than the snicker, but you still caught the dark timbre lying underneath.

“Who–”

Your body suddenly came to a halt and when you looked up, a large figure was towering over you. The jolt of surprise coming out of your mouth when the stranger bent down didn’t go unnoticed as you could make out rosy lips smirking right at you in the darkness. You shuddered as the stranger passed their fingers up your leg, ghosting over your wound before pressing down on it harshly with his palm. You cried out and tried to back off but your attempts were futile as two strong hands suddenly grabbed your hips, throwing you over a strong shoulder as they began to walk to some direction, you didn’t really know. You thrashed in the stranger’s hold, crying even more than before and before you knew, you were carelessly thrown on a mattress. Seconds later you heard footsteps and the click of a door, meaning you had been locked up in some room.

You sighed shakily as you glanced around the room. On your right, there was a small dusty bedside table with one drawer, a small lamp put on top of it and a box of matches right next to it. In the corner of the room, you could make out a maroon desk with some journals sprawled out on top of it and next to it a door closed, probably the one the stranger used to bring you here. However, on the opposite wall to your right there was another door. This one was slightly open. You frowned and forced yourself to get off the mattress, struggling to get on your feet. The second you were standing your legs gave away and you fell forward, landing on the nearest wall as your palms impacted your fall. The wall rubbed harshly against your skin as you let out a small cry, gasping at the pain running throughout your entire body.

How could a dream feel so real?

You brushed the thoughts off and started walking towards what you thought was your only way out of there, even if you knew deep down that it was not. You still were pretty much pressed against the wall, slowly making your way towards the strange door. When you finally reached it, you pressed a hand firmly against the wall as the other went to shakily grab the handle.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sugarplum.”

You froze.

No. Please.

You didn’t move. Not an inch. Not even to open the door completely or to turn around to meet your captor. But you sensed him shifting closer until his front was pressed against your back, an arm snaking around your waist to keep you close as you closed your eyes instinctively. His breathe fanned over your shoulder, lips brushing against your ear.

“Do you really want to face your biggest fears now?” He whispered.

“Please... let me go...” You whimpered.

“This is not the way out, sugarplum.”

He grabbed at your hips and spun you around and you yelped when you were met with familiar black eyes. Your own eyes grew wide and you took a few steps back until your back hit the wall softly. Even in all this darkness, the only thing you could make out about his appearance was complete dark and cold set of eyes.

“If you want out,” he followed your steps until he was hovering above your fragile and wounded form, “you just gotta let me in.” He ducked his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, nipping at your earlobe.

“Who are you?” You breathe out, staring at an invisible dot at the wall opposite to the one you’re pressed against.

He chuckled against your ear and a shiver ran down your spine. Yeah, that was straight up demonic.

He pulled his head out of your neck and leaned an arm on one side of your head against the wall and brought the other one around your jaw, lifting your head up to meet his intimidating gaze.

“Your worst nightmare, sugarplum.”

Then he laughed. It rang loud enough in your ear and you could hear the darkness in his mocking tone as he turned around and walked away from you. And suddenly, you were screaming. Screaming as you sat up in familiar warmth, hands fisting your sheets and tears running down your face. Realization dawn upon you as your cries had lowered in volume and you quickly pushed the covers aside, relief washing over you as your right thigh was not wounded. No blood, no horrible deep cut that made you want to puke. Your breathing was labored as you whimpered, the door of your room opening in a hurry.

“Fuck.” Your friend cursed out before making her way to you, sitting on the bed.

“I–I’m fine, I’m okay. It’s okay.” You avoided her gaze, hand coming to wipe off the tears on your red cheeks.

“No, you’re not Y/N. How long are you gonna keep this up? It’s been a whole fucking week and I don’t fucking know what’s happening to you. It scares the shit out of me.” Henri softly grabbed your head in her two hands, turning your head to meet her gaze as she rubbed your cheeks with her thumbs in a comforting way.

You breathed out shakily. “I think I’m going crazy.” You whispered, lower lip trembling as the tears threatened to spill out again.

“Let’s get you some help. Please.” She pleaded as she bore her eyes into yours. You nodded after a long minute and you saw the look of relief wash over your best friend’s face. She leaned forward as she pressed a kiss to your forehead then engulfing you in his arms. You rested your head on her shoulder as she rubbed your back.

“So, what happened before the incident?”

Three weeks later you were in seated in a beige sofa– a pretty comfy one, you had to admit– for your fourth therapy session with an older woman facing you on her baby pink armchair, her auburn hair styled up in a neat bun, a white dress-shirt tucked in a surprisingly colorful long skirt covering her legs as she had crossed one over the other. You learned after your first session that she liked fashion, noticing that her outfits were always on point and that she definitely should give you some advice. When you had woken up this morning, you had taken a quick shower and thrown on a grey sweater with matching grey sweatpants, not bothering to put make-up on. Why would you? You were about to talk about your deepest fears with a total stranger. You were glancing at the clock hung up on the wall nervously before she spoke up again at your silence.

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Y/N.” Her tone was soft and you felt your throat tighten.

You cleared your throat rather awkwardly. “Uh, I was out with some friends.” You nodded mostly to yourself but she hummed, telling you that she was all ears even though she was sometimes glancing down at her notepad to write something. “And, uh, there was this new club that opened on South Lake. We wanted to check it out and we were dressed accordingly so... we went. When we arrived there, the club was pretty full and we lost track of each other at some point... Uh, and I was pretty drunk. So I made out with a friend of mine and we uh, fucked. Yeah, pretty intense fuck if you ask me.” You laugh awkwardly as you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. She was comforting, somehow.

“So yeah, I fucked the guy then I called my br-”

The words died in your throat as you froze. Clarisse felt you tense under her stare but nothing changed on her face.

“You were going to talk about your older brother, Jason?”

You lowered your head and started fidgeting with your fingers placed in your lap, gulping as you felt your eyes water. You hadn’t realized in your storytelling that you were going to have to bring up that subject at some point. You nodded shakily, a few tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I should’ve never done that.” You whispered and the last words came out in a broken whimper. The woman opened her mouth, about to talk but was cut off by your sudden voicing.

“Is it over yet?” Clarisse jumped slightly at the way you had abruptly raised your head, looking at the awful clock as you brought your hands to your face to wipe off the tears with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Y/N–”

“Oh,” you fake-heartedly laughed, cheeks still stained with wetness, “would you look at that! It’s been an hour already.”

“Wait–”

“Goodbye, Ms. Blackwood.”

You had already grabbed your bag and bolted out of the door as Clarisse sat on her chair, dumbfounded.

You never went back to therapy. A small part of you felt bad for leaving the kind woman in her confusion but the other part– the larger one– was relieved you didn’t have to go through painful memories anymore.

College isn’t as hard as you’ve imagined. Ever since your brother’s death you had found the world of books and words fascinating. At first, your roommate would ogle at you like you were some kind of wild animal who had escaped from the zoo then she understood the change in behavior. You were quite the party girl before the car crash; always going out with friends, having fun in summer homes or going to frat parties. And now you’ve become what people call a ‘bookworm’. Of course, it doesn’t take your mind off the horrendous and painful nightmares you’re having every night, but it helps get yourself distracted from the intense ache in your chest. At first you had tried booze to keep your mind off the terrible monsters haunting you but all it did was giving you painful aftermath headaches and a horrible sinking feeling in your stomach. The last time you got really drunk, you threw up your entire stomach in some random front lawn and you collapsed on the grass, dazing off to a sleeping state. And your eyes closed slowly until you woke up in a familiar dark room, pleading and begging to be released.

You swore you’d never drink again.

“Y/N!” A warm breathe tickles the side of your face and you turn your head sideway to face the person who’s arm is draped around your shoulders, the other coming to settle around your waist, clinging to you loosely.

“You’re drunk,” you state, looking at your friend’s giggling form.

“And you’re not,” she pouts as she leans a bit more on your frame. “Come on, get drunk with us Y/N.” Her words are slurred.

“Henri,” you sigh. Your nightmares aren’t unknown to your friend, in fact, when it first happened, she was the first person you called, your sobbing making her heart ache through the receiver. She had decided to join you that night, knocking at your door fifteen minutes later, hands full of junk food and candy. You had spent majority of the night laughing and eating your fears away, Henri wanting to make you feel better. After that night, she’d decided to move in with you.

You look down your half-empty cup, the brown-ish liquid taunting you. You can practically see its mocking smile, waves of gold beaming through the dark beverage. “You know I won’t.” Before she can protest though, her warmth disappears and you hear her gasp and you see from the corner of your eyes the boy you recognize as her boyfriend Justin pressing his lips against hers, silently rolling your eyes.

The living room is packed with people grinding against each other, kissing in corners or going up the stairs, probably to fuck their sexual frustration away. Justin’s frat house always throws the most anticipated parties in the campus, and of course Henri wouldn’t miss it for the world. They’re like– the must-go parties, house full of free booze and weed in every corner, half of the campus always attends them. You hadn’t gone to a party in forever though, still traumatized by the last time you were blackout drunk but Henri had insisted the whole week and you said yes just a few hours ago. You didn’t feel like dressing up but she almost screamed at you to at least make an effort and you settled on a high-waisted black denim skirt that stops mid-thigh and a black tube top tucked underneath with some white sneakers after a long hour of Henri rummaging through your closet.

“Y/N!”

Turning your head to the familiar voice, you smile as the dark-haired man you’ve grown to appreciate the company of walks towards you with his own beaming smile.

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” He engulfs you in his arms as you giggle before awkwardly patting his back with your free hand.

“I’ve missed you too, Taehyung.”

Justin was the one to introduce you to Taehyung at his birthday party three years ago. He had been Justin’s drug dealer for quite a few years and he had been hooking you up ever since. Deciding to stop doing drugs ultimately made you stop calling Taehyung for weed and cocaine, and you two lost touch as the months went by.

“It’s been– what, about a year?” He says as he steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. You briefly glance at his appearance, loose black dress shirt and the tight fitting jeans hanging on his hips. The shirt’s collar is large enough to have his collarbone peeking out of the fabric, your thighs clenching under your skirt. You skillfully hide your evident arousal as you learned to do over the years and look back up only to find yourself squirming when you notice his lingering gaze on your breasts covered by the thin fabric of the tube top. He slowly licks his lips and you bite back a whine, your slick arousal already starting to seep through your panties and onto your inner thighs.

“Ten months,” you correct with an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Yeah,” he looks back into your eyes at your words and nods before looking around the place, not an ounce of shame taking over his features for being caught staring. “Uh, I haven’t had the chance to, uh, say it but I’m sorry for your loss.”

You gulp as you look down at your drink. “Thanks–”

“W-well not the chance but you know what I mean.”

You giggle as you shake your head. “It’s okay. Thank you, Tae. It really means a lot.”

Memories flood through your mind as you recall the times you would get high with Henri, Justin, Taehyung and a few other friends before the accident, all spread out on the couch and the carpet of some random house as you’d talk and laugh about basically anything. You’d say those were the happiest moments of your life and you’d do anything to turn back time and have this short yet vivid moment of happiness running through your veins just one more time, dopamine spreading through your whole being. And those nights you had spent in Taehyung’s bed, his cock pounding your walls as he sucked bruises onto your skin, the delicious drag of his length sending you over the edge.

As if answering your– unwanted –prayers, Taehyung slowly approaches you with a sly smirk, a hand propped on the counter beside your hip as he leans over your figure. You look up at him quizzically.

“I thought maybe,” he licks his lips as he glances down at your lips and back at your eyes, “you’d want to have some fun.”

You raise an eyebrow as his free hand digs into his jeans’ pocket, a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers as he lifts his hand at eyes level. You’d recognize those blue pills anywhere.

“No.”

“C’mon, Y/N. Just one, like old times.”

The hand that was on the counter comes hovering your neck, his slender fingers softly caressing the skin there. You shudder as his palm grabs your nape more firmly, his thumb rubbing the side of your neck.

“Taehyu–”

His sudden lips on your ear clamps your mouth shut and your eyes flutter, the lids closing as he starts to suck on the lobe. The grip on your half-empty cup weakens and you hastily put it down on the counter behind you, a few droplets of alcohol spilling on the marble. He presses his chest against yours as he starts kissing down your neck, licking and sucking until he reaches your collarbone where he vacuums the skin in his pink-tinted lips, a whimper making its way past your own. His arms snake around your waist and press you even harder against him as you grab his biceps for leverage, his hard-on poking at your thigh as you gradually let your head fall back.

You don’t notice the small blue pill he manages to sneakily drop into your beverage, its shape dissolving in the drink to slowly disappear into the abyss of its intoxication.

“Holy fuck.”

Your back arched against the mattress and your eyes closed in unadulterated bliss as Taehyung laps at your clit, you moan shamelessly as your hips jerk at each flick of his tongue against your cunt. He hungrily devours your sex and your buzzed state doesn’t protest even after your third orgasm. You still haven’t touched his cock.

“Ho– fuck– Tae, stop, I can’t– ngh– too much.”

He reluctantly leans away from your pussy, mouth and chin covered in your juices as he hovers your fucked out state, his smirk growing wider as he wipes your arousal off his face with the back of his hand.

“I still gotta fuck you full of my cum, baby.”

You release a shaky breath as you bite your lower lip, one hand seductively traveling down the expense of his chest through his shirt as your lust-painted eyes drink in his features. As you reach down his jeans, you subtly grab his crotch as you palm his hardened length, his breathing growing heavier.

“You’re still that needy?” He chuckles and you nod, boring your eyes into his as you lean forward to pepper kisses on his jaw.

You whine when his deft fingers rub your slit, coating his digits with your cum. “Fuck me, please. It’s been so long.”

“I know baby, I know.” He suddenly shoves two fingers in your sloppy hole, a moan slipping past your lips. “Gotta stretch you first for my cock.”

The sudden yet pleasurable stretch has your eyes rolling back in your skull, his skillful fingers pumping in and out of your heat at a delirious pace as your hands fist the sheets beneath you. His thumb comes rubbing at your clit and your hips jerk in his palm, loud moans escaping your parted lips. The stretch of a third finger in your walls has your orgasm spiraling at full speed, untamed pleasure hitting you for the fourth time tonight, your lips parting in a silent scream as you plop your head back down on the sheets.

“Fuck,” the man curses under his breath as he lazily fucks you through your climax, his own hard-on becoming way too painful. You slowly catch your breath as his fingers slip out of your heat and he presses his hips into yours, your thighs caging his waist.

You smile up at him through closed eyes, your high slowly descending and when your heartbeat regains its original pace, you open your eyes.

And your smile falters.

Familiar cold dark orbs are staring right back at you instead of the warm brown of Taehyung’s pupils, and you try to squirm away but find it impossible as the same invisible force pins you down.

“I– you–”

He chuckles.

“Sugarplum, long time no see.” His hand strokes your hair and you whimper, your legs still locked around the man’s waist.

“Please,” you whisper weakly, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I don’t want to hurt you, sugarplum.”

In this new lighting and his proximity, you can see the man’s face clearer than any of the previous encounters. As he leans forward to nose at your cheek, you can finally see his features and your lips part in shock.

His eyes are beautiful. A dazing shape, his dark orbs morphing into soft doe eyes, the tip of his nose almost kissable and his lips– God, his lips look delicious. Soft, plump lips so inviting, and you can’t help the hand hovering his face, your fingers gently caressing his plumpness. His dark hair falls messily around his head and you have the sudden urge to comb your fingers through his locks just to feel the silk-like strands through your digits.

He is demonically magnificent.

His free hand reaches to envelop your curious one, his eyes boring into yours. You shudder under his gaze and instead of cowering, you bring your other hand to push a strand away from his forehead.

“See? I’m no monster.” He smiles sweetly– almost too sweetly– and you gulp.

“What do you want from me?”

“I’ve told you countless times, sugarplum.”

His hand slides to your wrist in a harsh grip and you gasp as the other hand curls around your neck, squeezing your throat as he cuts off your air supply.

“Let me in.”

You whimper as the grip on your throat is unbearable, making you writhe under his hold. His hips ruth into yours and your naked cunt rubs against the material of his pants harshly, the outline of his obviously hard cock digging into your slit. As you feel yourself slowly falling into unconsciousness, he releases your throat and ascends down to your collarbone, reaching your tube top and pulling it down, a moan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your bare breasts. Each of his hand cups your mounds, his thumbs and forefingers pinching each pebbled nipple as you whine, your teeth caging your lower lip in a futile attempt to keep quiet. He notices that and releases a breast to harshly slap your thigh around his waist. You jolt in surprise and look at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t hold back. You sounded so sweet earlier.”

He doesn’t let you respond as he dives his head in, taking a nipple into his mouth to suck on the mound as he squeezes the other with his hand, pinching the nub in between his fingers. The moan that escapes your lips is unraveling, your hips automatically grinding against his in hope to find purchase. When he’s done with one breast, he does the same to the other one before pulling away, a hand stroking your hair affectionately as he stares at you.

“So beautiful.”

The blush on your cheeks isn’t going unnoticed and he smirks, his gaze lingering on your breasts heaving due to your ragged breathing. He then looks back up at your face before leaning forward and gently pecking your lips in a close-mouthed kiss, once, twice, then he starts trailing down your jaw to your neck, sucking bruises for everyone to see. You whine as you thread your fingers in his hair, and before you register it he has plunged two fingers in your heat, your stomach clenching to oversensitivity.

You moan as you buck your hips in his hand, surprised to even have enough energy to respond to the demon’s ministrations. His fingers are thick enough to hit all the right places and when his thumb strokes your engorged clit, your fifth orgasm of the night couldn’t have come sooner, a drawn-out moan escaping your swollen lips. As your walls squeeze his fingers deeply in your pussy, he groans above you before planting kisses down your throat. Leaning away from your neck as he pulls his fingers out, your arousal drips down his digits and you see strings of your slick juices connecting them when he parts them. Embarrassment manifesting in the red of your cheeks, you stare at the man happily lapping at his arousal-coated fingers, his pink lips wrapped around the skin.

“H–how did I get here?” You quietly ask as soon as your breathing came to normal. His furrowed eyebrows encourage the next words flowing past your lips, his digits falling free from the grip of his lips.

“I– I wasn’t asleep nor drunk and–”

The entire evening you made sure that you weren’t drinking too much, even had Justin’s special party booze out of tonight’s menu. Surely, you would remember if you had fallen asleep. Wait, had you passed out while Taehyung was fucking you? No way, you weren’t drunk. You hadn’t taken any substance or drugs or pills-

Pills. Blue, soft, dangerous pills.

Realization hits you in the guts and you suddenly find it hard to breathe. The way he had kissed your neck, your momentarily forgotten cup on the counter, his wandering hands–

“He,” you whisper, breath hitching as you choke out a whimper, “he drugged me?”

Gently, he places a kiss on your cheek. “Sugarplum.”

“He– he drugged me, and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The aching in your chest is too much for your heavy state and you start blinking away tears you didn’t know had started to pool at the corner of your eyes.

He sighs above you, his breath fanning over your face. Plopping down on the space next to you on the bed as he frees himself from the grip your thighs had around him, his hand gently strokes your naked waist until he reaches your breast, softly rubbing the skin as his thumb lightly flicks over your nipple. In an attempt to soothe your pain, you assume.

Trust is overrated, you conclude.

Here you are; crying over a man you’d learn to like over the past few years as the man you’ve been running from comforts your burning heart.

“It is,” he affirms and you don’t even question how he managed to answer your unspoken thoughts. The sob that breaks past your lips is heart wrenching and you bring your hands to your face, covering the entirety of it as the tears flow freely down your face.

He turns to you and envelops your shaken form in his embrace, your chest pressed against his as he runs a soothing hand down the expanse your bare back. And that’s how you fall asleep that night, without the nightmare that usually haunts your sleepless mind and instead, you find solace in the very man you’d grown to despise.

-----

#jungkook reader #jeon jungkook #bts #jungkook #jungkook smut #smut #angst #fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #taehyung #kim taehyung

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tansypoisoning · 5 years ago

Text

Preview 3 (/4?)

I’m still trying to figure out a lot of the things for the plot of (Un)Conditional (can you tell I almost never plan out a series before I start it?) so I’m working two disparate parts at the same time. I’m not sure if I’ll have any Thanksgiving Dinners in the story because I’m afraid they’ll be boring/unecessary and I’m kind of worried about writing a time-skip.

I appreciate any advices on writing Mr.Blanc’s dialogue too :)

Warnings: Daddy kink

You hadn’t been to many dinner parties, so perhaps your frame of reference wasn’t the best, but you could say with confidence that the bash at Harlan Thrombey’s mansion was the absolute worst one you’d been invited to.

The interrogation continued at the dining table: they wanted to know about what College you’d graduated from, where did you live before moving to Massachusetts, what did your parents do, if you had any siblings. Being questioned this thoroughly was never fun, but it was made even worse by the fact that one of your favorite authors was right there and you couldn’t seem to find a chance to ask him anything about his books.

Worse than being asked those questions was not being asked anything. When you were silent the room was either silent save for the sound of people chewing or taken over by the rest of the Thrombey’s. It was better when it was just your disgusting collective mouth noises. You learned that Joni owned a business that sold mainly t-shirts with inspirational clothes, crystals, and snake oil and that she had some troubling views on vaccines. You learned that Linda owned a real estate business that seemed to be the most important thing in her life right now, and that her husband had done something to really piss her off, her fingers dancing dangerously close to the carving knife whenever he would speak. You learned that Walt’s family was racist, and given some of their comments, you concluded they were racists of the “extremely” variety.

Aside from a few token eye-rolls and jabs here and there, everyone was acting like this was all normal, like they were just poking fun at each other’s favorite football teams. Was this normal for most other families and you had just lucked out with yours? No, there was no way this was normal. What the fuck were those people doing?

Or rather, what the fuck were you doing? You were still taking part in this farce, weren’t you?

You got to meet Ransom’s great-grandmother at least, although you weren’t sure she even realized you existed. You didn’t mention Harlan looked good for his age. The opportunity didn’t present itself, and even if it had you probably wouldn't have said anything.

The night ended with Jodi drunkenly swaying in front of the fireplace to Nina Simone’s rendition of “Born Under a Bad Sign” while balancing a wine glass and trying to get a sour-faced Donna to join her, Walt and Linda moving to the porch to smoke, Harlan sitting in a corner talking animatedly with Marta, while in the opposite end of the room Ransom and Jacob leaned against a wall having a hushed conversation, and with you stuck on a couch in between Richard and Wanetta. You were sure the three of you looked the picture of depression. Fran was, wisely, nowhere to be found.

It was hard to hide how ecstatic you felt when Ransom announced you two would be leaving. You said goodbye to all of them, and most were satisfied just nodding in response or at most shaking hands. Joni, however, hugged you when you announced your departure.

You and Ransom got into his car in silence. It was only when Harlan’s house was out of sight that you let out a sigh of relief.

That got his attention. “Were they everything you were hoping for?”

“I thought you were being hyperbolic when you said your family was a mess.”

“Hyperbolic? Me?” He snickered.

“Are they always this bad?”

The humor vanished from his face. For a moment you thought he was going to go off on you for criticizing his family.

“They’re not so bad...” He said, and you turned to him in disbelief. “There’s enough material for twenty comedy of manners novels, at least.”

You couldn't help but smile. This would all be so much easier if Ransom was just some dumb hot guy.

“Like I have the time to write anything. Maybe you should give it a go. Become this century’s Jane Austen.”

“Like I have the patience to write anything,” he retorted. The smile on his face was more endearing than it had any right to be “But I’m willing to pay you to ghostwrite for me.”

“If you can pay me more than my actual job I’ll take it.” You covered your face with your hands as you chuckled. He hadn’t earned that chuckle; you wouldn't show it to him.

The conversation died down organically, and maybe you should’ve just left it that way, enjoyed the comfortable silence. You probably should have, because you didn’t.

“Marta said they were good people.”

He scoffed. “Marta’s fucking a moron.”

“She’s hot.”

“She’s gotta be something.”

When you went too long without answering, Ransom turned to you with a shameless grin “Are you jealous?”

“What would be the point in being jealous? This is an open thing.”

“You are jealous,” He snickered, then was silent for a moment. He drummed his fingers against the wheel and sighed before speaking again “I’m not interested in her, trust me.”

Maybe he was being honest, but asking you to trust him was too much.

“Wouldn’t matter if you were.” You made a point to shrug. He gave no indication he had even heard you.

Ransom turned the radio on at some point, and the music helped to alleviate the tension permeating the air. For the rest of the trip, the only soundtrack was the rumble of the engine and the droning of the top 40.

Ransom parked on the street off to the side of your blocky apartment building and you got out. You were slamming the door shut when you noticed he had climbed off the car as well. No words were spoken as he followed you through the sidewalk and across the minuscule lawn, just a patch of grass with a few topiary bushes sprinkled here and there. You couldn't really feel his breath on your neck, but you imagined you could, and all the hairs in your body stood at attention.

You took the stairs up. It was a deliberate decision; you only lived on the third floor and the elevator would ruin the mood. As you climbed the steps, you wondered if Ransom was looking at your ass. You didn’t know that he was, but you also didn’t know that he wasn’t, and that had a torrent of blood rushing to your head.

Reality was a little foggy when you reached your door. You unlocked it, let yourself and Ransom in, and he was on you as soon as you had closed it again.

Ransom held your head in both hands, effectively keeping you from looking away. You could’ve closed your eyes, but you didn’t.

“You’ve been so good today.” His voice was slow and sweet like molasses as he spoke against your mouth. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him if only he’d let you “I think you deserve a reward.”

You nodded dumbly, loving the way his soft lips felt as your brushed against them. He slapped one of your cheeks just hard enough to rouse you from your trance.

“Yeah?” He asked “Then you better ask nicely.”

A whine slipped past your lips. You weren’t complaining – no, this was foreplay.

“Please,” you begged “Please, can I have my reward, daddy?”

He answered with a cocky smile that was all Ransom, then parted from you.

“Strip,” he commanded as he appraised your body, now a few steps away.

You pulled your shirt above your head, then moved to your slacks, stepping out of them in a way that you hoped was alluring. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but his gaze was zeroed in on you and you took that as a good sign. He also wasn’t complaining, and he wasn’t too polite to be gentle in his feedback.

Next were your bra and panties, and then you were bared to him. Ransom examined you with the same clinical look for a while longer. He really had a gift for affecting your self-image.

“Hands behind your back, shoulders against the door,” he said “And keep your hands there. If I see them move you’re not cumming.”

You knew he meant it; once you’d neglected his instructions and he’d edged you all night long, then tied your hands on the bed post and went to sleep while you writhed on your bed and rubbed your thighs together trying to get off. By the time the sun rose, you were begging him for an orgasm.

You did as he said and waited. The waiting was part of the game, and it always meant he wanted more than to just get off. You preferred him like this, even though it meant you couldn't touch yourself without his explicit permission.

Ransom stalked in your direction, shoulders pushed back, and you felt even smaller. The cheap plywood door vibrated with your own tremors and made a loud rickety noise. He had such long legs; he should’ve gotten to you in no time, yet it was an eternity before his feet landed in front of you.

He held your jaw with one hand, tilted your head up. He observed you so closely you could smell his toothpaste. Mint. Your apartment was cold, but with him hovering so close, you felt warm. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against your cheek and his nose on your temple.

“You’ve had a long day today, didn’t you? Work and then having to meet those awful people.” His voice was patronizing, almost like baby talk. You could only whisper a yes “Let me take your mind off it, baby girl. Let me fuck your brains out.”

You fought the urge to try and hold onto something and answered with a ‘uh huh’.

Still holding your jaw, Ransom pulled his body from yours. It was so cold, so sudden. “You know how this goes. Use your words.”

“Please, Daddy – I want you to fuck my brains out.”

Ransom smiled his heart-stopping smile, and his hand slid to your throat. He felt down your body with his thumb, first to the hollow spot in your neck, then your nipple. His other hand found your lower back just before you slid down to the ground.

His fingers trailed down your stomach with deliberate slowness. A tremor ran up your body when he reached your vulva, and you gasped as he parted your lips with his ring and index finger, using the middle digit to touch you just where you wanted most. You gasped as he found your clit.

When you took the phone call you’d expected to be met with the voice of one of your company’s client, so you didn’t even look at the caller ID as you picked it up.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Asked Ransom’s voice on the other end of the line. He’d called at the worst possible time too, while you were carrying a cardboard cup holder with your drink and a poorly balanced bagel, navigating a crowded coffee shop.

“Can you not? You know I have a nine to five job.”

“Aren’t you supposed to get a lunch break?” He sounded grossed out by the expression. It was just as likely he thought the idea that having a single, predetermined hour for lunch was offensive as he found the idea of free time for the working class ridiculous.

“I am on my lunch break, but I have to keep my phone free. You know, for clients?”

“I’m spending Thanksgiving at Harlan’s,” he ignored you “come over, I could use a plus one.”

“I can’t,” you said “I always spend Thanksgiving with my family.”

“Just ditch them.”

“No,” you said. You had always had trouble denying him, but not this time. This was the one childhood tradition you still upheld, and it meant a lot to your parents “I always spend Thanksgiving with my family. I’m not convincing them to reschedule for your convenience.”

He was silent for a moment “Great. Guess I’ll die of boredom.”

“I’m sure you’ll find ways to keep entertained.” You smiled; you wished you could kick yourself.

“Where do your parents live?”

You shook your head as if he could see you “We’re staying at my brother’s. He and his wife live in Albany.”

“That’s not far.”

Oh, no. You knew that tone.

“No. Why does it matter?” You asked, sure he would’ve heard the doubt in your voice.

“You could still make it to both parties.”

You wished you had a free hand to rub your temple; you could sense a headache coming. You were making your way to the entrance, but you had to stop to lean on one of the bar tables stacked with sugar packets and disposable spoons because his plan was literally too stupid to stand. “Ransom, I’m not going to go to your grandfather’s house then drive in the middle of night to fucking Albany.”

He sighed. “You’re going to start showing at some point. I’d like to squeeze in a few more meetings with my family before breaking the news.”

That was fair, you supposed. It still wasn’t like you were going to try making it for two dinners in different states in a single night.

“Well… I can’t make it to Thanksgiving.” Now recovered, you gathered your things and started making your way to the entrance again “If I gotta meet your family to keep up appearances, don’t you think it would be fair if you did the same for me?”

“Oh?” He was grinning, you could tell “What’s in it for me?”

Seriously, this jackass...

You held the phone in between your shoulders and cheek to reach for the door handle. “Ransom, you’re not-” your words ended in a yelp when someone bumped into you. It wasn’t just any bump – no, no, that would’ve been too lucky. The stranger practically barreled into you, sending your lunch and phone hurling into the air. Some of your drink conveniently landed on your white shirt before spilling on the ground.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, miss!” Said the man who had rammed into you as he bent over to pick up your phone. “I am more distracted than a hound dog in a perfumery! Oh- Drat!”

He rose and you were met with strikingly blue eyes.

“Your phone’s screen didn’t happen to be already cracked, did it?” He said, extending your cellphone back to you. His southern drawl was so melodious it took you a moment to catch onto his implication.

“Not really.” You said as you took your device from him. Just as he’d said, the screen was cracked.

“Oh, lord-” He brought a hand to his graying hair. “Again, I am so sorry-” he then signaled to the barista that had come over to clean up the mess “Excuse me – I’ve knocked this poor woman’s lunch on accident. Would it be possible to get her another drink?”

The worker seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I gotta ask my manager...”

“Oh, no, please, don’t bother” The man waved his hand by the side of his head “If it’s a matter of money, I’ll pay for it. I’m sorry again, miss – what did you have?”

You found yourself blurting out your order before you could think too hard about it.

“Yes – and please, throw in a muffin in with the order; please can keep the change.” The man produced a wallet from his coat and pulled a fifty dollar note from it, handing it to the barista, who accepted the money with some confusion. “Thank you very much.”

You were still unsure of what to do, so you remained rooted in place while the man ran up to the counter, got you several napkins and ran back to hand them to you. You considered the possibility that he was trying to flirt with you, but if it were the case he at least wasn’t using the opportunity to dab at your wet shirt with paper towels.

#ransom drysdale x reader #mine #WIP

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adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXIII

January 6, 2278.

“People of the Capital Wasteland! It’s me, Threeeeee Dog, your master of ceremonies. Everyone ready for the wasteland's latest news? Me neither, but it’s that time again.

We haven’t heard from Miss 101 for quite a while now. Three Dog was even starting to fear the worst after eyewitnesses reported sightings of Talon Company mercs lingering near Rivet City, the last location she was seen alive with her ghoul friend, Charon. GNR sources confirmed the body of five mercs in the metro tunnels that connect from Anacostia Crossing to the Museum station. Sounds like they messed with our dynamic duo and fucked up real bad. If the kid and her bodyguard survived the ambush, Three Dog is still confirming, so stay tuned. Here’s to hoping the Wasteland Avenger and her faithful Ghoul Reaper are still alive and kicking. The Capital Wasteland needs people like them.

And now, for some music. Here’s Billie Holiday with Crazy He Calls Me.”

“Wasteland Avenger my ass,” Percy mutters.

Beside me, my partner tosses and turns, unable to sleep. I roll on my side, and see her back turned to me, arms defensively around herself. We’re huddling together for warmth in a single bedroll, under a musty tent. The campfire outside continues to burn, providing us with additional heat.

“Charon, are you awake?”

I grunted in response, my chin settling on top of her head.

“You got a little scary earlier today, big guy,” Percy tells me, and I wince. “I didn’t want to issue an order, but that’s the only way I got you to stop. What happened?”

With one arm, I prop myself up, and with the other, I pull her into an embrace. She turns and presses her forehead against the crook of my neck.

“I blacked out.”

“Was it an episode? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It wasn’t an episode.”

“Did Phillips really piss you off that bad?”

I look into Percy’s eyes. They were searching mine. I nod, and I press my mouth against her forehead.

“Huh. That’s the first time you ever reacted to someone saying shit about you.”

“I was pissed about the things he said about you,” I corrected her.

We lay in silence for minutes. Just when I thought she had finally fallen asleep, Percy extends her arm and wraps it around my waist.

“I’ve been thinking about what he said. About Dashwood… and me.”

I let her continue, running my gloved hand through her hair.

“He’s got a point. Like Dashwood and Argyle, we’re friends, yes, but our relationship really is unequal.”

I get the feeling that she’s going to bring up the contract again.

“When you’re ready, let’s get rid of the contract together. Promise me?”

“That may take a long time, Percy.”

Looking in my eyes with wet ones, Percy gives me a pleading look.

“I don’t care how long it will take you. I could be old and gray and I’d still wait for that day. Please?”

Please. Damn that word.

“I promise.”

“There’s something else that’s bothering me,” Percy continues.

“What if I keep making the wrong decisions, Charon? What if I screw Paradise up? What if I screw Project Purity up?”

“There’s no room for doubt now,” I tell her.

“I know.”

Letting her go, I sit up and take my shotgun. “I’ll keep watch,” I tell her.

“You should rest too,” she tells me, peering up from the sleeping bag.

“I am trained to go with less sleep. I insist that you rest, angel.”

Percy chuckles, voice soft.

“Fine. Good night.”

I left our tent and stood guard outside.

It was around four in the morning when Percy started screaming, and I rushed into the tent to see what’s wrong. I had to put my arms around her and press her against my chest again to calm her down. Her pulse was racing, she’s sweating despite the cold, and her skin is pale and clammy. I move her closer to the fire, where she clings to me, trembling.

“Percy, are you alright?”

My partner nods. She takes a bottle of water from our pack, and drinks desperately, a stream of water escaping her lips.

“Just a bad dream…”

As my night terrors became less frequent, Percy is starting to have them more often.

I wish I could do something to help her.

Taking off her glasses, she presses her hands against her face. “God, what’s happening to me?”

“You’ve been through a lot of distress for the past days.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right. I am,” she replies. Percy stretches, then gets up.

After having a breakfast of Cram and tucking our gear safely into our pack, we got on the motorcycle and I started driving again. The sun is rising in the east, where we’re heading.

“Are you sure this will work?” I ask her through the roar of the engine.

“Knowing the Brotherhood, they won’t spare any resources to help me. But I still need to try.”

I kept quiet and drove on. When we arrived at the Citadel, one of the guards eyed us and our vehicle.

“A working motorcycle? Never thought I’d see the day,” he comments, opening the gates for us.

He was smart enough not to say anything about my presence and just let us through. The last time he did, things got ugly.

I follow Percy into one of the buildings, where the scribe that gave us the location of Vault 87 usually stays.

“Scribe Rothschild,” Percy calls his attention.

“Ah, Persephone. I’ve heard about the ambush. I’m glad you survived. Have you retrieved the GECK?” the scribe asks. His eyes were glued to the terminal he’s using.

“We ran into some problems, but we found a way to get in through Lamplight. The thing is, the residents are asking me for a favor in exchange for entry. We need to save their friends from Paradise Falls. I’m planning to launch a full-on attack, and I need all the resources you can spare.”

At the last sentence, Rothschild looks up and gives Percy a scrutinizing look. “A full-on attack? You know that the Brotherhood is spread thin as it is, with the mutants crawling about in DC.”

Shoulders tensing, Percy folds her arms. “I thought this chapter of the Brotherhood is dedicated to protecting people. How can you even let Paradise Falls continue to exist? They should’ve been wiped off the map years ago.”

“I told you, Persephone. We cannot spare resources for that. You will have to find another way to get in Lamplight, force your way in if needed.”

“But they’re children, Scribe.”

Rothschild gives my partner a long, hard look, and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Groaning, Percy massages her temples, brows furrowed and scowling. “I should’ve known that this would be a waste of time.”

Then, one of the tin cans approached us. This one is old, battle-hardened. Her hair was graying and there were lines at the corner of her eyes.

“Excuse me. I can’t help but overhear your conversation with the scribe. You are James’ daughter, am I correct?” she asks Percy, and my partner looks at her with wary eyes.

“Yes. You know me?”

“Indeed! I am Star Paladin Cross. On behalf of the Brotherhood, I welcome you to the Citadel. I am proud to say that I was friends with your father. I helped guard the purifier from the super mutant horde, and when James left, I escorted you and him to Megaton. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Percy looks at me with wide eyes, and back to the elderly paladin.

“Thank you. In five days, we will be launching an attack on Paradise Falls to rescue the slaves and end their operations, once and for all. I would appreciate it if you can join us in the battle.”

“Your father would be proud. I’d be honored to join you on your mission,” Cross replies, extending her hand to my partner, and she shakes it. Cross looks at me, and I expected her to scowl in disgust, but she merely nods, acknowledging my presence.

Maybe this old lady isn’t so bad.

“Meet us at night in Gob’s Saloon in Megaton, on the tenth. We’ll discuss tactics there. See you, Paladin.”

As we turn to leave, Percy stops in her tracks.

“Wait. Paladin Cross, are you any good with big weapons?”

Cross smiles and stands proud. “Brothers are trained well and tempered in the fires of battle.”

Percy smiles, and I can tell she’s formulating several ideas in her mind.

“Good! I look forward to discussing tactics with you.”

“It’s always a subject worthy of discussion. Farewell, friend.”

After changing the fission battery of the motorcycle, I start the engine again, and Percy gets on.

“Where to next, Percy?”

“Rivet City. I need to check if Flak and Shrapnel carry missiles.”

January 8, 2278.

“-get this! Little Miss 101 and her trusty bodyguard are still alive, and have been spotted cruising around the wastes on a motorbike. Where the hell did they even find a working one? Regardless, they’ve been very active for the past few days. What are they even up to? Off to start a motorcycle gang? Just joyriding around? Whatever it is, the Capital Wasteland’s buzzing with excitement due to the return of the Wasteland Avenger and the Ghoul Reaper, now on wheels! Hahaha, bad guys better watch out!

Until next time! This is Three Dog, and you’re listening to Galaxy News Radio, bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts.”

“So what are you up to, Nosebleed? And why are you leaving Dogmeat with me again?”

Across us, DeLoria smokes a cigarette, on break from barber duty. Bottles of Nuka and whiskey littered the table. Percy wipes her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Because if I leave him at Moira’s, she might attach him with a fifth paw or something. It’s a secret, Butch. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“You’d better not be starting a rival gang, Perce. Once a Tunnel Snake, always a Tunnel Snake.”

“I have no plans of competing with you, DeLoria. How’s the gang anyway?”

Butch falters, sagging. “Well, uh, there’s no new members yet, but only because I’m so busy with being a barber! Gotta get that dough. Ain’t like you who can scour the wasteland for caps.”

I snorted. Percy laughs outright.

“Yeah, you’ll probably end up as mole rat chow if you tried that.”

DeLoria crushes his cigarette in a nearby ash tray and flicks the butt towards Percy, which she dodges.

“C’mon, for old time’s sake. What are you two up to now? It’s getting boring around here. The Butchman needs some action.”

“Butch. You cried when we came across a radroach on the way here. I’d rather not get you involved in something so dangerous.”

The greaser frowns. “But that was a radroach! You know I hate ‘em scurrying little freaks with their scratchy legs, eugh. I can shoot and I can stab anything else!”

“You can’t even shoot without almost shooting Percy,” I tell him, and his frown deepens.

“Oh yeah? Like the two of you can do better…”

Percy snickers. “Charon is a trained soldier, while I spent my free time in the vault at target practice. Just let it go, Butch. You’re safer here.”

“If he wants to be useful, maybe we can use him as bait,” I say, and both of them turn to me. DeLoria looks annoyed as hell, while Percy gives me a blank stare.

Fuck, this is what I get for trying to joke.

“Not funny, asshole.”

“Wait. That might work,” Percy mumbles.

“Percy, what the hell!” DeLoria exclaims, looking a little hurt.

Percy moves next to DeLoria, and she cups her hand near DeLoria’s ear to whisper. Then, the greaser looks at her with wide eyes. “No way. That’s crazy Percy! How are you gonna even-”

“Keep your voice down! Do you want in, or not?”

Butch groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, fine, I’m in. But if I die, I’ll fucking haunt you, Perce. You too, Charon.”

Standing up, Percy drags Butch to the Muddy Rudder’s exit. “I won’t let you. Which is why we need to work on your aim.”

I follow the two up the stairwell, where Butch complains the entire time.

At the top of the ship, there are a few security guards patrolling about. Percy speaks to one of them, then she leads us to the far edge of the ship.

“Do you have your pistol with you?” Percy asks Butch.

“Yeah, always. What-”

“Unload it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“We wouldn’t want to waste bullets and shoot anyone now, do we? Just do as I say, DeLoria.”

Butch does as he’s told and tucks the clip in his jacket pocket. “What now?”

“Aim.”

He does as he’s told, but his stance is off. Percy sighs.

“God, you can’t even aim properly. Charon, help him.”

Ignoring the greaser’s complaints, I shove his feet with mine in an effort to correct him. Once he was in the proper position, Percy perches a bottle cap on top of the 10mm.

Ah. I get it now.

“Practice shooting without making the cap fall off,” Percy instructs him, and steps aside.

DeLoria fires, but it falls off.

“Dammit. This is stupid.”

“Just keep practicing, Butch.”

It keeps falling off, and at that point, I was getting annoyed.

“No, not like that. Don’t use your joint. Don’t wrap your entire finger around the trigger. Use just your distal phalanx to fire,” Percy instructs.

“My what?”

Ah, fuck it. DeLoria’s involved now. Might as well continue teaching him.

“Percy, should I demonstrate it for him?” I ask my partner. She nods.

DeLoria begrudgingly hands me the gun. Percy perches the cap on top of the pistol, and I shoot. It remains steady.

“Watch Butch,” Percy tells the greaser. “See how he doesn’t flick the trigger? Try exhaling as you fire too. Breathing can throw off your aim.”

“Great, now you’re teaching me how to breathe too? Where’d you even learn all this, Perce?”

I do it again.

“Well, aside from target practice in the vault, I came across this simulation thing. It’s like a video game, but if I die in it, I die in real life. I watched the soldiers do it.”

“Simulation? What?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to believe, I know. But it was supposed to be a virtual training exercise for soldiers to get ready for the Battle of Anchorage, 200 years ago.”

The cap fell off of the gun as my breath hitched. I hand it back to DeLoria.

“Now, try it again.”

This time, Butch gets it.

“I did it! Whooo! Look out Wasteland! The Butchman’s coming for you!”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Percy comments.

With a cocky smile, Butch goes back to practicing.

“Meet us at Megaton in two days, Butch.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you.”

I follow Percy down.

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #fallout charon #charon fallout #fallout 3 charon #charon fallout 3 #oc: percy zhou #butch deloria #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout #fallout fanfic #writers on tumblr

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twistedcharismaaa · 5 years ago

Text

The Red Door Pt. 5

Summary: You and Erik have a lot of shared history together but because of recent events you’re scared that you’re going to lose your best friend. Maybe he’s still there … behind that red door?

Author’s Note: Beautiful, Beautiful people! I’m back again with another chapter! You guys made me smile and laugh so hard at the last one! I appreciate all the love and feedback! I love you guys. In this chapter, I did incorporate some French and I did make up a “song”. Please don’t judge the song. I know it might sound crazy. Please always leave a comment cause I seriously live for them! I hope you guys enjoy. Also, Please check out my mood boards below as well. All credit goes to @ghostfacekill-monger she did an excellent job creating those!

Mood Board 1 Mood Board 2

It’s been three days since your last encounter with Erik. You decided that you needed a break from him. You never thought that you would actually need space from him. But this was a matter of what you needed versus what you wanted. You wanted answers. Concrete, detailed, descriptive answers. You and Erik were kindly escorted out of Rico’s Lounge after the scene that you made. You decided that night that you finally had enough. You were done fixating on someone that didn’t give you a second thought. You were slowly, painfully accepting that the person that you knew and loved was gone. You thought maybe this separation was a necessary pain. That night Erik rambled so much about an evilness that he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t piece his words together well enough for you to completely understand. You decided not to question him further. That night you hopped into your matte black jeep tired, frustrated, and literally drained. Erik watched you drive away and nothing more was said. The last couple of days you’ve been practicing the same routine. Work, eat, sleep, and repeat. Today you had the day off and you were beyond thankful. You tidied up your apartment and waited for your mother’s arrival. She wanted to visit and show you the new wigs that she ordered online. You grabbed some salt and vinegar chips out of your cabinet and poured them into your favorite light and blue serving bowl.

Before you could finish displaying snacks and treats for your mother, you heard her knocking on the door. You opened the door with a warm smile on your face.

“Hey, mama.” you chuckled. You watched your mom sassily enter your apartment with 3 unopened packages.

“Hey, baby. You looking pretty. You just washed your hair?” she replied while sitting down her boxes in front of the couch.

“Yea, I did a deep condition and I just got finished twisting it up. Ma, I got some chips over here. There’s some lemonade in the fridge too.” you answered.

“Chips and lemonade? Where’s the real food? Uh uh, now when you come to the house I feed you. But when I come over, it’s chips and juice.” she fussed.

You threw your head back and fell into a deep rich hearty laughter. Your mom was a trip and you loved her for it. She was so extra and dramatic in the best ways. You grabbed the bowl of chips and walked towards her.

“Ma, how about I order some pizza? I’ve been too busy to cook this week. I was swamped at work.” you explained.

“Mhm,” she replied while taking the chips and sitting down the couch.

You ordered a meaty pizza with an excessive amount of toppings. Just the thought of the pizza made your mouth water and your stomach growl. You were honestly positively surprised that you had an appetite. The last couple of months you’ve been forcing yourself to eat.

“Ok, done. It should be here in about 45 minutes,” you said while dancing in your seat. You turned on Beyonce’s Bday album and watched your mom try on her different wigs. She was going on vacation next week to the Bahamas with her friends. The Old Lady Gang ... But Better at least that’s what your mom called the group.

“Marley look! Ain’t this how Beyonce do it?” she exclaimed. You watched her try to mimic Beyonce’s choreography to Get Me Bodied. You tried to hold in your laughter but you couldn’t help but let out a giggle here and there. You ran and grabbed your phone and started recording her.

“Ma, do it one more time! Ma, you gotta follow her instructions!” you more than sure that you let out the ugliest laugh possible.

“This song too long. I’m tired now!” she replied while plopping onto the couch. You turned down the music and brought her a chilled cup of raspberry lemonade. You sat down on the floor in front of her and asked her if she wanted to see the video of herself. She declined and continued to sip her lemonade.

“Ma, I saw Erik. He did answer,” you said without making eye contact with her.

“How is he?” she asked calmly.

“Worst than what I thought. Um-” You tried to finish your sentence but the lump in your throat was so hard and so heavy you had no choice but to painfully swallow. You felt the nervousness creep up your spine like a thousand tiny spiders. Even though your mother was right there, you felt her becoming more and more distant. You didn’t realize that her loving arms were around trying to console you. You didn’t realize that you let out a deafening scream that was more fierce than lightening itself. You didn’t realize that it had been over 30 minutes and now you were asleep in her arms.

“Oh Marley, I’m right here. I’m right here baby.” your mom said as she rocked you to sleep.

----

It was now later in the evening and you found yourself in bed. You sat up slowly and looked around your bedroom.

“Ma, you still here?” you called out.

“She close by.” you heard a deep voice respond.

You jumped out of bed and ran towards the doorway to turn on the light.

“Erik? How the fuck did you get in my apartment?!” you yelled.

“Your moms found me and brought me here,” he responded. You watched Erik come out of the shadows of your bedroom and walk towards you. He had on an all-black durag, a hoodie that matched his caramel brown skin, and jeans that were cut at the knee. His shoes were multi-colored but still tastefully complimented his apparel.

“Brought you here? How?” you crossed your arms and looked him up and down insultingly.

“She caught me on the way here. She had a baseball bat in one hand and she told me that she had a knife tucked in her um bra. She said she was gonna pull up on me if I didn’t start treating you right.” he said awkwardly while rubbing the back of his head. “I deserve it though ... nonetheless.”

You covered your mouth to hide your subtle smile.

Erik licked his lips. “I do owe you a proper apology. I’m sorry for disappearing on you like this. Stressing you- all that. I’m sorry for being an ass to you at Rico’s Lounge. I know everything you feel is ‘cause of me. Before you cut me off, I got the answers that you are looking for. I’m going to give you the full truth and what you do with that truth is on you. But lemme say this, the reason why I did everything is to protect you. I was mean on purpose, I was distant on purpose everything about me right now isn’t natural. It’s strategically executed.”

You sat down on your bed. You questioned yourself if you were ready for the answers that Erik was going to give. This is what you’ve been waiting for months and now here they are.

“When I was little, my mom used to sing to me about a place. It was called The Valley.”

Erik’s leg started to bounce nervously.

“Walk lightly and walk swiftly.

Don’t smell the roses don’t look upon the trees.

Don’t drink the water and don’t rest your head upon the grass.

Your eyes deceive you, sweet child.

The rose petals have fallen a long time ago.

Thorns are only left.

And snakes dangle from the trees.

The water takes life.

And will you become lost in this tall grass.

You will become lost in this valley.”

He continued. “She would sing it to me in French so I never knew what it meant. I do remember getting creeped out every time she would sing it to me though. I found out too late though that she was trying to save my life. Remember the devil I was talking about?”

“Yes,” you said softly.

“Marie Laveau is who I met that night. Her last name translates to the valley in French. And she is my devil.” he replied.

Part 4 Part 6

-----

@shookmcgookqueen @fonville-designs @alexundefined @jozigrrl @missshae @tyees

@melaninmarvelgirl62 @blackmissfrizzle @honeytoffee @essaysbyciara @wawakanda-btch

@tip222u @ghostfacekill-monger @l-auteuse @lostennyc @quietstorm-73 @rolemodelshit @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade

@blackreaders-assemble @rayraynddem @soulfood-fics @theogbadbitch @raysunshine78

#erik killmonger #adonis creed #michael b jordan #the red door #red door #fanfic #fanfiction

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anpannkko · 5 years ago

Text

Here's my entrance exam for @taiyuu-high-oct

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kiru bounced her leg, growing antsy. The pit in her stomach that had formed when she arrived has been filled with the prickly thorns of impatience. She’d been in the waiting room for what felt like actual years. The rest of the students had slipped into a sedentary state, idly checking their watches or cleaning their nails, or even just staring at the wall. Every so often, someone would jerk their head, fighting off the tendrils of sleep seeping into their bodies.

"STUDENTS!" the over-enthusiastic voice crackled over the intercom, jolting the examinees out of their stupor. "Prepare yourselves for the most dangerous exam of your lives! This exam is fraught with peril, fear, and…" The voice, who Kiru supposed was a woman, trailed off. "Buckskin, what's another word for danger?"

"Er, maybe it'd be best to get to the exam part, Miss Laccadaisie." A soft voice (Buckskin, apparently) replied.

"Ah." There was a pause, then a scraping sound, like the microphone was being pushed across the table. "Your turn, then."

Buckskin sighed. "Anywho. Students, pay attention to this bit. Your entrance exam will be given in the form of an obstacle race." Low whispers snaked across the room. Some students, like Tokachi and Hiraku, brightened. Their quirks were well suited for a race. The others looked deflated, Kiru among them. How was she supposed to show off her quirk in an obstacle race?

"Some of you may be feeling downcast," Buckskin said as if reading her thoughts, "but don't fret. We've taken care to ensure that all quirks will be usable." The room let out a collective sigh of relief.

"You will be scored in three categories. The first: heroics, which is measured by how many enemies you defeat and bystanders you save. The second: speed, measured by how fast you defeat each obstacle. The third: co-operation." Kiru raised an eyebrow.

"You will be taking the exam with an assigned partner."

...

Oh boy.

Cries of indignation filled the room.

"What?! This a group project?!"

"I hardly know anyone here!"

"Oh...what if I'm no help?"

Laccadaisie cleared her throat pointedly. Everyone quieted down immediately. Buckskin muttered a quiet thanks, then continued. "Your pairs will be displayed on the screen to the right, and then you may leave through the door on the left. Remember, your points are cumulative, so don't try to sabotage your partner." He coughed. "Er, we wish you all the best of luck.

"And don't forget to have fun!" Laccadaisie chimed in. And with a click, the intercom shut off.

Silence.

Kutou was the first to pipe up. "Whoever gets assigned with me, you better not expect me to carry you."

"Vhy vould anyone trrrrust you enough to carrrry zem?" A girl with purple hair and grey skin muttered.

The screen on the right flashed.

TAKAKUTOU SHAKOU & TOKACHI AMEKO

Kutou stood up and trudged her way over to the door. "Come one, bunny girl. Let's get this done." Tokachi stood up begrudgingly, glaring with all the powers of Hell at Kutou's retreating back. Kiru whistled lowly.

She never wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare.

The two of them slipped out of the room, and after that people started trickling out into the most important moment of their careers. The screen flashed brightly, sealing each pair's dates.

SEISHIN TAMASHI & INOUE HIRAKU

YUKINO ZOË & HOTARU FUJI

SUZUKI POPI & ARAKAN KOATSU

With each person that left, the tension grew heavier and heavier until Kiru could practically taste it. Her potential partner options grew slimmer and slimmer. She had a sneaking suspicion who hers was gonna be, but she kept praying it wouldn't be so. Soon everyone had left except for…

Him.

She hadn't even bothered to learn his name. Why waste time and energy getting to know someone you'd never plan on talking to by your own free will?

The look on his face told her that her line of thinking was paralleled.

She sighed. "Well, howdy doody, partner? What's your name? I didn't catch it over the sound of your stupidity whilst you were preening earlier."

He scoffed and pointed to the screen.

KANZOU KANEDA & KOTTOBA KIRU

"Personally, I'd rather avoid speaking to you more than is necessary," he drawled. "Don't want to give the impression that I tolerate you."

Kiru rolled her eyes. "Your loss, McSalty, you're missing out on a stellar personality." She strode over to the door and opened it, giving him a comically over-the-top bow. "Ladies first."

"What an elementary insult."

"Honey, if you thought that was an offence, you've never looked in a mirror." She shut the door behind her. Kanzou opened his mouth, probably to give some poorly thought out retort, but was cut off by a rather distracting explosion.

Kiru ducked instinctively and turned her attention to the scene before her. Several surprisingly human-sized robots were darting around; breaking windows, throwing around bricks, and harassing passerby. There were screams of citizens (which she hoped were simulated) echoing around. Above them all, a significantly larger robot floated above the chaos, clearly meant to be the final boss.

She whistled. "They really went all out, didn't they?" Silence. "Alright then. Can you handle a couple of robots while I do some rescues?"

"Let's just get this over with." He rushed off and started hurling...sugar? At the robots? How was that supposed to help?

She shrugged and ran off towards the nearest citizen, who was being attacked by a villain. The citizen was a different type of robot, more round and friendly-looking. The enemies were sharper-looking and had screens on their faces, which was currently displaying “>:)”. Kottoba rushed over and tugged the attacker off, throwing it across the street. It was surprisingly light. She turned back to the citizen and helped it to its feet.

“You alright, man?” The friendly robot brushed itself off and gave Kiru a thumbs up before running off. She smiled. That wasn’t that hard. She ran to the next group of citizens and herded them away from the fight. Then there was one pinned under a bit of debris. Then a child-sized one stuck in their house. Then a couple, clinging to each other, being beaten by a whole gang of robots.

She obliterated them all.

Feeling more and more confident with each moment, she turned around to check on Kanzou.

“Oh, brilliant.”

The narcissistic rat was challenging the boss. There was a random assortment of small fruits and vegetables floating around him. He was hurling sugar everywhere, occasionally spicing it up with a piece of produce, which didn’t seem to have a be super effective. The boss was attacking him so fast, it was a wonder Kanzou wasn’t shredded to bits by now.

“Oi! Raisin-brain! What are you doing?!” Kiru yelled out.

Kanzou glanced over and at that moment the boss was able to land a hit. He dropped to the ground.

“Frick-” Kiru rushed to him, prepared to help and possibly perform CPR, but Kanzou kicked her as soon as she was in range.

“Ow! Why?”

“Get down, you stupid friking idiot.” he hissed. Kiru dropped immediately.

“Why the heck were you fighting that thing? You were supposed to get the little ones down first.”

Kanzou rolled his eyes. “Did you forget the entire point of this thing? It’s a race, dummy. Obviously, the big bad is the obstacle. We've gotta defeat it and then find the exit."

“Okay, then, what do we do?”

He put a hand on his chin and furrowed his brow. "Obviously, it's a tough one, considering my skills were barely able to make a dent in it. We'll have to rely on trickery."

Kiru gave him an incredulous look. "Your skills? You mean throwing potatoes at a robot?"

He gave her a harsh glare, cold as ice. "Well, you haven't done anything significant this whole time."

She sputtered. "I'm the only reason we even have points! You're the unhelpful one! All you've done is chuck fruit and I could do that without a quirk!" Kanzou opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment The Boss hurled a handful of small building chunks at them. One piece smacked Kiru in the head, and it hurt.

To put it delicately, Kiru lost it.

"Oh, rust off, you bucket of bolts!" She popped up from their shoddy hiding place, anger boosting her new-found energy. "You are the sorriest excuse for a villain dummy I've ever had the displeasure of meeting! You're not even doing anything, you stupid hunk of garbage! Your mother was a roomba and your father came from a scrapyard! What are you even made of, brainless steel?!" The Boss stopped suddenly, its facial screen glitching. Sparks flew from its joints, and it jerked violently. Kiru backed away. It was going crazy. The robot stopped convulsing, its facial screen briefly displaying an ":0" face.

And then it exploded.

"Gah!" Kiru scrambled out of the explosion's range. Flaming pieces of robot rained down, making it 100% more dangerous. A hand tapped her shoulder and she jumped. It was Kanzou, who was pointing to a door that had opened up on the other side of the fire.

"That has to be the exit!" He exclaimed. Kiru nodded in agreement.

"How do we get there?"

In response, he flicked his hand and drew out a white powder from one of his pockets. "You need to follow me closely, otherwise you'll get burned." He took off, laying down thick layers of powder in front of him. Kiru bolted after him. The powder seemed to put out the fire almost instantly. After they had gotten through the worst of it, he spread his arms in a grand gesture, and a flurry of powder settled over the remaining flames. He turned back, satisfied. Kiru grinned.

"Race you to the exit." Kanzou rolled his eyes, then dashed ahead of her. "Hey! I didn't say go yet!" She yelled, but she wasn't really mad. She ran after him, but he totally got there before her. "Rude."

"Don't be offended,I'm just better than you." Kiru snorted. She pushed open the door, giving him a comical bow.

"It's still ladies first."

"Excuse you, I'm a queen." He strode in and yelped. Kiru quickly followed him.

"What? What is-" she gaped.

In front of them, there was a large screen, displaying their rankings among the other examinees.

"Second place?!" Whatever Kiru was expecting, it wasn't that. "Heck yeah, dude!" She raised her hand for a high five. Kanzou just scowled.

"I could've done better if you hadn't slowed us down." He meant it to sound insulting, but Kiru thought he sounded more mad at himself.

Or maybe her brain was filtering it to sound that way as not to ruin her mood. Whatever.

"Well, we're in the school now. Schools are for improving, right?" She grinned. "I'll just have to work hard to turn my stupid into strategy." Kanzou didn't respond, but he didn't scoff or roll his eyes, so Kiru took that as a sign he'd taken her stellar advice to heart.

Ah, yes. Kottoba Kiru, dropper of hot wisdom, maker of puns, master of flirtation…

Hero hopeful.

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lovehugsandcandy · 6 years ago

Text

Until Next Time (Colt x MC)

A/N: OMFG. I blame @choicesarehard who, when I complained about having 9 draft stories, answered “I mean, why not make it 10?” (I swear to GOD I am working on requests, I swear!). This is inspired by and dedicated to you and your AMAZING edit of Colt with tats (as seen here). I pray that this is what I see in my dreams tonight.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 2566 words (this was not supposed to be this long but I am tired)

Rating: N*FW

(worst) Summary (ever): Colt with tattoos is really freaking hot.

Tags: @deimosensblog @alegria1580 @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt@brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira@powdesiree0816 @umiumichan @akrenich

"And then Darius failed that big test before he came to visit so we decided to drive all the way down to Tijuana and try tequila for the first time. And then I failed my big test because I was so hungover." Riya groaned. "Never. Again."

Ellie laughed, taking a sip of her coffee. It was nice to be back in LA, not worrying about schoolwork and tests. Her freshman year had been great but she missed this, being with the people who knew her best and loved her most.

Ellie was just about to ask where Darius was, why he missed their first coffee date, when a flash of leather in her periphery stopped her in her tracks. She stood, chair scraping the floor, and watched the back of the jacket walk down the street. She couldn't be sure but, that figure...

"Ellie?"

"I'll be right back."

She dashed out of the coffee shop, trying to follow, but he was moving fast. It looked like him, from the back; if it wasn't, she would be mortified but she had to try, had to see. Over the year, she had called, a few times, but the phone was always off, maybe disconnected, a life laying low making it hard to keep in touch. She couldn't pass up this chance, if it was him.

She was quick but he was quicker; she watched him, trying to keep up, a block, then two, then a turn down an alley. She followed, almost running, and stopped in her tracks. It was a dead end, no one there. What the? Was she chasing a ghost?

"You following me?"

Ellie jumped and spun at the harsh voice. And stared. It wasn't a ghost after all. It was him, looking as surprised to see her standing in front of him as she was to be there.

"Ellie?"

He looked harder, tougher. He had always had an edge, an aura of danger seemingly designed to both scare and tempt her. It almost seemed like the he wanted the scare part to win out, muscles coiled and ready to strike, gaze hard, stance harder.

"Hi, Colt."

His eyes widened and he glanced around. "This isn't safe. You shouldn't be here."

"What?" She took a step closer. "What are you talking about?"

He looked at her and she could see his gaze wander, greedy, down her face, body, back up. He looked behind him again. "I'm meeting someone. I gotta go."

"Please." She was embarrassed at how her voice cracked. "Please, just...."

He took a deep breath, one more furtive look around, and stepped closer, hand out. "Gimme your phone."

She nodded, trembling fingers sliding it from her pocket and into his waiting palm. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of them, the black lines flowing into the sleeves of his jacket. He had them on both hands, dark designs trailing up his wrists, tattoos dipping out of sight under leather. Those were new.

"Meet me here. 9pm."

She could only nod, breathless, fingers brushing his as she took her phone back. He shifted slightly, moving closer, hand twitching as if to touch her. She ached, remembering the feel of his hands on her body. Instead of crossing the last few inches, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned out of the alley without a backwards glance.

~~~~~

She didn't know what she expected when she got there but a cute townhouse three miles from Gramercy Park definitely wasn't it.

Well, the exterior was cute. The inside was almost empty.

Colt shrugged as she took in the surroundings. "I need to move tomorrow."

"Apparently." She looked around at the open suitcase, a few boxes stacked up, mattress on the floor of the living room. The rest of the place looked deserted, as if no one had ever lived here. She was suddenly struck by the lack of personal effects; other than the motorcycle helmet, the room was devoid of anything that would even suggest it was Colt that lived here. It could be anyone, no trinkets, no pictures, nothing. Her heart hurt, thinking about the contrast to her dorm room.

"I still need to lay low." He slid his shoes off, sitting at the head of the bed, watching her. "It's easier to do that if you don't stand still."

She nodded, turning to perch next to him. He still had the jacket on, the mystery lines teasing her, temptingly winding their way up his wrists. She couldn’t tell what they were.

“How is school? Are you tearing up Langston?”

“Top of my class.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice. She studied hard, just like high school; she was proud of what she could do when she put her mind to it.

“Told you that you would be great.”

Ellie couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Did you get tattoos?”

“Uhhh.....” He ducked his head. “Yeah.”

“Can I see?” She leaned forward, eyes on him. He didn’t seem like a huge fan of tattoos based on his reaction to her own ink, but apparently she was wrong.

He shrugged off his jacket and Ellie gasped. Arms bare, she could see that he had sleeves now, both arms, sharp against his skin. Eyes wide, she stared, unable to figure out where to look first. She didn’t know what she expected but it wasn’t this. Finally, she moved closer, peering at the familiar lines closest to her.

"It's like your dad's." She traced the semicircles on his left arm with careful fingers, looking at the way the dark ink covered his skin, a contrast to the olive tone underneath. He was watching her, wary.

"Yeah, it's for him."

She traced a few more, trailing her fingers over the inside of his arm, watching the goosebumps left in her wake before moving to the other side. "So what is this for?" She gently touched the snake on his right arm, curving around his bicep, down his forearm. She peeked down the collar of his shirt, close enough to feel his exhale of breath; the snake’s teeth were bared, large and imposing on his chest. It looked like it was trying to devour his heart.

He smirked at her, heat in his eyes. "That's for me."

"A snake?"

"A serpent." He reached out to brush her hair out of her face and then trailed his thumb over her lower lip. "Maybe it's like in the Good Book and I'm the serpent that tempts virtuous girls to follow me to the dark side."

His eyes fluttered shut as her tongue darted out, tracing his thumb, pulling it into her mouth with a gentle purse of the lips, suction and teeth making him groan. "I would follow you anywhere."

His eyes were blown wide when she let go of his finger. She gripped the hem of his shirt. “I want to see the whole thing.”

“Wait-”

He reached for her but it was too late. Ellie froze. The room was silent except for an exhale from her lips. "Colt?"

He stared, eyes guarded, expression wiped clean, just watching her face, waiting. If she didn’t know him so well, if she hadn’t spent weeks learning him like the back of her own hand, she would think he were emotionless; but, looking closely, she could see the clench of his jaw, the tightening of his eyes. He was nervous, awaiting her reaction.

And fuck, she couldn’t react. She couldn't get the words to come, couldn't breathe. She looked down again at the tattoo on his hip and swallowed, hard. The feather was slightly bigger, curving around his hip, but, as far as she could tell, from what dipped above the waistband, it matched hers. Exactly.

Finally he spoke, a whisper. "And that's for you."

She could only stare at him, barely able to breathe, heart breaking piece-by-piece for him, thinking about him documenting the memories of those he had loved and lost all over his body.

Eyes still locked on him, she unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down slowly, carefully to reveal the entire tattoo, hidden away like a secret. He tugged his shirt off, over his head, thrown to the floor, as she pulled his pants clean off.

Before she could second guess it, she knelt to examine the lines of the feather, tracing the tufts with her finger as Colt’s stomach twitched. She spared a look away, into his eyes, and then bent her head, tongue following the path her fingers had taken.

"Fuck."

It sounded like the word was punched out of him as she carefully followed the ink, tasting his skin as his fingers writhed and scratched the sheets underneath them. She wanted to map out every single line, every single point of the matching tattoo, a tattoo for her, even though he couldn’t be certain that she would ever see it. She ended her exploration with a bite, teeth lightly clamping at the end of the quill, as Colt swore above her.

Then, her mouth continued down, light kisses and teasing licks, until she got to her destination. This was one thing they hadn’t done, amazingly, in a list of various legal and illegal things that had conquered together, but Ellie was desperate, desperate to take from him until he had no more to give.

“Ellie-”

She slowly slid her mouth down his length as far as she could go, hands covering what couldn’t fit in her mouth. He swore again, louder this time, and Ellie silently thanked Riya for the all of the conversations she had sworn she wanted to unhear.

It was awkward and new and she had to be careful not to take him too deep or she would choke, but it was all worth it, to hear her name spilling from his lips, feel his hips trembling underneath her. She finally got into a good rhythm that seemed to be working for them both, tight suction and a flick of her tongue that made his hands fist the sheets. But right when she her jaw got tired, right when his thighs started to shake, he stopped her, reaching down to grab at her shoulder, clumsy fingers grasping at her.

“Fuck, Ellie, get up here.”

She let him pull her, up his body, until she was looking into his eyes. A brief look, an even briefer kiss, and then he was ripping her clothes from her, shirt flying to the ground, hands sliding down her legs to yank her pants off of her and then those hands were on her hips, spinning her so she was looking up at him.

Their eyes met again, longer this time, and Ellie watched as Colt slid down her body, lips trailing over her skin, phantom touches that made her squirm and moan. When he finally reached her clit, she was shaking, head thrown back, gasping for air. She was already wet, fuck, she could feel how needy she was, and his lips and tongue massaging her were definitely fueling the fire. He slid two fingers inside her; she was so slick that they filled her easily but, damn, it had been a while. She could feel the stretch as he moved, clever fingers stretching her out. Fuck, He still remembered that spot, how to touch her, how to move to make her forget everything but his name.

Once she came, fingers laced with his and squeezing so hard her knuckles paled, she reached for him, desperate, hands covering the ink on his forearms and pulling until he rose and slid between her legs. It only took a breathless “Please?” and, suddenly, he was inside her, deeper and deeper until their hips met and she had to shut her eyes.

She could feel him move inside her, slow and steady, the grind making her nerves sing. It had been a year since she had last felt these shivers down her spine; she hadn’t realized how badly she missed it until all she could do was chant his name and watch the devotion in his eyes as he moved over her. His hands were clutching her hips; she hoped there would be bruises, ten lines of color that she could look at and press later to remind herself that this was real.

He sped up, hips swiveling just so, and snaked a hand down to run circles around her clit. It was too much, too intense. All she could do was cling to him, nails scratching his back, digging in, hard; she realized, too late, that she was drawing blood. “Crap, sorry.”

“No.” He pushed inside her again, deeper, the angle pulling a moan from her. “I want your marks all over me, everywhere.”

She couldn’t help but look at his arms, the marks he already had inscribed on his body, eyes running down the tattoos and ending at the perfect replica on his hip. She touched him, there, stroking her thumb over the ink that tied them together. Watching her fingers run over it, it only took one more thrust and Ellie’s mouth widened in surprise as she was pulled over the edge, Colt following, blanketing her, a low moan in her ear.

She watched him as she caught her breath, hands tracing the ink on his arms, wondering idly what he thought when he looked in the mirror and was faced with the reminders of all that had been taken. If it were her, she didn’t know if she could bear it. But Colt? She bet it drove him, fueled the flames that moved him forward, made him stronger, more relentless. Her heart ached, again, for the boy who had lost so much that it was literally written on his body, visible to all, but understood by only those who knew where to look.

~~~~~

She would have thought the second time would be less intense but she wasn't prepared for the fire that had been lit. She knew she would leave covered in marks, all over, love bites and hickies where he had marked her as his. Every thrust, every move, had Colt burrowing deeper inside her, as if he was trying to reach places within her no one would ever touch, carve a space for him that no one would ever fill.

The third time, with the sun starting to peek over the horizon, signaling an end to this night, this reunion, the third time was desperate, sad. She thought it was sweat at first, the hot splashes on her back; when Colt turned her head to kiss her, she saw his eyes were as damp as hers and she finally let the tears she was holding back fall.

She didn't think her heart could break any more, not when calloused fingers wiped the wet tracks from her cheeks and helped her into her clothes, not when Colt shrugged on his shirt, covering the tattoo, the permanent mark of her on his skin. Not when he kissed her at the door, mapping her mouth, her face, every piece of her to remember for later.

"Colt-"

He shook his head, shushing her. "Don't. This isn’t goodbye. There'll be a next time. And next time, I'll find you."

She smiled though the tears on her cheeks, crying all the way home. He might have her tattoo on his body, but he left an eternal mark on her heart and she could only trust that these bonds would see them through, until next time.

#n*fw #lemon #30 diamond scene #colt kaneko #colt x mc #colt rod #choices rod #playchoices fanfic #amy writes

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shes-soparticular · 6 years ago

Text

Make Me Run My Mouth

Shawn is adept at being wholesome. You...not so much.

A/N: Just a little thot that crossed my mind. Mostly fluff. Very light references of smuttiness.

Words: 1483

The sound of his voice coaxes you from sleep, but even in your groggy state you can tell it’s further away that you’d prefer. Stretching an arm across the bed, you hope to land on warm skin but your fingertips meet empty sheets instead. With a begrudging whimper and a yawn, you finally crack an eye open to spot Shawn pacing the corner of the room, phone pressed to his ear. Bathed in the late morning sun streaming through the gauzy hotel curtains, you swear he looks like an Adonis in joggers. An overwhelming feeling of greed rushes through you and if you had even an ounce of additional energy, you’d be across the room tossing that phone over the balcony and dragging your man back to bed. After all, this is your first morning together in over three weeks and you’re not in the mood to share him.

“Babe, hang up, come back to bed.” You pout, assuming whoever is on the other end of that call can surely wait a few more hours for his attention. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice and although he takes a step back towards the bed, he puts up one finger to signify you need to be patient. Unfortunately, patience isn’t in your vocabulary. This is exactly why you drag the sheets downward to flash a nipple at him, a cheeky smile playing across your face. You still can’t hear exactly what he’s saying from that distance, but you notice him choke on his words at the sight of your naked breast and you know the call has to be on its final legs. The only problem? You can spot the tension in his jaw and the way he’s rubbing at the bridge of his nose, it’s obvious this isn’t an entirely positive conversation. A pang of sympathy shoots through your chest and you say a silent prayer that he’s not being called away for some last-minute appearance or rehearsal. The team had promised that the two of you would get this day all to yourselves and they’re going to catch your hands if that promise is broken. As much as you need this day, you know he needs it tenfold. He’s had to be on almost twenty-four hours a day since tour started and you know how much he’s looked forward to a lazy day of hotel sheets and room service with your fingers in his hair. After another minute or two of listening to the mystery voice on the other side of the phone, he finally hangs up and shoots you a look. It’s an odd mix of frustration and amusement, his stare intense but his mouth struggling to hold a smile at bay. Finally, he starts a slow saunter back towards the bed, shaking his head as you lock eyes.

“Andrew is so pissed off at you.” There’s exasperation in his tone but the smile is only spreading further across his face. “Do you recall what you said to the fans in the airport last night?” He stops at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, eyes cruising between your eyes and your exposed skin.

Mulling over his question, you try to retrace the events of the prior night. Selfishly, you let your mind replay all of the sweaty green room sex before actually getting to the point at hand. The airport, the airport, what did you say in the airport? You’d arrived into Barcelona after the worst flight of your life. Between being stuck on the runway in Toronto for two hours and missing your connecting flight out of London, you’d been traveling for a good 14 hours. Considering that the flight was the only thing standing in between you and seeing your boyfriend for the first time in WEEKS, it had felt like traveling through Dante’s nine circles of hell rather than simply flying coach transatlantic. When you’d finally stumbled off the plane, looking wild eyed and stressed to delirium, you hadn’t really expected to run into any of Shawn’s fans. For one thing, you were still getting used to even being recognized to begin with. Usually, you were able to stay under the radar but you had made the incredibly stupid mistake of posting to your Instagram story from the gate at Heathrow. So as you collected your suitcase from baggage claim, there were a handful of girls recording you from a distance, ready to pounce with questions about Shawn. Normally, you’d give a small wave and dodge them as quickly as possible but being that you were clearly being punished by every higher power on this, the worst of travel days, your bag was the very last one to shoot out. By then, the group of girls had gotten bold and approached you, iPhones outstretched. Just as you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and were ready to make a mad dash for the cab line, one of the girls gathered the courage to ask a fairly innocent question. What are you most excited for joining Shawn on tour?

Shawn clears his throat to snap you out of your thoughts. The tension has dropped from his features, but his arms are crossed, waiting for your explanation. Suddenly, you feel like a puppy that overturned the trash, your owner making you acknowledge the cute little mess you made. “Well?” In that moment, it rushes back to you and you throw your hands up to cover your face. “Okay, so you do remember saying you were most excited to get ‘dicked down’ to a group of teenage girls. There’s nothing else you could have said?” He reaches down and carefully pulls one of your hands from your face, wanting to ensure you see his amusement.

“Jesus. You don’t understand, I was so fucking tired and absolutely done with the day. I had just spent hours exercising my filter on the plane as the elderly couple next to me regaled me with stories about every trip they’ve ever been on.” You let out a dramatic sigh, pout lip protruding even further. “I couldn’t help myself.”

With yet another shake of his head, he crawls back into bed next to you, hand slipping beneath the sheets to rest on your bare hip. “Babe…you cupped your hands around your mouth and shouted it.” The laugh he’d been holding back finally bursts from his chest, deep and unbelieving. “Who does that?”

You. You do that. You’ve spent a quarter of a century becoming unapologetically yourself, the kind of woman unafraid to speak her mind and never above cracking a crude joke at the worst possible moment. Andrew may not understand that, the label may not understand that, the world may not understand that, but you know Shawn does. And you know he’ll gladly fall on the sword anytime your dirty mouth digs a hole for the both of you. That doesn’t mean your behavior should be completely excused, the last thing you’d ever want is to hurt his career in anyway. You’re here to support him, not to create extra headaches and subject him to verbal lashings from his management.

“I am so sorry, really. I know better. I should never have said that.” You bring your hands to his cheeks, thumbs brushing across his early morning stubble. “I’ll take an apology tour. I’ll grovel to Andrew today. Whatever it takes, I’ll fix it.”

Strong hands pulling you closer, he shakes his head slowly. “Truth? I fucking love that you said that.” One hand snakes across your skin to grab a hold of your ass, giving the cheek a rough squeeze. “Only my girl would say some wild shit like that to fans.”

This time, you let out a relieved laugh, bumping your nose against his in the process. “So you’re saying I have full authority to run my mouth?” Eyebrows wiggling, you grind yourself into his joggers, more than ready for those to be peeled off.

“That’s not exactly what I’m saying, you’ve gotta keep the thirst at a somewhat appropriate level or you’re going to give Andrew a stroke.” His lips brush yours and you know you’re forgiven. “But please don’t ever change. I love this mouth of yours, even when it gets me into trouble. Maybe especially when it gets me into trouble.” He seals the statement with a deep kiss, goosebumps raising on your skin as you hitch one leg over his. Just as you’re about to get those joggers out of the way, his phone buzzes loudly from across the room, vibrating incessantly.

Barely pulling your tongue out of his mouth, a disappointed sigh escapes you. “You should probably get that, huh?” Surprisingly, instead of detangling himself, he rolls on top of you, keeping your bodies firmly pressed together.

“Hell no. I’m busy dicking down my girlfriend.”

tagging @fourtristattoos for boyfriend!week

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #we're all that bitch #shawn mendes fic #fourtristattoosspring

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rebelcourtesan · 5 years ago

Text

Sneak Peak of Do Not Go Gentle chapter.

Here’s a sneak peek at an upcoming chapter which will heavily feature Shiro.

Pain lanced through his arm - the blow had come unexpectedly. His opponent was quicker than he anticipated and had targeted his flesh arm on purpose. ��Shiro spun away, putting distance between them to give him time to check the injury and recover.

Feeling was coming back and he could move his fingers. The limb wasn’t broken, but would be sporting a nasty bruise in a few hours. Sweat rolled down his face and into his eyes. Shiro swiped a hand across them to keep his vision clear.

His opponent was circling, taking pleasure in the fact he had scored a hit on the agile human slave. He was young with gangly limbs he had yet to grow into and while young he still had a foot on Shiro’s six feet height. The crowd of students watching cheered him as he swung his weapon in a flourish for their entertainment. Mistake.

Reach more below

A mistake which Shiro took full advantage. He full sprinted at the carefree student delivered a blow to the back of the knee. The kid dropped and spun at the hip, swinging his baton in a full arc, but Shiro blocked it with his cyborg arm and drew back his fist and threw a brutal punch across the nose. The student rolled onto his back, dripping his nose as purple tinted blood drizzled through his fingers.

A whistle sounded from the instructor. Instantly, the students stood up and saluted and Shiro felt a warning throb at his throat. He backed away to a safe distance before the collar would deliver a painful shock. Bunto was waiting with a container of cold water and a towel. All he needed was a knit cap to complete the allusion to boxing manager prepping his fighter for the next round.

Shiro gratefully took the water from Bunto and downed it in three swallows and dropped onto his rear on the floor, making the most of this brief break. Between each bout, the instructor would lecture the cadets and address the mistakes Shiro’s opponent made during engagement. He lamented poor weapon technique and would shame them publicly when Shiro got the upper hand, which was quite often.

A week ago, Sendak had Shiro shipped to the Heart’s Academy, the most prestigious military school of the Empire. The Emperor sometimes visited to oversee training and it wasn’t uncommon that he would select a few promising candidates for posting at his flagship, Central Command. For a foolish moment, Shiro had the belief that Sendak was actually enrolling him in the school, but that was far from the truth.

Day after day, he was brought to a training arena where he sparred with students one by one, sometimes in groups of three to five. He was being used like a fight dummy for their training sessions. The sessions were carried out with batons or guns that show low powered energy rounds that stung upon impact.

He had been here for fives day and for five days straight for almost twelve hours he had served as a fighting dummy for each group of fresh students - all willing and ready to prove themselves to their peers by making his life hell. From the sparring ring and the artificial field where they hunted him with low powered rounds, his body was a myriad of aches and pains from muscles that weren’t given proper time to rest or bruises when a student landed a hit. There was a dark bruise on his cheek bone from when a student had smacked him with a baton the day before.

“You’re doing great, Champ!” Bunto said as he patted Shiro’s face dry of sweat. “Just like the arena, zero losses!”

Too tired to speak, Shiro took another long swallow of water and poured the rest over his head, enjoying the cool wetness rolling down the nap of his neck. How much longer would this go on? Was this a test of endurance? To see how long he could last fighting Galra?

One silver lining to all of this was he was learning Galra martial arts and techniques and strategies. While he feigned being tired, he paid attention to what the instructor taught the students to use when the time was right. However, for right now, he was too tired to learn anything and was hopeful this would be it for a little while at least.

“Um, Champ, you might want to ignore what’s about to happen,” Bunto said in a low voice, his little hands fidgeting. “Your bleeding heart might not like it.”

Shiro raised his head to see the student he had defeated still on the ground clutching his face. The instructor, a fearsome man with a jagged crest and scar bisecting the edge of his jaw glowered at the youth. The other students who maintained their usual salute when the instructor spoke, were unusually still, their eyes averted from their classmate. Shiro felt a chill go down his back and it had nothing to do with the cold water. Something was about to happen.

He spoke in a raspy tongue that indicated a previous throat injury at one point in his career. “Cadet Erat, we talked about your pride and vanity, did we not?”

The student, Erat, wheezed through his mouth and whispered, “Yes sir.”

“It cost you the victory. When you should have been finishing off your enemy, you were putting on a show. Are you a soldier, boy, or a clown? You rather be at the Space Mall dancing a little diddy for coins?”

“No sir!” Erat cried, pushing himself onto his knees before the instructor. The blood still rolled down his mouth and chin, but the boy continued prostrating. The blood dotted the floor.

“What is the Imperial salute?” The instructor said sardonically. “You should have learned it on your father’s knee before you entered primary school. Tell me what it is and what it means.”

“Vrepit Sa, sir. Victory or Death.”

If Shiro never heard those words again, it would be too soon. There was still tension in the air and a sense of dread. The students maintained a frozen stand, none of them willing to move lest they draw the teacher’s ire to them.

“When you forsake your victory, you are choosing death, Cadet,” the instructor said gravely.

The hair on the back of Shiro’s neck stood on end. Surely he wasn’t going to kill the kid?

Shiro’s eyes widen as the instructor’s hand went to his belt and unhooked a handle. With a flip of a switch a long purple cord of energy spiral from the end. A silent shudder rippled through the students - it was not their first time seeing the whip.

“No,” Shiro breathed, disbelieving what he was about to see.

“Do not fret, Cadet,” the instructor said, almost kindly. He flicked the whip and it snaked across the floor. “I will scour that pride and vanity from you so your loyalty to the Empire shines brightest.”

The whip rose and was brought down with an air cutting whisper. The glowing tail crackled across Erat’s back, cutting the uniform and flesh. There was a slow moan which was cut off as the whip rose and fell again. And again. And again.

Shiro clenched his hands, staring in horror as the young Galra writhed in agony on the ground as the whipping continued, drawing blood with each blow.

“When is he going to stop?” Shiro hissed at Bunto. “He’s going to kill him!”

Bunto shrugged, “The kid’s gotta learn. If he dies, then that means he was too weak to serve the Empire. Isn’t this how you were trained to fight?”

“No,” Shiro growled.

Iverson had been a hardass and tough on cadets. He even threw a punch at one or two of the particularly difficult cases and in extreme circumstances only. He’d never do anything like this, especially not over small matters such as being a hotshot. He let the public humiliation do most of the work of disciplining. Even when Keith was at his worst, Shiro never laid a hand on him outside of an amiable sparring match.

Shiro didn’t realize he was moving until Bunto hollered “No, Champ! Don’t do it!”

He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the whip and twisted the arm behind the instructor’s back. The whip deactivated and fell on the floor where he kicked it away.

“That’s enough!” Shiro yelled, but it wasn’t overheard by the deafened roar of outrage and shocked cry from the students.

The instructor twisted around, snarling with teeth bared and crest rising in absolute fury. Shiro shoved a leg between the instructor’s and hooked an ankle across the shin and unbalanced him. They fell together with Shiro on top, effectively pinning the taller Galra.

Maybe I should have stopped when I was ahead, Shiro thought seconds before the collar activated.

Agony filled him like water in a cup. He lost all function in his limbs and sharp claws hauled him up. Blows rained down on him, but he couldn’t feel them for the agony crawling throughout his body. Instinctively, to ward off further harm, he curled into a ball, tucking his head down between his arms.

They are going to kill me. Out of all the combatants I’ve fought in the arena, I’m going to be done in by a gaggle of angry Galra cadets kicking me to death.

He would laugh if the pain wasn’t strangling him, then everything went pitch black.

#fanfic #shiro #shiro voltron #takashi shirogane #galra #Voltron legendary defender

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romeo-the-cactus · 5 years ago

Text

The Sacred Text

AO3 Link

Carol has been buzzing around her tiny kitchen for the past hour trying to get everything right. She's switched between having just lamps and fairy lights on for a more atmospheric look with less glare and putting the main light on so you can see what you're doing. She's set the oven to preheat 4 times, each time switching it back off so she doesn't appear too eager. The playlist she stayed up late last night making has had its queue relentlessly edited so that it may or may not now just be looping the same five songs. She's tidied up till the whole apartment is spotless before putting things back and purposefully ruffling and rumpling them, before putting half the painstakingly just-barely-open magazines and ever-so-slightly draped over the sofa throws back away.

The doorbell rings. She freezes so suddenly that she almost falls over.

The thing is that she's been hoping and praying this day would come for months now. Since her first visit to your bakery, when she had been charmed as much by your impeccable pastries as your kind eyes, bright smile, and equally bright wit, she has been trying to see you outside of work, but every time she came up with an excuse you were busy, or tired, or going to be out of town, or 'no seriously Carol, I can't go to karaoke night with you, I really do have to be up at 4 to start work, which do you value more, my bad singing or my macaroons, that's what I thought', or whatever.

She was really starting to think you weren't interested, because surely no one could be that oblivious? But you always seemed so happy to see her when she bounced back from the latest maybe-rejection to swing by the bakery the next day, or the next hour, because at this point, daily visits had bumped up to an average of three visits a day, but she'd finally managed to get you outside of the bakery.

It had only taken three weeks of openly drooling over your new meringues and begging for the recipe, pleading imminent bankruptcy at your hands.

And now you were outside her front door. Where you had now been for several minutes.

'Uh...Carol...can you let me in? I'm not sure how much longer I can stand out here?' You called out, your voice sounding weirdly distant - and as she rushed to yank the door open, apologies already spilling from her mouth, it wasn't hard to see why as a mound of baking equipment, batter-splattered recipe books, and ingredients made its way into her flat, almost collapsing in surprise at the sudden welcome.

'In here, kitchen's this way' Carol ushered you in, making a grab for some of the heavier-looking items, and trying not to swoon at the half-hearted glare that appeared from behind a mixing bowl as she narrowly avoided dislodging the egg carton precariously balanced at the top of the pile.

'You smash my free-ranges, Danvers, and you can kiss first refusal on my cinnamon rolls goodbye forever' you only-half-joke.

'If those eggs smash in an unexpected descent from mount patisserie I feel like that's not my fault' she points out, a sceptical look on her face.

A slight blush rises to your cheeks, the upper-hand you'd felt at her flustered appearance when you arrived falling away. 'I didn't wanna make two trips' you reluctantly confess, looking a little sheepish.

It had been over a year now of the two of you dancing around each other like this, a seemingly endless game of hot potato where you constantly exchanged embarrassed shyness and flirtatious bravado- or at least, you hoped it was flirtatious, otherwise she's one of your worst customers and you've really crossed a boundary in coming here. The truth was that since she had first sauntered into your bakery and cleared you out of the muffins that should've lasted you all day, leaving you with a wink, some crumbs, and a mortifyingly strong crush, you've been dying to do something like this, but it never seemed to be the right time. Work was eating up your life like Carol on Strawberry Tart Sundays. Between early mornings getting everything in the ovens and late nights feeding your sourdough that sold annoyingly well, you never seemed to have any free time, and whenever you did you were so exhausted that you napped it all away anyway.

When you saw the look she gave those meringues though, you knew this was your chance.

'Well, in that case I gotta congratulate you on a successful feat of stubborness' she laughed, her eyes doing that squinty thing that had you melting right into her chocolate brown- oh crap Carol was still talking! You followed her through to a plain yet ugly white galley kitchen on one side of the apartment.

'Well thankfully on account of my stubbornness we'll actually be able to make something given you don't seem to own so much as a mixing bowl!' You pointed out, confident that things were back in your realm now that you'd gotten to the actual baking part of the day.

Frowning in an irritatingly cute way, she dug through her cupboards while you unloaded yourself, finally getting your attention with a loud 'a-ha!'

You spun round as you tied your apron strings to see her dramatically brandishing a plastic cereal bowl.

'Nice try Danvers,' you said, patting her on the head and taking the bowl 'I'm sure that'll be perfect for the shells'.

Carol tried not to look too disappointed (or delighted) as she grabbed the other, hideously pink and frilly apron and tried and failed to tie it behind her back.

You turned at the sound of Carol clearing her throat to see her pouting, apron strings tangled together in her hands.

'Carolll' you sighed, exasperated, grabbing her by the hips and spinning her round so you could untie the megaknot she'd somehow managed to create, and- did you imagine that or was that a gasp? Never mind. Focus on the task at hand. You're here to teach her how to make meringues, not to live out your fantasies. Even if this was one of your fantasies. No, focus!

You finally got the strings free from each other, and crossed them over, spun her back round - you definitely hadn't imagined that gorgeous little gasp that time - and tied a neat little bow.

'So first you have to separate the eggs...' You began. This was going to be more of a test than you thought. Especially because this was at least the third time you'd heard the opening riff of Sweet Child O'Mine.

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

Carol was losing her mind. First it was just at how passionate you'd become about the recipes you were using, getting all technical about ratios and structural integrity and oven temperatures. Then there was the emphasis you kept putting on 'stiff peaks'. This however, was the last straw.

Part of her really did want to learn to bake meringues, and she was trying really hard to follow the complex hybrid of a recipe you'd presented her with like it was a sacred document- and she'd eaten your meringues, she was fully aware that it was a sacred document- she just wasn't much of a baker. But then she'd felt you peering over her shoulder, grabbing hold of her wrist to stop what she was doing 'no Carol, you have to gently fold it in or all the air will get knocked out of the egg whites'.

Ironic, considering how she was struggling to breathe with you pressed up against her back like that. Your arms crept under hers, one hand grabbing the bowl, the other lacing its fingers through hers to grip the spoon and then gently, agonisingly slowly starting to mix. You stopped, allowing her to have another go, leaving your hand where it was.

She tried to imitate your movements, and you became more and more aware of how close you were right now. She stopped mixing and turned her head to you for approval.

For once, neither one of you seemed to have the upper hand as you both stood frozen, looking at each other, faces millimetres apart. You both leaned in as your lips met in a quick, soft kiss. As you broke apart, both of you blinking, smiles spreading across your faces, seemingly in slow motion, Carol spun round to face you and your hands snaked up her back and into her hair, your hips pushing her into the counter slightly as your kissing grew more intense- BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! You sprang apart, knocking the timer you'd set to let you know when the oven was preheated to the floor, Carol's arm flying out and whacking the open bag of icing sugar, a white mist erupting all over the two of you as you both somehow ended up on the floor giggling. Carol got up onto her knees and gently pulled your face to hers to continue what you'd started.

'Worth missing your bread dough for?' She smirked, dusting some sugar from your nose and sticking the sugary finger in her mouth.

As you began to nod, beaming at her, you realised with a tug of irritation deep in your belly that you'd forgotten to feed the sourdough before you left. Oh well, you thought. Carol was worth losing your hipster demographic for. You dived towards her.

#captain marvel fanfiction #carol danvers fanfiction #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x you #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #bakery au #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #fluff #I'm really hungry now #disgusting hybrid of British and American english for no apparent reason other than my needing to spend less time on the internet

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smilingformoney · 6 years ago

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It Lives Beneath Diamond Scene: Sneak Away with Danni

You catch Danni’s eye across the picnic and shoot her a wink. You: Well, I think I’m gonna head home for the night. Danni: Yeah, I’m gonna do the same. Imogen: Good night! Tom: Catch you guys later. Parker: Take care and get home safe, you two! You and Danni wave goodbye as you exit the gathering, heading for the woods.

As the two of you make your way through the quiet forest, Danni swings her camera bag over one shoulder, and slides her arm through yours. Danni: Pretty perfect day, isn’t it? You: Yeah. It is. After a few steps, she pulls you to a stop. Danni: Ooh, you know what we should do?

You: Hmmm… -Take a selfie together?

Danni: Just what I was thinking. She frees her camera from its bag and holds it bag and holds it at arm’s length. Danni: So what do you want to do? Obnoxious hiking selfie? Obnoxious duck-face selfie? You: How about an obnoxious couple selfie? Danni: Ooh. So we’re those people now, huh? You: You better believe it. Danni: Alright. C’mere. Danni leans her head against your shoulder, and holds out a cupped hand. You meet her hand with your own and together you make a heart. Danni: Three… two… one… You’re blinded by a brief flash, and Danni turns the camera around to see the results. Danni: Aww, look at that. We’re the worst. You: That’s a weird way to pronounce ‘amazing.’

-Make out?

Danni breaks out in a sly grin as she steps closer. Danni: Well I was gonna suggest a picture... but that's good too. Danni's hands snake around your waist, pulling you close as her lips meet yours in a passioante kiss. Your tongue pushes past her lips to explore the heat of her mouth, relishing the way her stifled moan vibrates through you. When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless and flushed, trembling with desire.

Danni: So. What next? You: I was thinking we could head back to my place? You: Elliot’s gonna be at Robbie’s tonight, and Grandpa’s got a card game or something, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. Danni: Hmmm… Alone together all night. I don’t know. What could we possibly do? You: I’m sure we’ll think of something.

The house is quiet when the two of you finally arrive back, and you flop down together on the couch. Danni: Uuuughhh. That hike was way more rugged than I thought it’d be. Danni: Phew. Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Danni: Why don’t we head upstairs? You: Aren’t second floors usually hotter? You know, because of hot air rising? Danni: Psh. Details. Besides, it’s the perfect place for me to try out a new kind of photography I’ve been branching into. You: Oh yeah? What kind of photography is that? Danni leans over the side of the couch, pulling her camera from its bag and giving it a suggestive jiggle. Danni: The sexy kind.

You: I would love to… -Expand my artistic horizons.

Danni: I had a feeling you were gonna say that. You: Did I give it away with my smoldering gaze? Danni: Only a little. Danni bounds up from the sofa with feline grace and begins making her way up the stairs. She shoots a coquettish glance over her shoulder. Danni: You coming? You: Right behind you.

Perching on the foot of the bed, Danni begins fiddling with the buttons of her camera. Danni: Okay… We don’t have great lighting in here, so I think I’m gonna crank up the exposure and do a retro soft-focus thing. Very ‘80s. You: Very artsy. I like it. So, where do you want me? Danni: That’s a loaded question. You: I mean where do you want me to pose? Danni: On the bed, cowgirl. You: Yes, ma’am! You lie down and prop yourself into your sexiest pose, giving the camera your best impression of bedroom eyes. Danni springs up, circling the bed with her camera, and you hear the hurried clicks of the shutter. Danni: Perfect. Gorgeous. But don’t you feel a little too… clothed? You: Now that you mention it, I could do without a couple of layers. You cast off your clothes until you’re left in just your undergarments, and stretch out across the bed. You: You’re right. This is better. Danni: Now show me what you got, hot stuff.

You: (I’ll do something…) -Erotic.

You let your hands roam your exposed skin, caressing over your chest, down your belly, between your thighs. Danni: That-that’s perfect. Keep going. As the camera clicks away, you arch your back off the mattress as if in ecstasy. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue as you look back at Danni. You: Do you like that? Danni: Uh, yeah. You: Then why don’t you put that camera down and come join me?

-Silly.

Flipping onto your belly, you put a finger to your lips like you’re sharing a secret. Danni cackles as she continues to take pictures. Danni: Oooooo! Very hot. I feel like a Playboy photographer. You cycle through various goofy poses, spreading out your arms and legs like a starfish, making surprised faces at the camera. Laughing too hard to keep shooting, Danni puts the camera aside and plops down on the bed beside you. You: How did I do? Danni: You did… something, alright. You: Well, then maybe you should come here and show me how it’s done.

Danni: I thought you’d never ask. Slipping out of her clothes, Danni climbs on top of you and straddles your lap. She leans down and nips gently at your bottom lip with her teeth. You: Mmmm… Danni: You’re pretty sexy, you know that? I think you might have a future in modelling. You: Too bad the only person I want to pose for is you. Danni: Well, we can work with that too. Danni finally captures your mouth with her own in a deep, hungry kiss.

You: (We should…) -Just kiss.

You roll both of you over into a more comfortable kissing position and return Danni’s eager ministrations with soft, sweet motions. After several long moments, you separate at last for air, and Danni rests her head on the pillow beside you. Danni: Hey. You: Hey. Danni: I really like you, you know that? You: I think I had some idea, yes. Danni: Well I do. So don’t you forget it. You: Wouldn’t dream of it. Her lips find yours once more and you kiss as though your lives depend on it, as though you could pour every ounce of love into one, single moment…

-Go all in.

You roll the two of you over until you’re on top, nestled between Danni’s splayed legs. Danni: Well hello there. You: Hello yourself. You kiss along her jaw, her long, slender throat, down her chest and to the swell of her breasts. Danni: Ahhh… Her hands roam your back, nails scratching lightly along your skin. You slip a hand between the press of your bodies, seeking out the heat of her. She arches her back off the bed, crying out in pleasure, her hips meeting every rolling movement of your hand. Danni: Ahhh! God, [Name]… Your hips grind against her soft flesh, wringing moans of desire from you, as the two of you crest closer and closer to ecstasy…

Hours later, Danni holds you close, your back pressed to her chest, as she peppers kisses along your shoulder. You: Mmm. That’s nice. You sure know how to spoil a person. Danni: I learned from the best. You: There’s no denying that. After a while, Danni slows her kisses, and a deep silence settles over the two of you. You: Hey. Is, uh, is something wrong? Danni: Huh? Danni: Oh. No, I was just thinking. You: Wanna share with the class? Danni: It’s just… what are we doing, [Name]? Why’re we fooling around when you’re just gonna leave in a couple of weeks? You: Because we… like each other? Danni: Yeah, but wouldn’t it be easier if we called it quits now, before we get even more involved and it sucks all the more when we’ve gotta break up?

You: Danni… -Who says we’re going to break up?

Danni: Long distance relationships don’t usually work out for most people, you know? You: Yeah, but we’re not most people. We’re way more kickass than that. You: Besides, my little brother’s still here. I’m gonna be back here all the time.

-We don’t have to decide anything now.

You: I get what you’re saying. And I’m not going to pretend that long distance relationships aren’t hard. You: But we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. If not before I leave, then one of the times I come to visit.

Danni: You’re right. It’s just I really like you, you know? The more time we’re together the more I’m gonna fall for you. Danni: And I don’t wanna get my heart broken again. You turn in Danni’s arms to look at her, holding her unflinchingly. You: I would never, ever hurt you, Danni. That’s a [Name] Vance guarantee. Danni’s mouth quirks into a small smile. Danni: Can I take your word to the bank? You: You can cash it in and buy a house with it. Danni: Big spender. She kisses you lovingly, every tender emotion poured into that one kiss, filling you with equal measures of excitement and apprehension for the future…

The next morning, you kiss Danni goodbye on the stoop of the cabin. Danni: Thanks for last night, Vance. It was really something. You: I’ll say. Danni: Text me later, okay? You: An attack of zombie bears couldn’t keep me from texting you. Danni laughs as she walks away down the drive. As you’re turning back inside, you spot your grandpa loading a boat on the dock.

-Chill down here, actually.

Danni: Hey, that’s fine. My legs are killing me anyway. I don’t think I was built for outdoor activities. She stretches languidly, laying her legs across your lap.

You: Why don’t… -I kiss and make it better?

Danni grins mischievously at you. Danni: Yes, please. You bow your head, lifting her stockinged leg to your lips. You: Tell me where it hurts. You kiss her ankle. You: Here? Danni: Mmm… Not quite… She slides her leg over your shoulder, and you rotate, lips moving up her calf. You: Here? Danni: A little higher… You bend forward, kissing the inside of her thigh. Danni squirms, laughing, and pulls your face up to hers. Danni: That tickles. You: That’s ‘cause your tights are in the way. You lips move to Danni’s neck. She moans softly as your knee presses between her legs… Danni: [Name]… You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at her. Her face is darkly flushed from arousal, her eyes glassy and half-lidded.

You: (I’ll…) -Go further.

Capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, you find the waistband of her shorts and tights and slide them down, freeing her long legs. You slide a hand between your bodies, seeking out the heat of her skin. Danni moans and arches her back off the couch. Danni: Ahhh… There… You: Too much? Danni: No! Perfect. You both struggle out of your clothes, eager to feel each other’s skin. Danni flips you onto your back, straddling your lap. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes. Her hands explore your chest and stomach. You: You’re so beautiful. Danni: Yes I am. She bends down to kiss you, her hips rolling against yours, eliciting sparks of pleasure within you. You: Ngh! Danni… Your fingers dig into her thighs as her body undulates on top of yours, her hands working your most sensitive places, bringing you closer and closer to ecstasy…

-Stay like this.

You kiss her gently before settling down beside her on the couch, pulling her body into yours. Danni: Mmm. You make a good blanket. You: I haven’t heard that before, but I will definitely accept the compliment. You: It is a compliment, right? Danni: Definitely. Not everybody makes a good blanket, you know. It takes just the right balance of softness and warmth. You’ve nailed it. You: Well, look at that. A talent I didn’t even know I had. Danni: Oh, you’re just full of talents. Danni rotates in your arms to face you, her arm wrapping about your waist and forehead resting against yours. Danni: Thanks for having me over. This is… this is just what I needed. You I’m glad. ‘Cause you’re just what I needed. Danni: Pfft. Corny. You: But you love it. Danni: Damn right I do. She kisses you chastely and sweetly before relaxing into the couch cushions and closing her eyes. You watch her as she drifts off into peaceful sleep, wondering at your luck…

You: Danni… -Who says we’re going to break up?

-We don’t have to decide anything now.

-We talk about our relationship?

Danni: What’s there to talk about? You: Well, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and I’m gonna leave pretty soon… You: I guess I’m just wondering where we stand. So I can go away without any doubts. Danni: Look, [Name], there’s always gonna be doubts. With any relationship, but especially with long-distance relationships. Danni: There’re no guarantees. All we can do is believe in what we feel for each other. You: And what’s that? Danni: Are you asking me if I love you, Vance? You: Yes, ma’am. Danni sits up and cups your cheek in her warm hand, holding your gaze levelly. Danni: I love you, you big dummy. You: That’s all I wanted to hear. Danni leans her forehead against yours, and you both close your eyes, enjoying your closeness. Danni: So, what now? Braid each other’s hair? Slumber party? You: Please. What are we? Five? We’re gonna binge watch streaming movies until we pass out. Danni: Oh hell yeah. A new Markus von Groot movie just got added to Netflix. Queue that sucker up, my dude. You laugh and reach over her for the remote. You: So, what’s the name of this von Groot masterpiece? Danni: It’s called De Vuurtorenwachter. It’s about this guy who lives in a lighthouse trying to fix his father’s pocket-watch. You: How long is it? Danni: A hundred and sixty-eight minutes. You: It’s three hours of a guy fixing a watch? In German? Danni: Dutch, actually. And yeah, but trust me, the cinematography is amazing. You: Alright, I’ll give it a shot… But if I fall asleep, it’s your fault. As the hours tick by, you realise you’ve become invested in the movie, even coming close to tears. You’re grateful for the recommendation, and even more grateful for Danni’s company.

The following morning, with Elliot still at Robbie’s, you decide to lounge around and enjoy some time to yourself. Later, as you’re taking the trash out, you spot your grandpa loading a boat on the dock.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices it lives beneath #choices ilb #it lives beneath

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bevioletskies · 6 years ago

Note

Movieverse Post Avengers 4 Starmora Prompt: Wedding with white dress, veil, vows, rings, the kiss, and the first dance.

mild spoiler warning for avengers: infinity war.ao3 | word count: 2.9k

Peter proposed to Gamora one week to the day after they returned from the “other place”, as everyone was calling it (the Guardians had developed an aversion to the word “soul”, recoiling at what it had cost them). The moment the words left his lips, he instantly regretted it - not about the idea of marrying her, he could never regret the idea of marrying her - but the suddenness of his proposal; it almost felt inappropriate to ask. Everyone was still traumatized, recovering in short-lived bursts, taking one step forward and five steps back. Gamora, unsurprisingly, was experiencing the worst of it, not that she ever let it show. Peter couldn’t imagine she wanted to undergo the stress of a wedding on top of everything else she was dealing with, the weight on her shoulders, the sweat on her brow, the heaviness in her heart. He prepared to take it back, to apologize for, once again, jumping without thought of the consequences.

“Yes,” Gamora said, and that was that.

Now, it was a few months later and the day was here. It wasn’t so much that they had finished planning the wedding that they were finished with planning it. Gamora, for all her usual insistence on precise details and long-term considerations, grew tired of the whole process. She wasn’t inclined toward a splashy affair with flower arrangements the size of her torso and a dress that cost more than the Benatar’s repair bill. Peter just wanted to finally start calling her his wife, and was ready to take the shortest path to get there.

“Will you stop fussing already? You look fine,” Nebula grumbled. Gamora glanced in her reflection, over her shoulder, to see her sister standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. She smiled.

“That might be the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Gamora said lightly, turning to fully face her. “Come on, Nebula. You know how much it means to Peter, to get married in his hometown, the place he still holds dear after all this time because of his mother. It would be disrespectful of me to look anything less than perfect, which I guess is…this.”

“A dress, though.” Nebula pursed her lips distastefully, her eyes slowly moving up and down as she took inventory of Gamora’s unusually feminine appearance. “And a veil? You look like the cake you refused to have.”

Gamora turned back to the mirror with a resigned, but agreeable sigh, tugging slightly on the tight waist for what had to be the hundredth time. “You might have a point. It doesn’t suit me, but it’s also no hardship. Need I remind you of the training corsets we wore as children? The buckles, the cold metal, the leather straps? All so we could learn how to breathe while we fight. That kind of burden, that life, it’s all behind us. No more.”

“No more,” Nebula echoed quietly.

Then, a knock on the doorframe. “Quill is pacing incessantly and won’t stop mumbling to himself,” Drax complained, looking immensely uncomfortable in a pressed white shirt and crooked tie. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re ready.” He paused. “You look ridiculous.”

Gamora rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You flatter me, Drax. And yes…I’m ready.”

Though Peter had gone to church on Sundays with his mother as a child, he’d chosen a different kind of wedding venue entirely. They were in a converted barn on the outskirts of St. Charles, Missouri, the kind romanticized by many but used practically by few, its red paint peeling away on the outside, sunlight streaming in through the cracks of the imperfect rafters. Mantis had wound fairy lights around the support beams and placed tea lights along the makeshift aisle, but aside from that, there were no other decorations to speak of.

Opposite of the entryway, backlit by the partially open barn doors, Gamora’s gaze immediately went to Peter in his off-the-rack tuxedo, chatting quietly with the pastor, a family friend of his grandfather’s (who, to Peter’s dismay, had passed just two years ago). He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his face softening as he took in her appearance for the first time, mouth falling open a little in awe as it was oft to do. Gamora beamed almost shyly in return; after all these years, it was still hard to believe anyone could be so openly fond of her.

The other Guardians (aside from Nebula, who followed her in) were stood by Peter, surprisingly quiet and devoid of snark. There was a small bar-height table by Kraglin at the end of the line with three items arranged carefully on its surface - the yaka arrow, the Zune, and the Awesome Mix Vol. 1 cassette tape, the only thing that remained of Meredith’s Walkman.

Gamora walked carefully down the marked path, unused to the amount of fabric shifting around her ankles. Peter held out his hand for her to take the moment she was within reach, guiding her to a stop right in front of him. She instantly noticed an uncharacteristically nervous tremble in his fingers and his bottom lip. “Guess we should keep this short and sweet,” he chuckled. “Gotta head out in the morning for that job on the other side of the galaxy.”

��You sure do live interesting lives, Mister Quill,” the pastor commented with a laugh on his own. “Shall we start with your vows?”

“Yeah, I, um…yeah.” Peter let go of Gamora to pat the breast pocket of his suit jacket, only to shake his head. “Actually, I’ve read ‘em over enough times, I think I’m just gonna say what I feel.” He grinned his signature lopsided grin, and Gamora was half-charmed, half-worried that he’d indulged in a little drink for the nerves before getting dressed. “Growing up, I never really thought a ton about what I wanted to be when I was older. I mean, I had the usual kid dreams - rockstar, astronaut, pirate - but I was always just a go-with-the-flow kinda guy. Same thing when I was a Ravager, I just went along with what everyone else was doing. But once I left them behind, I really wasn’t sure what my next move was gonna be. If I was gonna float on by myself for the rest of my life like I always did. But part of me didn’t like that. I like being around people, and I missed having someone to talk to. My mom…Yondu. And it’s like someone heard my thoughts, ‘cos the day I left that life behind, you came along.”

“We had a pretty rough start, you and me. Tried to kill each other, landed in prison, the usual,” Peter continued, smirking at the memory. The pastor looked mildly alarmed. “But once we sorted out our differences, you became so incredibly important to me. You’re my best friend, my co-captain…my girl. The person I can talk to about anything, no matter what. The one who helped me figure out what I was gonna do with my life, who I wanted to spend it with. But you also don’t take any of my crap, and you shouldn’t,” he added with a watery laugh. “I say and do some pretty stupid stuff sometimes. You keep my feet on the ground, sometimes literally.”

“Anyways…we’ve been through a lot together. But I’m not too worried about the future. I know that whatever life throws my way, I got someone I can always count on, someone who can always count on me. And maybe to kid-me, the kid that didn’t care about, y’know, the future, or anything, really, it sounds pretty boring, but to adult-me? Sounds like I’ve got the best deal - and the best partner - in the entire universe.”

Gamora had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying, her eyes welling up with emotion. Peter’s eyes were shining with unshed tears as well, nodding for her to begin. “Growing up in the circumstances that I did, with the company that I kept - with one exception - ” her eyes briefly went to Nebula “ - it shouldn’t be surprising that love and acceptance were, in my mind, unattainable. Abstract concepts, for children and for fantasy. Shallow…saccharine. Meant only for people who thought themselves romantics, people who had time to really get to know one another. I was none of those things.”

“Like you, I was trying to escape my life. Unlike you, I thought I knew what was going to happen after. That I was going to survive, but not really live. Maybe die months, weeks, days after running away,” Gamora added with a sad smile. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think much of you when we first met. You were just another adversary to me. It wasn’t until Knowhere that I truly began to understand you…to know you…eventually come to love you. I can’t pinpoint a moment, a memory, in which I knew I did. But with all the cliches in the world, the ones I rejected and wrote off as fiction…I began to understand every single one of them.”

“I’ve been jealous of people who look at you the wrong way, or people who look at you for too long. I’ve fought for you, for us. I’ve done things that surprised me, said things I would have never told anyone else. I’ve let you into my life so we can share it together…a life where it’s about more than just surviving. I see the universe with new eyes, a renewed hope for the future, our future, and I don’t think it would be the same without you.”

By now, Mantis and Kraglin were clinging to each other, watery-eyed, while Drax, Rocket, and Groot were more stoic, but still noticeably moved. Nebula’s expression had been indecipherable ever since Gamora indirectly mentioned her, but she’d never been an easy read in the first place.

“If we have no objections - ” the pastor briefly glanced at the others, who all vehemently shook their heads “ - we’ll move on to the exchanging of the rings.”

Groot crouched briefly to open the small satchel at his feet, digging through its contents. Once he found what he was looking for, his branches snaked out, coming to a stop in front of Peter and Gamora - two small velvet boxes, ready for them to take. Gamora’s hands were comparatively steadier than Peter’s, sliding his ring on first. When she noticed the continual tremble in his arm, she held his wrist in a gentle, but firm grip, guiding him as he put her ring on her finger. He smiled in silent gratitude.

The two of them took a moment to admire their rings side-by-side, rings that had somehow become the most arduous part of the entire planning process. Peter’s ring was far simpler than hers, silver in color and square in shape with a thin groove all the way around, set with two red diamonds between perpendicular ridges that reminded him of his mask. Gamora’s ring was silver as well but less traditional in appearance, a thin sword wrapped around her finger with a matching red diamond embedded in its hilt.

“If you’re ready,” the pastor said softly. They turned back to look at him, eyes wide with anticipation. “By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife!”

A tinny-sounding version of the wedding march began to play through the Zune-attached speakers, and the Guardians exploded with whoops and cheers of unbridled joy. Peter swept Gamora into his arms, kissing her with everything he had. She wrapped her arms around his middle, pulling his front flush against hers, deepening the kiss, then pulled away before the pastor could protest indecency. Still, Peter brought her back in to kiss the crown of her head, holding her close as they turned on their heels to face the others, matched unabashed grins on their faces.

“So…dunno about you guys, but I’m super hungry,” Peter announced. Gamora was unsurprised to find that being married to Peter did not, in any way, lessen her urge to roll her eyes at him. If anything, she could see it happening with far more frequency in the future…their future.

Dinner was short and sweet, just like the ceremony. Peter ordered takeout from his favorite local diner, a place he was delighted to discover was still around. Though the others were mostly unfamiliar with Terran food, it was a welcome palate compared to their usual of ration packets and whatever was cheap at the latest bar Rocket insisted on visiting between jobs.

After dinner was over, Gamora knew there was one last wedding tradition that Peter would never want to miss. He didn’t care for toasts that rambled on for far too long, or tossing the bouquet (not that Gamora had one to begin with), or silly games that made everyone vaguely uncomfortable with how intimate they could be. No, this was a tradition that was obvious to anyone who knew Peter.

“Ready for our first dance as husband and wife?” He held out his hand, thankfully far steadier than it had been an hour ago.

“I guess the others will have to wait.” She placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

They walked out to the middle of the barn, the moonlight peeking through the rafters, casting a soft glow on both their faces. Peter nodded at Rocket to start the music. He grinned at Gamora’s mildly surprised expression once the song began. “Song choice okay with you?”

“More than okay,” she laughed, allowing him to lead her in slow, deliberate circles, their faces so close that their noses were nearly touching. With his hands at the small of her back and hers on his waist, they were sturdier, surer of themselves, than they had been all night. “It’s been a while since we’ve listened to this one. Five years, in fact.”

“Figured it couldn’t be anything else,” Peter shrugged. “So…you feel any different? Now that we’re married?”

“Not really,” Gamora admitted. “I always thought it was more symbolic than anything else.”

“Can’t forget those tax benefits,” Peter joked. “And that insurance package you had your eye on ever since the hospital incident on Parthea?”

“If you had just told them we were family - ”

“ - I was so hopped up on meds, I was tryna make out with you in the waiting room, I don’t think they’d buy you were my adoptive sister - ”

“ - you always try to make out with me regardless, Peter, but my point is - ”

“ - hey, we’re starting to sound like an old married couple. I guess we always have, but now we’re halfway there,” he grinned. Gamora huffed, giving him her second most impressive eyeroll of the night. “Just gotta grow old together first.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension leaving her shoulders. “You’re right. Now we can look forward. And I don’t mean tomorrow’s mission, but…whatever the rest of our lives will be. We got a second chance at life. Let’s not waste it.”

“Did you have something in mind?” he asked.

“Actually…no.” Even Gamora looked surprised at her own answer. “All my life, I’ve either been running or hiding. It took me years to finally break free from his control, only for him to take me back again, use me again. And now, aside from whatever enemies we’ve made along the way…I have no reason to look over my shoulder. To check every corner I turn.” She smiled, her eyes glossy. “I’m not saying we’re never going to struggle again. We still have to live from payment to payment, risk our lives on even the simplest of missions, mostly because Rocket can’t resist a good fight. But for the first time…I’m not worried. I know we can figure it out together. Whatever ‘it’ may be.”

Peter pulled her even closer, wrapping his arms fully around her waist, his nose grazing her hair. “I know what you mean. Well, sorta. After losing Mom, I…I didn’t know if I was ever gonna have a family again. Or if I was just gonna be uncertain about everything for the rest of my life. But having the Guardians, having you…I lost Yondu, and I still think about him all the time. Wondering what it’d be like if he were here with us. But you’re my family. And I’m not worried, either. Just…really lookin’ forward to what’s next.”

Gamora glanced briefly over Peter’s shoulder, her fingers still burrowed beneath his jacket, around his waist, comforted by his familiar stance, his warmth. Rocket and Groot were squabbling over the last piece of apple pie, Mantis was cooing and taking photos of Peter and Gamora’s first dance while Drax watched on with a mildly disgruntled expression, and Kraglin was eyeing Nebula apprehensively, unsure of how much small talk - if any was even possible - was going to result in a knife to his throat.

She turned back to look up at Peter. “I love you,” she said simply.

He smiled. “I love you, too,” he said, and that was that.

Free, on my own is the way I used to be…but since I met you baby, love’s got a hold on me…

Fooled around and fell in love...I fooled around and fell in love, oh yes I did...

a/n: Peter’s tuxedo, Gamora’s dress (but with a floor-length hem), Peter’s ring, Gamora’s ring (but with a red diamond), and I’m sure you’re familiar with their first dance song!

#ask #Anonymous #starmora #starmora fic #myfic #marvel #hope you enjoyed this one lovely!!#i'm really glad i'm already done next week's prompt because i've got a lot going on this month #hopefully i'll be a teensy bit less busy in oct so i can really dig into the new au

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prettybabyhazza · 7 years ago

Text

morning views (e.d.)

***Warnings: None

~MASTERLIST~

“Baby. Babe, you gotta wake up. Come on, let’s see those pretty eyes.”

Squeezing your already closed eyes, you flipped onto your stomach to bury your face in the pillow as your brain began to bring your body back to full consciousness. The familiar sounds of an early Friday morning poured into your ears as your boyfriend began gently rocking your stiff body.

“You hit snooze in your sleep again. You’re lucky your loud ass alarm woke me up so I could stop you from oversleeping.”

“E,” you groaned, your voice being muffled by the pillow.

“Yes, love?”

You nearly fell back asleep as Ethan’s long fingers pushed the hair that had fallen to the sides of your face back and over your shoulder, twisting a couple strands between his digits as he did so.

Finally opening your eyes, you turned your head and allowed your tired, blurry vision to focus on the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on. He was propped up on his right elbow, greeting you with a small and sleepy smile. His lower half was still tangled in the sheets up to the hem of his boxers, leaving his naked upper body on full display. Turning onto your left side to face him and get a better look, your sleep-heavy right arm extended in front of you to sweep the messy strands of bedhead away from his eyes. Ethan watched your eyes intently as they followed your movements. You dropped your hand to his jaw, your thumb automatically grazing over your favorite amount of stubble. Tracing his jaw down to his chin, your eyes locked on those full, flushed lips. As if on cue, his tongue poked out and licked the soft skin. They were so… velvety. Your thumb was drawn to them like a magnet, outlining their rounded shape.

“I love you,” you whispered as the pad of your thumb lightly stroked the plump skin of his bottom lip.

A low and breathy chuckle slipped from Ethan’s lips as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, flashing you his bright, toothy smile. Your favorite sound followed by your favorite sight. His little laughs sent shivers down your spine and his beautiful smile made your heart leap. You wished he wouldn’t be so overcritical of his bright smile.

“You love me, huh?” He sighed, lips pulling together in a teasing smirk. Goosebumps dotted your skin at the barely there feeling of his hand gliding down your side, palm landing on your hip. His fingertips softly dug into the swell, his thumb caressing your skin and allowing the faint scrape of his nail.

“Mmm,” you hummed in response as your eyes fluttered closed.

The deduction of your vision gave rise to the heightened ability of your remaining senses. Suddenly, every touch receptor in your body was notifying you of the presence of Ethan’s hand lovingly kneading at the curved softness of your hip. Your ears centered on the barely audible, continuous cycle of his slow and deep breathing. The faint and worn smell of his woodsy cologne still lingered on his hot skin. The bed shifted slightly where Ethan was laying as you sensed him leaning forward, planting kisses on each of your closed eyelids and one on the tip of your nose. Scrunching your face with a smile, you slowly opened your eyes immediately noticing just how close Ethan’s face was to yours. You could make out every shade in the melting pot of color within his irises and count each of his long, black eyelashes. The same playful smirk was plastered on his face as he whispered his response in a gravely tone, his palm adding more pressure behind the squeezing of your hip.

“Well baby, that’s quite the relief to hear, considering I love you as well. Maybe we should date.”

“Maybe,” you giggled, once again bringing a hand up to his hair, your fingers softly digging into his thick, dark locks. Ethan’s eyes closed as a quiet, innocent groan rumbled in his throat. A similar smirk played on your own lips as you continued your taunting: “Or maybe not.”

Without missing a beat and with eyes still closed, Ethan’s hands firmly grasped your sides, easily hauling you forward, emitting a squeal from your lips. He guided you on top of him in a straddling position, the palms of your hands flying to his chest in order to keep your balance.

Immediately, you bent down to press your lips to his in a brief kiss before placing the left side of your head on his right collarbone. Your arms snaked easily around his neck, hands instantly twirling and playing with the puffs of hair on the nape of his neck. Your eyes closed as well as you listened to his steady pulse and focused on the light scratches his nails were giving your back. These sweet morning moments were few and far between, but you wished they happened everyday. With Ethan’s career and your college schedule combined, many times one of you would be gone before the other even woke up. Today, however, Ethan had the entire day off, but you still had class. You were seriously considering playing hooky for the day, but you knew Ethan wouldn’t allow it. Especially considering the struggles you’ve been known to have in certain subjects. His voice brought you back to reality the moment he noticed you beginning to slowly drift to sleep again.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he mumbled into your hair. “You gotta get to class.”

The whiny groan that vibrated from you made Ethan’s heart melt. He lived and breathed for the many effects he had on you. That being said, he was still fully aware you had him helplessly wrapped around your finger. The idea of staying in this same position: legs twisted, arms wrapped, and faces buried as you soaked in the warmth of the other was something you both craved. It was nearly enough to break Ethan’s strength and keep you in this bed all day. Almost.

“I’m sick of it,” you muttered into his neck as your right hand traced his prominent clavicle. “You know it’s my worst class. I’m the most stressed I’ve ever been.”

Ethan’s hand rubbed your back gently in comfort as you spoke. He knew just how much you hated this class in particular. You studied yourself sick night after night, often not coming to bed before two or three in the morning. He witnessed too many tears of frustration and defeat slipping down your cheeks as you read and reread sections in your Power Points, handwritten notes, and textbooks containing the most complex information of each chapter. The immense pride he felt when you finally had a breakthrough of understanding was indescribable.

Unfortunately, those moments of glory never came easy.

You were on the verge of one, he just knew it, but you needed to get to class to take another step towards it.

“I know you’re sick of it, but you have to go,” Ethan soothed, still rubbing circles into your lower back. “When you come home, we can come right back to this same position and stay here all weekend if you want.”

You sighed, instantly relaxing at the thought. Taking in his words, you unraveled one of your arms and reached out to press the home button of Ethan’s phone laying on his nightstand.

8:15 AM.

45 minutes until you had to leave. As you read the large, bright numbers on his screen, you felt your boyfriend’s arms wrap around your abdomen tightly in a comforting embrace as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“I’m all yours the second you come back home.”

As you began weighing the pros and cons in your head, your thoughts were soon interrupted by a swift, playful slap to your backside causing you to shriek in surprise.

“Up,” Ethan commanded with a chuckle and another slap.

“Okay, okay,” you whimpered, pushing yourself off your boyfriend and onto your feet.

You padded into your connected master suite and turned on the shower, allowing the water to heat up before poking your head out of the doorway to catch a glimpse of Ethan. His long legs were sprawled across your shared bed, one arm behind his head and the other attempting to rub the sleep from his face. You tiptoed to the edge of the bed and waited until he noticed your presence. His movements froze as he caught your eyes wandering across his torso.

“Take a picture, princess. It’ll last longer,” he teased with a raised eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes at his tone.

“Wanna shower with me?” You asked in your sweetest voice in hopes of convincing him.

Ethan chuckled as his arms reached over his head, proceeding to stretch out his body head to toe, making the most adorable whine as he did so. He let out a deep sigh as he propped himself up onto two elbows, causing his biceps to flex and bulge. He took his time lovingly studying your perfectly messy hair and makeup free face. You were stunning through and through in his eyes. A lazy smile crept onto his face as he noticed your eyebrow raising in response to his stare.

He untangled himself from the sheets, stood, and positioned himself directly in front of you. Before you could speak, he cupped both your cheeks and gently encouraged you forward as he tilted his head down to press his lips to yours in a sweet, leisurely kiss. Slowly pulling away, his hands floated from your cheeks to the sides of your waist.

You barely had time to register the smirk that had found its way back to his features before he was scooping you up, throwing you over his shoulder, and marching you back into the bathroom.

#ethan dolan #grayson dolan #dolan twins #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan one shot #ethan dolan blurb #ethan dolan fluff #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan oneshot #grayson dolan fanfic #dolan twins one shot #dolan twins imagine #prettybabyhazza #My writing #my writings

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thornescratch · 7 years ago

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Carlzner fic for andrebearakovsky

Fic prompt meme. A snippet of Alzner/Carlson for @andrebearakovsky in thanks for helping me find a post earlier in the year. I posted some of this a year or two ago, and now it’s inching towards becoming an actual story. Set on the Alzner Iron Man streak back in 2016. Everything after the first paragraph is under a Read More cut.

John has a mouth made to suck cock, which was apparently the line Karl had drunkenly used to proposition him during the celebration in 2010 when they won the Calder Cup and had been so full of joy and adrenaline and bulk rate champagne that they'd completely skidded up to and then over the previously drawn sexual experimentation line of hotel room hand-jobs with the lights out.

("Are you sure?" Karl had asked him the next morning. "I said that? I'm not sure that sounds like me."

"Yeah, dude, you did," John had said, all matter of fact while searching for his underwear. "You gotta get some better lines."

"Huh," Karl had said, having scraped just enough sobriety together to refrain from saying, well it clearly worked, and trying not to stare too much at John's ass. "I don't—did I romance you? Was I smooth?"

"Not really. I mean, you said the thing about my mouth, I think you threw up in a plant at some point, and you bit my fucking nipple way too hard—" John turned around and pointed at his left nipple; he did have a bruise forming around it. "But otherwise you were pretty good."

"Oh," Karl had said. "Sorry."

John had snorted. "If I didn't like it, I wouldn't have let you," he said, and then, "fuck, I'll just go commando," and then he had turned around and said, "want me to suck your cock while you're sober enough to last more than five minutes this time?" and hadn't bothered to wait for an answer. It was one of the best mornings of Karl's life.)

John has a mouth made to suck cock, and Karl's thought that ever since they were first joined up in Hershey and John had smirked at him when Karl said hello. And so when John had jostled up against him after practice and said low in his ear, "You better have your hall pass for tonight," Karl had looked at John's mouth and seen that same curve of lips from Hershey, and his first thought was putting his dick right in the middle of that smirk.

The game is a goat rodeo. They fall behind, and then they come back; nothing is clicking, then everything is clicking, push-pull. Neuvy in orange still looks fucking weird; there's the hopeful rise of the last minute powerplay, and then there's the sharp sucker punch of an OT loss. It fucking sucks.

John's got media mop-up duty, and Karl somehow gets out of it; he waits for John and John finally comes hurrying through the door, his tie a mess and jamming his toque down over wet hair. "Let's go, Ovi just said his thing about All Stars, they're all jumping all over that and no one's gonna get out of there for another twenty at least."

In the elevator, John's humming something under his breath the whole way; it's not until they get to the garage that Karl realizes it's Iron Man.

"Dick," he says, and smacks John, but he can't keep from smiling.

"You love it," John says, and he doesn't try to dodge the hit as he climbs into his car. "You need to follow me?"

"I got lost once," Karl says. "It's your fault for living in Maryland like a freak and not in Virginia like the rest of us.

"Yeah, well," John says, and leans out his car's open window. "Drive safe and all that because once we get to my place, I got plans."

"You got plans, huh," Karl says. And it's a bad idea, you never know where there's a camera or someone watching but he can't help himself. He reaches out and touches John's face, lets his thumb sweep over a hint of stubble from John's complete inability to beard up, trace the curve of the cheek, just to the corner of John's mouth. He wants to go further, but he doesn't. John's tongue flashes out, snake-quick and jabs against Karl's thumb. "Don't I get to pick what we do?"

"My house," John says smugly. "Maybe I'll let you pick a movie or something."

"Yeah, whatever," Karl says, and turns to go. John reaches out and grabs his sleeve. "What?"

"Drive safe, Alzy," John says again, and then he smiles, sweet and slow. Just pink and smooth and perfect, and Karl puts his hand in his pocket so he won’t touch it again. "Drive slow. I gotta get some things ready for you when you come in."

"How slow?' Karl asks, and even if his voice is a little hoarser than usual, it's still steady.

"We got all night, buddy," John say. He dips his eyelashes and looks up at Karl through them, and it’s all deliberate and stupid and yet Karl has the second worst case of wood he's ever had in a Verizon Center garage.

"I guess…" Karl says, dropping his voice and leaning into the open window just enough until John's leaning towards him in turn. He takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches towards John's face, like he's going to brush a piece of hair back from his temple. John inclines his head towards Karl's hand minutely. "…You should start driving then. But put your seatbelt on first."

He reaches past John's head to tug on the seatbelt, and then he lets go of it and steps away.

John looks surprised at first but he grins, and keeping eye contact, he sticks a hand down his pants and adjusts himself ostentatiously. "Safety first," he says.

"Goddamn right," Karl says, and thumps his hand against the top of the car, knocking twice. "Okay. See you soon."

He takes his time getting to his own car, and even though he really doesn't need it, he pulls up Waze so he can keep track of how far he is, how much time it would take. It's almost a straight shot down Massachusetts Avenue, so he dawdles and pulls into a shopping center on the way. There's a twenty four hour CVS, and after he's inspected the Gatorade, glanced over the holiday candy aisle, and grabbed the bottle of shampoo he came in for in the first place, he skulks down the As Seen on TV aisle for a few minutes, trying to find something that will annoy or amuse John. He's just deciding between a bug zapper shaped like a badminton racket or the Moo Mixer that claims to make perfect chocolate milk when his phone buzzes.

Where are you?

Close, he thumbs back, and grabs the Moo Mixer, wonders why he's bothering with it, and then deciding even if he doesn't give it to John, it makes him laugh. The clerk is an elderly Asian woman who counts his change out painstakingly from the three tens he gives her, and then he's speedwalking back out into the parking lot and gunning it.

It takes barely ten minutes from there before he's pulling up in John's driveway. It's cold out, frosty but clear, and the cherry trees linig the street stretch bare black branches into the sky. The door to the house opens up and for a few seconds, John is just a man-shaped darkness in the yellow spill of light behind him, and then Karl is close enough to see him and John's stepping aside to let him in. He's already changed out of his suit into gray sweats and a dark blue Henley. His feet are bare, and his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is wetter than it looked when they left Verizon, like he maybe just got out of the shower again here at home.

"Did you shower again?" Karl asks as John closes the door behind him. "Oh, I got you this," he adds, and hands the Moo Mixer to John. "But I'm keeping it if you don't want it."

"No fucking way, it's going right next to the root beer mug you gave me," John says, holding it up to see it properly while Karl starts toeing off his shoes and unzipping his coat. He shoots a sidelong look at Karl and licks his lips. "You like giving me cups, huh? I'm gonna start reading into that."

"You do that," Karl says, and he's about to look for a place to hang his coat when John reaches out to take it from him.

"You're so fucking superstitious," he says to Karl.

"Look who's talking," Karl says, sitting down so he can work on the knot in one of his laces. Though usually it's John handing him his coat that's part of the superstition. "You're doing it right now."

John laughs. "Did you know I started that coat thing in the hotel because you came back to the room early one time in Hershey, and it was just because you caught me putting it back in the closet? Because, like, I was putting it back after I was kinda holding it on the bed, like—" He gestured, rubbing his face against Karl's coat. "You know, so I could smell it when I was jerking off."

It's a good thing Karl's sitting down while John says that, because after hearing that, he's not sure any blood's going to get to his brain ever again.

#fic meme #andrebearakovsky #John Carlson #Karl Alzner #carlzner #carlznerson #Washington Capitals

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gregorsamsadementiaravenway · 7 years ago

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Stray notes after watching The Last Jedi

Or: why does this movie just keep getting worse whenever I remember it?

The notes are after the cut just in case someone hasn’t seen the film yet or doesn’t want a long ass bullet point post in their dash. Some of them are serious and well thought-out, some are nitpicky and some are there just for the heck of it.

“Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.” - Why, that’s just peachy, Rian! Too bad the future your selling is a little shit.

In general, Rian Johnson doesn’t seem to have much respect for the past. See tathrin’s post about all the things established in TFA that were turned upside down in this film, but I think Johnson doesn’t have much consideration for the original trilogy either, reducing Chewbacca to a background character and trying to replace “May the Force be with you” with some other, less inspired line.

Seriously, why are they saying “Godspeed”? Did monotheism reach a galaxy far, far away and they now, suddenly, have a notion of God? And, while were at it, why is “treacherous snake” a thing, now? Are there snakes in the Star Was universe? ‘Cause, so far, all animals have been on the fantastic side of things. What else is there? Do they have kittens??? That’s an important question...

The movie had A LOT of hamfisted comic relief. Of course there were some honestly funny scenes (I will forever laugh at Rey feeling the Force with her hand), but most of the jokes felt very out of place. For instance, the first scene, with Hux and Poe. I laughed my ass off at that interaction, but that’s an SNL sketch, not a Star Wars scene. I was half expecting Matt, the radar technician, to show up.

Seriously, someone should tell Rian Johnson that he isn’t directing Guardians of the Galaxy. In more than one scene, the excess of jokes killed what should’ve a truly great, emotional moment.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much indifference do I feel towards porgs?

The ammount of queerbaiting that went into promoting this film was insane. Look, actors on franchises like this one have media training, so whenever, say, Oscar Isaac ran his mouth about the possibility of Finn/Poe being canon, he was at least authorized by Disney to do so (worst case scenario, he was instructed to sell this narrative). I didn’t particularly care about the ship and I think Poe Dameron could’ve died in TFA without any harm to the franchise, but to hamfist that non-sensical romance between Finn and Rose after feeding the fans’ hopes for a gay pairing was, in my opinion, downright cruel.

And don’t even get me started on Poe and Rey’s meaningful gaze at the end of the film, with Poe going all “I know” as if he’s Han Solo or some hot shit like that! Poe/Rey is the worst possible ship to become canon. Yes, the worst. Yes, you heard me, worse than Reylo.

Speaking of Reylo: after TFA, I said that I low-key shipped them ‘cause that’s the kind of fucked up ship I like. Look, there are people in this website who like to wear diapers and want to fuck Pennywise, so, screw you, I’m not apologizing for wanting to read fics about a fictional pairing made up of two adults. HOWEVER, this is not the sort of thing I want to be canon. From the get go, my opinion on Rey’s official love life has been “either she ends up with Finn or she ends up alone”. That being said, I think they handled the relationship between her and Kylo Ren very well in this film. I’m glad they didn’t deny the fucked up sexual tension that was going on there, especially coming from Ren’s side, and chose to play into it. A failed redemption arc fits them perfectly and Kylo Ren’s “please” when he asks Rey to rule beside him was a great moment for the character and one of the few truly emotional moments of the film.

But that thing were they get to hit on each other through the Force, sharing sad stories and touching hands? Yeah, I’m pretty certain I’ve read that fic. Actually, I’m pretty certain I’ve read about three fics like that.

Let’s keep on the Kylo Ren track for now, then: he did get some very nice character development in this film. The Last Jedi was more his than any other character’s, even Luke. For a minute there, before the movie came out, I thought they were going to make some changes to him due to the whole backlash, but they went full “overgrown angsty kid” with him in a way that actually made him more compelling. I like the way Luke’s fear ended up pushing a conflicted teenager into the Dark Side and that Kylo is still very much stuck at that moment. As usual with Sith and Sith by-products, Kylo Ren is moved by anger, and his anger feels much more real after this little bit of backstory.

Who is Snoke, though? Are they going to explain that in the next movie? It feels like they should’ve done it in this one, but I hope they at least give him some context before the trilogy is over.

Sooooo... Did your conflicted antagonist cladded in black, with black hair falling all over his face, just trick his bald, deformed Dark Lord by using his occlumency powers? *Owen Wilson voice* Wow.

“The Supreme Leader is dead. Long live the Supreme Leader.” - A perfect example of a really amazing moment botched by comic relief, ie, Snoke’s little tongue falling out of his dead body.

After the film ended, @robogigante complained a lot about Hux’s transformation from an actual, threatening villan into a punchline, and, you know what? He’s right. There’s a scene there that looks like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do I hate evil, square-headed BB-8?

I’m sort of glad Rey’s parents aren’t anyone important. Star Wars relies too much on heritage and it’s a nice change having a hero who isn’t Space Jesus or Space Jesus’ direct lineage. Her scene in the cave was incredibly beautiful.

They did point to something else in TFA, though, implying heavily that her origin was important and that Kylo Ren already knew about her. That was some Moffat level of badly written plot twist right there.

There’s something Emma Watson-y about Daisy Ridley. This is neither a compliment nor a complaint, just something I hadn’t noticed before.

Both Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver grew a lot as actors since the last movie, especially Driver. Even though it’s still hard to take Kylo Ren seriously sometimes due to Driver’s cry-baby face, he’s way more convincing in his rage and intensity than he was in TFA, where his acting felt a little too mechanical.

However, some of the other actors aren’t living up to their potential. John Boyega’s charisma is extremely underused and I know for a fact that Domnhall Gleeson can do a lot better than what he was given here. In a couple of scenes, even Hamill and Fisher seemed a little uncomfortable in their roles.

“Shit, we’ve already signed Lupita’s check! Gotta shove her in here, somewhere!” - I’m so sorry, honey. You are so beautiful and talented... You deserved way better than that.

Kelly Marie Tran is adorable and I absolutely love her in interviews and such. She seems like a delightful person. However, her character was completely unnecessary. Her only purpose was to serve as a future love interest to Finn, and I’ve made my thoughts about that pairing quite clear already.

“...it’s saving the ones we love...” - BITCH, YOU’VE KNOWN HIM FOR WHAT? A DAY?

As a matter of fact, all of that storyline felt completely unnecessary. It was as if the writers didn’t know what to do with Finn so they gave him a spunky sidekick and a pointless mission just to kill time. I found myself wishing he had spent the whole movie in a coma, and that’s really sad, because I really like John Boyega and was hoping he would become a strong protagonist for the franchise.

Another thing @robogigante pointed out (and I’m quoting him ‘cause I know he’s not making a post of his own) is that Holdo had no reason whatsoever to hide her plan from Poe or anyone else in the Resistance. She just... didn’t like Poe Dameron that much...

Excessive jokes aside, casino planet was okay and helped flesh out the Star Wars universe a little bit more. However, much like Phasma, Benicio Del Toro’s character (whose name I already forgot) was just another Boba Fett, all flash and no substance, and I particularly hate that “squeaky clean abused little children representing hope” crap. It’s one of the tackiest tropes in existence.

I did get the feeling that that kid is going to join the Resistance on the next movie. Like they’re going to do a ten year jump to justify Leia’s disappearance/death. It would also help the Rebels to get their shit back together, Kylo Ren to gain more control over the First Order and Rey to learn some more about the Force in order to meet her fate. The existence of that child is still horrible and that ending was so over the top I can’t even put it into words, but it’s a good hook for a leap that, if handled well, could be very good for the story.

I also got the feeling that they originally inteded to kill one member of the original trio per film. That would’ve been cool. Too bad Leia will have to die off screen.

Was it just me or is the timeline in this movie really weird? Poe’s plan seems to take place entirely in a day, maybe two, while Rey apparently spends at least a week in Luke’s island.

I’m glad Carrie Fisher got to have at least one badass Force user scene before dying. Her flight among the debris of the Rebel cruiser was a beautiful reminder of how powerful the Force can be, on par with Luke’s astral projection, not to mention a gorgeous scene in its own right.

Holdo and Leia definitely had a torrid love affair after the Organa-Solo divorce came through. No one will ever convince me otherwise.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do I love the crystal foxes?

There was a preoccupying absence of wipe transitions and epic soundtrack inserts. Actually, I don’t even remember hearing any music at all. The editing was way too conservative. It didn’t even feel like a Star Wars movie, sometimes.

How is it possible that The Force Awakens was basically a remake of A New Hope and still felt more daring that The Last Jedi? Look, we already know you’re not killing any of the characters ‘cause they have to come back for the next installment, but raise those stakes a little bit, jeez! Give Kylo Ren and Snoke more conflict before their face-off, give Rey an opportunity to actually scare Luke with something that matters, give Finn and Poe a mission that actually means something to the Resistance, not a MacGuffin to keep them busy... Anything!

The Last Jedi is actually an okay-ish movie, to be honest, but, in a way, I think I disliked it even more than the prequels. Sure, The Phantom Menace is objectively a much worse film, but at least it had soul. George Lucas’ midichlorian and CGI packed soul, but soul nonetheless. The Last Jedi has nothing. I know Star Wars movies are all about the money, let’s not delude ourselves that this is in anyway high art, but this one just felt like the biggest money grabber of all. There is no personal investment in it whatsoever and no sign of what makes Star Wars Star Wars in the first place.

When’s Lando coming back?

BONUS: I am never watching a fucking 3D movie again in my life. The background always seems out of focus, it’s too expensive and I hate putting glasses on top of my glasses. I don’t care if I have to wait a month to watch the next Star Wars, I don’t care if I get spoilers, I’m not watching anything in 3D ever again.

#star wars #the last jedi #the last jedi spoilers #edited some things i wasn't happy with

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