#was asking apple for help to break his curse to see if maybe it was a fluke that he didn't break her's | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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chrissdollie · 9 months ago

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good girl

warnings/notes: dirty thoughts (no smut tho), reader is girly/fem, pet names (good girl and sweetheart), cursing, crybaby!reader, SUPER SLOPPY/NOT PROOFREAD!

as you helped chris with his homework, he couldn't help but stare like he always did. you've been his tutor for about two weeks, and chris is sure he's in love. he stares at your glossy pink lips as they move, wanting so badly to suffocate you with his. what's a pretty girl like you wasting your time on someone like him anyway? not that he's complaining, he loves having you all for himself for a short amount of time everyday after school.

but he can't help wanting more.

is that weird? maybe. however, you wouldn't think so. you've had a crush on chris forever which is 3/4 of partially the reason you started tutoring in the first place. you think he's the absolute coolest and you're giddy whenever you're getting ready to see him.

"no.. but you're kinda close!" you look at one of his answers from yesterday's homework. he furrows his brows as chews on the back of your pen, forgetting that it's not his. you watch his lips wrap around the top of the pen, feeling mesmerized.

"yn? you okay?" you look up at the boy, still in a daze. you see him swallow, his adam's apple bobbing. you lick your lip swiftly before coming back down to earth. "yeah, sorry, just a little tired i guess." you smile. he holds back a smirk. he may be stupid in school, but he's extremely intelligent when it comes to you.

however, he just nods. "we can take a break." he shrugs, getting bored of this subject anyways. he’d much rather learn about you. you agree, putting your mechanical pencil down. he leans back in his chair, stretching out his muscles. he wasn’t even trying to show off, but you just happen to suck in a breath, mentally taking a screenshot of him.

“d’ya want some water or something? you hungry?” he asks politely. you stand up out of your chair. “it’s okay, i can get some.” your hand lightly brushes his shoulder as you walk out of his bedroom.

you head downstairs to the kitchen where you pour yourself a glass of water. matt’s sitting at the counter on his laptop, doing homework as well, you assume. after a few seconds, you hear, “he’s too pussy to ask you out himself,” matt starts out of nowhere. you turn around confused, full glass in hand.

you’re about to mutter a confused “huh?” but he keeps going, not looking at you, opting to stare at his screen. “so unfortunately you’ll have to be the brave one and make the first move.” he scrolls on his laptop nonchalantly, like he hasn’t told you the most fabulous news.

granted, you’re still confused. you know he’s talking about chris, that’s obvious, you aren’t dumb. but why wouldn’t he ask you out? is he afraid? that’s kinda cute, you think. “why doesn’t he wanna ask me out himself?” are you're a nervous wreck. you’ve never ever been the one to initiate any sort of romantic event in your life!

a recognizable voice is heard from behind you. “who?”

you shriek, dropping the glass of water. the glass shatters and chris is quick to grab your shoulders and pull you back before any shards hurt you. your hand quickly flies to your mouth. “i’m so sor-“

matt gets up from where he was sitting. “i’ll get the broom.” he exits the room which leaves you and chris for just a minute or so before matt returns. the water is spreading on the floor so chris grabs paper towels.

he kneels on the floor, soaking up the water as you stand frozen. tears begin to form in your eyes as a lump grows in your throat. you try to blink past them as best as you can before anyone sees you. they’ll think you’re childish, crying over a spilled glass.

what if chris doesn’t want you anymore? how dare you come into HIS house and break something so fragile. you’re ashamed of yourself. but what if he doesn't actually like you? what if matt's lying as a joke? you choke on a sob, causing a strange noise to come out. chris perks up, looking up at you. he leaves the paper towels on the floor as his face changes quickly, feeling concerned

he gets up. “oh sweetheart.” he coos, wrapping his arms around you. you’re engulfed in his large figure as you let the tears spill into the pink t-shirt that he put on just for you, not that you knew that.

matt re-enters the kitchen, raising a brow at chris as he strokes your hair with a hand. he shakes his head slightly as if to say “don’t talk.” and he points his chin towards the mess that’s still on the floor. matt folds his arms and frowns, thinking chris wants him to clean it.

but chris mouths “leave it there” and matt nods, leaving the broom against the counter as he exits the room again, letting you two have a moment. you’re babbling apologies into chris’ chest and he ‘accidentally’ smells your hair.

“you smell really nice” he whispers unintentionally, not meaning to say it aloud. his face immediately tenses. oh gosh, you’re gonna think he’s such a weirdo. but you don’t.. at all. you appreciate the compliment and you think he’s trying to distract you from the little mistake, which you appreciate.

you smile softly. “thank you. i-its strawberry pound cake.” you hiccup. chris cheeses. you’re adorable. you apologize again, “i’m really sorry about the cup. and the mess..”

he shakes his head and shushes you softly. “got that for like two bucks at target, don’t worry about it.” he reassures you and pulls away from the embrace, seeing your face all red. “yer a good girl, could never be mad at you.”

he wipes a tear freshly fallen from your eye, your lashes being long and delicate. in your head, you��re freaking out, no longer worrying about the glass. you remember what matt said earlier, which brings butterflies to your stomach

you feel very shy and dopey now. you break eye contact and grab his hand. “i have feelings for you.” you admit, getting straight to the point. “like really big. gigantic. so uh.. if you want, we could go out or something..” you nervously confess, waiting for a response.

meanwhile chris is like HOLYSHITHOLYSHITHOLYSHIT. he can’t believe this is happening?? you?? and him?? together?? on a date???? hes already thinking of places he could take you to.

he hums and you look up at him. his thumb brushes your face again, but this time it’s against your cheek. “do you like Italian food?”

a/n: literally what is this i’m so sorry. i decided on a plot halfway thru writing it was supposed to be a suggestive thing but i didn’t wanna lead u guys on bc i don’t write smut lmao.

tags: @latinasforchrizz @leah-loves-lilies

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #𐔌　♡ 　˚₊ chris sturniolo　₊˚ ⊹

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personasdestinyy · 8 months ago

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drive you insane | Kim Seokjin drabble

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; Your senior knows very well how to drive you insane.

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fuck buddies, uni mates, age gap (2 or 3 years)

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: senior student Seokjin x reader

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, orgasm denied, oral (f receiving), fingering while fucking with tongue, spitting, maybe there's more, I've forgotten.

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k+

a/n: I actually wrote it last night because I was incredibly bored and my mind just wasn't functioning properly. So, I wrote down whatever thoughts popped into my head at that time while I was listening (drive you insane). If this type of theme doesn't interest you, feel free to skip it. 💃

"Yeah~ just like that-um", you let out a soft moan, feeling your back arch and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation is so intense that you start to wonder if you might pass out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as if your life depends on it. The feeling of your senior's dick deep inside you, hitting your g-spot, is absolutely mind-blowing. He never fails to impress you with his sex skills in bed. You're grateful that you took the chance and asked him to hook up at the university party. That day, he claimed you completely, devouring you with every thrust. You were his, and he made sure to fuck you until you couldn't even walk straight the next day.

He withdrew his cock from deep within you, leaving you feeling a sense of loss as if a piece of your heart had been taken away. But it was the effect of his dick that you simply couldn't resist.

Even when early today he engaged in conversation with his friends, you found yourself captivated by the way his Adam's apple would prominently move up and down as he spoke. Your mouth would water at the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing. Your weakness was undeniably his Adam's apple and his dick. You longed for him to take you right then and there, and you acted on that desire by sending him a message expressing your need to be fucked. He gave his friends an apologetic smile as he bid them farewell in a hurry, taking you to his dorm. Throughout the journey, you couldn't help but smile like a fool, knowing that he too couldn't resist you.

"Hmm? Are you asking me to pleasure your sweet little pussy exactly the way you want?"

He whispers softly, his voice resonating with the intensity of the passionate sex encounter taking place in his dorm room. His gaze, filled with desire, locks onto yours, making it impossible for you to resist any longer the longing for him deep inside you. With a desperate yearning, you arch your hips, yearning for the connection between your bodies. However, he retreats, settling on his knees before you. A mischievous smirk dances upon his plump, perfectly shaped lips, causing you to clench around emptiness.

"Please, Jin," you plead, your eyes welling up with tears as you never break eye contact with his now sparkling gaze, clearly amazed to see you so vulnerable beneath him.

"What Jin? Words baby, 'cause i asked you something", he responds with a playful tone, and it's unable to deny how much you love this side of him. It's fascinating how he asks you questions during intimate sex moments and becomes serious when you're unable to answer due to the overwhelming pleasure he brings. You prop yourself up on your elbows, partially sitting up, just so you can get a better view of him.

'Fuck' A soft curse escapes your lips as you feel his intense gaze burning into your nacked body. You can't help but notice how his chest rises and falls with each breath, how his broad shoulders seem even broader in this small room. His hair, damp with sweat, falls perfectly over his forehead, just the way you like it. You find yourself yearning to run your tongue along his perfectly toned skin, from his abdomen all the way up to his neck. And his impressive dick, reaching his abdomen, looks so hard, throbbing, and enticing that you can't help but desire to take it in your hands and feel it deep inside you. Your impatience grows, and he's the reason for your desperate longing. After all, who in the entire university wouldn't want him? All the girls desire him, and you're no exception. But what sets you apart is that he hasn't been with anyone else on campus except for you.

"Yes, I want you to treat my pussy like I want", your request was clear, your desire evident in the way you spoke. Your voice, hoarse and unrecognizable to your own ears, betrayed the urgency of your need. But the focus wasn't on that, was it? No, the focus was on him, on making him understand what you craved. You're craving his dick.

However, as you looked at him, it seemed like he had other plans. His eyebrow cocked up in a mischievous manner, a smirk dancing on his plump, pink lips. His body shifted slightly, moving closer until his face was level with yours. His warm breath fanned across your lips, sending a shiver down your spine. You were under his spell, completely at his mercy.

"I'm not going to give it to you the way you want," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust. It dawned on you then that he was going to play with you, with your mind, with your body. And he knew exactly how to play the game.

He moves in more closer, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and hunger. His lips gently graze yours, sending shivers down your spine. You can't help but lift your head to meet his kiss, only to be surprised when he suddenly grabs your neck firmly with one hand and pins both of your wrists with his other hand. Your eyes widen in shock at this new, unexpected move. Your body responds with a surge of arousal, your senses heightened by his touch.

As he leans in closer, his eyes now filled with a sense of urgency, he playfully nips at your lower lip, causing you to instinctively wrap your legs around him, drawing him even nearer. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, his hard dick pressing against your wet pussy. But just as you start to give in to the moment, he bites down on your lip a bit too hard, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. Despite the pain, you maintain eye contact with him, a single tear escaping from your eye.

In a sudden shift of mood, he releases your lip, neck, and wrists all at once, rising to his knees once again as his gaze darkens.

"Turn over onto your stomach," he commands, his voice firm and authoritative. Without hesitation, you comply, your body moving almost on its own accord in response to his dominance. You can sense that he's about to take things to a new level, exploring uncharted territory with you. Though he's been rough with you in the past, this new side of him, with his orders and control, is both thrilling and intoxicating. It's a side of him you've never seen before, and you find yourself eagerly anticipating what comes next.

He grabbed your knees firmly, lifting them effortlessly onto his shoulders. In an instant, your whole body was suspended in the air, with only your hands and face touching the plushy surface beneath you. Your hands instinctively clutched the bedsheets, holding on for dear life as you felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. A strange sound escaped your lips, a mixture of surprise and anticipation as you realized how vulnerable you were in this position.

"Jin, what are you going to do?" you managed to stammer out, your voice trembling with uncertainty. You couldn't see his face, but you could sense his amusement as he chuckled softly in response to your question. His smirk seemed to grow wider, adding to the mystery of his intentions.

"Just going to drive you insane," he replied cryptically, his words sending a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure if you understood his logic, but you knew that he had the power to unravel your senses with ease. As his face drew closer to your drenched core, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin, you couldn't help but arch forward in response. The sudden proximity of his face to your most intimate parts made you gasp, causing you to grip the bedsheets even tighter.

He's exploring new territory today, and it's leaving you wondering why. In the past, he's always pleasured you but never indulged in tasting you. He's made it clear that he would never taste any woman, so why is today different? Why do you have this overwhelming feeling that he's going to devour you?

And just as you suspected, he does exactly that. With a long, sensual lick, he explores every inch of your clit, slit, and folds all at once. The intensity of the moment causes your eyes to shut tightly, and your mouth opens wide in silent awe. Your heart races, feeling as though it might burst from your chest, and the sound of your own heartbeat fills your ears.

He withdraws his tongue from your clit, only to firmly grasp your torso with his large palms as he moves his head further between your thighs. This time, he takes your cunt into his mouth, causing a sinful growl to escape from his lips and a moan of pleasure to escape from yours. And then he repeats it, over and over again.

Lick and suck.

The sensation is so intense that your abdomen clenches, and you feel like you're on the verge of exploding on his face. Your pussy vibrates with pleasure, and he knows just as well as you do that you're about to climax. But he doesn't stop. Instead, he nibbles on your cunt between his teeth, spits on your pussy, and plunges his tongue deep inside your hole, fucking you with his beautiful tongue.

"Oh my fucking God", you found yourself overwhelmed with pleasure, letting out a series of passionate moans as you moved your hips against his face. The sounds of desire escaping his throat only fueled your arousal further as he eagerly pleasured you. Your body tensed as you clenched around his tongue, the sensation both embarrassing and incredibly satisfying. The intensity of the moment built up until you couldn't hold back any longer, needing to let him know you were on the brink of climax. Struggling to lift your head to meet his gaze, you realized the effort was almost painful and you'll break you neck if you try harder.

"Jin, stop I'm going-", your voice was abruptly silenced by a gag as his two fingers entered your core. His tongue still exploring deep inside you, his fingers began to move within you, skillfully finding that spot you were craving for his dick to be. But instead, it was now filled with his tongue and digits, pleasuring you in a way you never imagined. The sensation of him fucking you with both his fingers and tongue simultaneously was overwhelming.

Unexpectedly, you reached the peak of pleasure and cum all over his face as he continued to pleasure you with his tongue and fingers. Your entire body vibrated with ecstasy as you experienced one of the most intense orgasms of your life. However, the moment was shattered when reality hit you like a ton of bricks - you came on his face. Your face flushed with embarrassment, realizing it was the first time he had ever eaten someone out.

But as he licks you once again, your thoughts are abruptly interrupted. The intensity of the moment makes it difficult to process everything what's happening. However, what you can register are the shallow breaths escaping your lips, evidence of the small pleasure coursing through your body again. And then you realized, it's something unexpected - he's cleaning up the aftermath of your powerful orgasm with his tongue.

'Oh fuck'

It's an intimate act.

As he removes your legs from his shoulders after cleaning you, a slight ache lingers on your hips, a reminder of his touch while he was devouring you. You decide to turn over and lie on your back, needing a moment to catch your breath.

When your eyes meet his face, your heart skips a beat. It's a surreal sight - your own orgasm painted across his chin and lips. But what truly takes your breath away is the mischievous grin on his face, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic manner.

You can't help but smile back, a mix of humiliation and anticipation swirling within you. His eyes hold a different kind of intensity now, something primal and raw.

You're the first woman he's ever pleasured in this way, and judging by his expression, maybe he thoroughly enjoyed it.

You couldn't help but ask, "Why did you eat me out?" even though you didn't really want to. But, curiosity got the best of you.

He wiped away the remnants of your essence from his lips, using the back of his hand. Slowly, he inched closer to you, his movements captivating your attention.

"You always looked at me with those intense eyes, silently urging me to taste you. So, I decided to give it a shot," he explained, causing a smile to involuntarily form on your lips as you listened. He seemed hesitant to admit it, but you couldn't help but wonder if he enjoyed it, if he liked your flavor.

"You enjoyed? Didn't you?" you asked, trying to mask any hint of insecurity with a playful tone.

He chuckled softly, rising from the bed. Your gaze trailed down to his still erect dick, momentarily forgetting that he had fucked you before eating you out. He didn't force you into anything; he simply provided pleasure. Retrieving his pants and boxers from the floor, he dressed swiftly.

"Yeah, I enjoyed it a lot," he replied, pausing to meet your gaze before continuing with a smirk that lit up his handsome face.

"And fuck, I think I'll be doing it every day from now on."

Your eyes widened in surprise, a wide grin spreading across your face as he openly expressed his desire. He had truly driven you crazy.

#bts smut #drabble #bts drabble #jin x reader #jin x you #smut #jin smut #kim seokjin #bts ff #kim seokjin smut #mdni #writers on tumblr

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nattinatalia · 1 year ago

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Jack Harlow x Reader : SOCCER GAMES & SHOWERS

A/N: ⚠️ 18+ SMUT AHEAD!!!!!!! We’re back again with another fic collab with my buttercup @harlowcomehome 💚 thank you for everything babes. you know how much you mean to me, thank you for always jumping in and helping me out and always willing to make magic 🪄 ✨ with me.

******************************

It was the Fourth of July weekend and surprisingly Jack was home for it. You were excited to have him home and have Mia enjoy all the different colors of the fireworks.

Of course, Jack and the boys had their annual soccer game for the holiday and this time somehow they were extra excited.

Urban was over for breakfast since they were heading out right after. Your daughter Mia was sleeping still so you decided to get an early start on breakfast for the boys and yourself.

Hearing them speak about their game today spiked an interest in you. “Dude, we have to win. Imagine all the money going into this charity.”

Jack nods, taking a sip of his iced matcha that he somehow actually enjoyed drinking. He says it’s only good when you make it at home though. “We will, this team we're going up against has a member that sprained his ankle but somehow he’s still in the game. That gives us an advantage.”

You smile at that, “Jack, honey?”

“Yes?” He looks towards you.

“Can I join you today?”

He tilts his head to the side, obviously surprised about it. “Join me at the game?”

You nod excitedly, “Yeah, why not?” you shrug getting up from your spot on the table and heading to the sink and start piling up the dirty dishes. “I always hear you talk about this game, so why not witness it myself?”

Urban and Jack share a look and a little chuckle. “What?”

“Babe, the first and last time you decided to join us you got bored not even five minutes in and you left.”

“I was seven months pregnant with your daughter, let’s blame it on her.” You pout.

Jack started heading to you, wrapping you up in his arms. “Baby, it’s just us boys running around, sweating, and sometimes cursing at each other.”

You shrug, “I want to see you run all sweaty, curls bouncing around.”

He shakes his head, chuckling, “Fine, if you want to go and watch the game, you’re more than welcome to come.”

Urban stood up “One problem.” You both turn to face him. “They usually don’t let kids in because of the distraction and yelling since it’s indoor soccer.”

You smile, “Maggie already offered to watch Mia for the day.”

Jack looks at you, brows raised. “So you had this planned already?”

“Maybe?”

“Alright, let’s go pack what we need for Mia and my mom because we leave in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll drop Mia off with your mom and I’ll meet you there?”

Jack nods, “Sounds like a plan, be careful driving.”

“You too bubs.” You quickly ran upstairs to wake Mia up and get her ready for the day.

*******

When you arrived at the game, you were balancing two cup holders full of Starbucks drinks.

Urban slapped Jack's arm to show him you were here.

Jack jogged over to you, sweat completely dripping down his flushed cheeks. His curls were a mess regardless of his bandeau headband. “You didn’t have to do that babe” he kissed you, his lips salty from the sweat.

You licked your lips and smiled, “It was no problem. Figured you guys needed to reenergize” You winked and he chuckled calling everyone over for a break.

You couldn’t stop admiring the way he looked, his thighs were practically being strangled by his gym shorts as if he owed them money, and his biceps were practically ripping out of his shirt.

Jack and the rest of the team sat on the bleachers with you for a while, you watched as Jack swallowed his drink, his Adam's apple bobbing as you started examining his every feature.

The freckles that decorated his arms and legs, the blonde-ish brown hair covering his legs, it wasn’t until everyone was looking over at you that you realized Jack had asked you a question.

“What? Sorry. I was distracted” you nervously giggled earning a laugh from your husband.

“Mhm, I saw that” he winked at you. “I just said we were going back to the game now.”

You nodded and grabbed him by the shoulders for one more kiss before leaning back on the bleachers.

Throughout the game, you couldn’t help but check your husband out. At home, he would literally do the bare minimum and you’d still get hot and bothered, so watching him run around the field with sweat dripping down his body, the muscles on his legs clenching, and the way he would get heated when his team doesn’t score, was getting you.

Jack noticed this, he noticed the way you would squeeze your thighs together. He noticed how you would take deep breaths. He noticed the way you would bite your bottom lip and he definitely noticed that sexy smile you would flash him.

That look alone would make him come undone but he didn’t want it that easily, he wanted to work for it and he had a plan.

“Ow, fuck.” Jack’s scream broke you away from your thoughts.

You stood up from your spot on the bench and looked out to the field to see everyone surrounding him.

Sunni came running to you. “Is he okay? Did he hurt himself? What happened?” You ask worriedly.

“He’s fine, he just landed wrong but he’s being taken to the back to get some ice on his leg, he wants you to help him.”

You nod, quickly grabbing your purse and follow where Jack was being taken to.

As you make it to the hallway, Urban shakes his head and winks at you. “What?”

He rolled his eyes “You’ll see.”

“Urban.” You warn, confused.

He laughs, “Go in there before he bursts.”

You quickly entered the room and find Jack sitting on one of the couches. “What is going on? Are you okay?”

“No-“

You rushed over to him and kneeled in front of him, your hands automatically coming up to touch his thighs, “What hurts? Should we get a doctor in here?”

He takes in a deep breath, “I need you down there.” he opens his legs wider. “Need that mouth on me.”

Your face dropped, “Jackman, did you just fake an injury?”

“Baby, I had to. I need you now” he leaned toward you taking your face in his hands, your breath hitching as his tongue danced against yours.

You instinctively straddled his waist as you continued to kiss.

Jack's hands started rubbing the side of your thighs, you knew he was growing impatient and you looked up at the ceiling for a minute.

“What’s wrong?” He started to look around too.

“Do they have cameras in here?” You were suddenly worried about the accidental sex tape that could be made.

“I don’t think so, we can hit the showers just in case?” You looked down to see the obvious growth in his shorts, biting your lip at the idea of teasing him.

“Let’s go” You grabbed his hand and made your way to the showers, you grabbed the hair tie you had in your jean pocket and messily threw your hair up before the two of you rushed inside of the private stall.

“My baby came prepared?” He chuckled.

“I know my husband pretty well I’d like to think” The two of you rushed to get undressed.

You and Jack continued to kiss under the warm shower water for a moment, he pulled and sucked on your lower lip before you ordered him to have a seat on the bench inside.

“Yes ma’am” he sat with his shoulder back and his eyes closed.

You got on your knees as the water continued to hit your backside, taking him into your mouth as softly as possible knowing he was sensitive.

His hips bucked against you making you slightly gag. He grunted before attempting to slow his pace.

“Faster” you mumbled knowing how much it would turn him on.

He followed your commands, holding onto the back of your head until your eyes began to tear up.

“Holy fuck- so pretty” he babbled.

You tapped his thigh, which was your nonverbal cue to stop.

He immediately stopped, you looked up and saw the look in his eyes. He always had a certain look and it drove you crazy every time.

“My turn” he stood up, making you sit now but instead of immediately going down on you, you saw him turn toward the shower.

“Jack- you’re not-“

“I am” he smirked, spreading your legs and giving your folds a subtle lick, the scruff of his beard teasing your thighs. He had the shower head in his hand, changing the setting to something less harsh.

He made sure to angle it specifically on your clit, making you throw your head back. Your arms reached for his shoulders to steady yourself as your legs started to uncontrollably move.

“I need you now baby, please. Please” you begged and he immediately put the shower head back, picking you up and wrapping your legs around him.

You had arched one leg up higher, setting it against his hip as he pushed through to enter you.

“You’re always so tight” he moaned. “I love- I love this, you wrap around me-“ he couldn’t finish his thoughts as he continued to thrust into you.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, resting on the top of his shoulders and he sloppily thrust into you. You continued to bounce up and down on him when you felt your stomach get tight.

“Baby- I’m going to- soon!” You warned him.

Just as you felt the wave of your orgasm come to its peak you heard the rest of the team enter the dressing room but it was too late, you were already coming undone.

You felt your pussy throb as you came around him, letting out a loud uncontrollable moan that echoed through the locker room.

Jack knew everyone heard, and he couldn’t be more proud, the thought of asserting his dominance in a sense was the last thing he needed to orgasm himself.

“Babe- babe- baby” his sense of urgency was that he didn’t want to be as audible as you.

You quickly kissed him, covering the muffled sounds of his orgasm as he moaned into you instead.

His forehead is on your chest, you’re both taking deep breaths from your orgasm. You tug gently on the back of his curls, giving him a small peck.

“We need to get dressed before they walk in here.” You whisper.

“They already know what we were doing.”

You nod, unwrapping your legs from around his waist, him pulling out from you completely. “But it’ll be less embarrassing.”

When you collected yourselves, the two of you hurriedly got dressed and headed toward the car.

Luckily the team was gone, but Jack’s phone lit up and no doubt, you knew it was one of the guys, you felt your cheeks get hot immediately.

“Don’t tell me-“ you shook your head as Jack put his soccer bag in the car.

He chuckled, his dimple prominent.

***********

TAG LIST

@heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @arination99 @cmalass @jackharloww @minkookie95 @deannaard @jacksmoviestar @harlowcomehome @fdl305 @httpkoylinnn @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hoodharlow @automaticpeachsong @amethyst09 @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @stefansalvatoresgf @violetdreamsworld @carma-fanficaddict @jasminxts @itsaaliyah2 @itsyagirljaz @harrycanyonmoonn @neon-lights-and-glitter @awhore4moree @toocriticalharlow @thefemalestorywriter @lightsoutstyles @violetslays818

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x oc #jack harlow x yn #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow smut #harlowcomehome #fic collab #jack harlow fanfic

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 2 years ago

Text

An Altercation with Death

I’m going to start this by saying I’m not a furry… BUT I’M SIMPLY SIMPING FOR A WOLF, WTAF IS WRONG WITH ME… I recently watched PIBTLW and it was amazing! The animation, the story and most of all, Death stole the show.

Summary: You meet a mysterious new patron at the pub you work at when trouble strikes. Unfortunately, you have no clue how to thank this new hero of yours. I see you as a cute little babydoll sheep. TLDR: You get harassed at work and Death comes to save you.

Warnings: threats, some swearing, bad Spanish translations. I call Death mainly Muerte and Lobo (wolf in Spanish).

Part 1 | Part 2

You always believed you brought trouble.

It was said to you since you had been young, getting into trouble and mischief before you could even walk. Your parents were advocates for this: stating it to you and those of closeness, jokingly brushing aside the unluckiness you carried.

‘I swear our little Y/N just likes walking into trouble.’

Maybe you searched for it, or perhaps it searched for you. It came in altercations, near-death-like experiences, or just overall bad luck you carried that didn’t seem to bring any repercussions. Breaking things or being overall clumsy. It mattered little how hard you tried to be careful, your luck never seemed to leave you.

People whispered you were cursed, cursed with being misfortunate and cursed for the rest of your time, all whilst you brushed those away to not affect you.

‘If death wants me, he will have to come to find me.’

You continued as if life was not weighing you down, nor your ‘curse’ as you liked to call it. It didn’t push you down, but rather make you clumsy for your job working behind the bar at the Curfew, but you told yourself everyone broke glasses more times than you did, so you didn’t have to worry.

“Hey, you mind bringing those up from the shelf to put on display?” Sofia, your co-worker, a tabby cat short yet brawny called, and you pulled yourself from staring dazed out from the empty tables, moving to go help.

“Another quiet one, huh?” You asked, grabbing boxes as you went back and forth, not paying much attention to who was at the front. You resumed conversation with Sofia before she rushed out to grab some more boxes in storage, telling you she would be some time.

Distracted, you whistled back over to the front, sorting boxes in order before something caught your peripheral, sitting idly by the bar, cloaked and very opposing.

“Ah, Dios mío,” you clutched your chest to still your beating heart, startled by the presence at the bar. It was as if he was whispering death: appearing out of nowhere and waiting to order. You composed yourself enough to step up to where he sat, “May I help you, Señor?”

The first thing you noticed from the wolf in front of you was how unnerving and disturbing his eyes were. Red, like the sweetest apples in the summer, red like the leaves of autumn, red like fresh blood. Danger. They moved unblinkingly, watching you with a discomforting presence.

The wolf seemed at least 6 foot or taller, hunched at the bar on the stool, a black cloak covering his head and guarding you against seeing the rest of him. The next thing you noticed was his smile, white sharp teeth that grinned back at you as if he was teaching himself how to smile less like a maniac and falling to no avail.

You couldn’t shake the awkwardness and intimidation of this wolf; you were half his height after all and even sitting down, he towered over you, seemingly feeling as if he had trapped you from moving anywhere else between the bottles stacked behind you.

Time slowed with silence as the both of you just stared at one another, until you watched his mouth open, the friendliness you could decipher from his posture, yet you blinked owlishly back into reality when you realised you didn’t hear what he said. “I’m so sorry, can you repeat that for me again?”

“A cafe con leche, por favor.” He repeated in the suave deep voice that had you double-guessing everything, yet his smile never ceased to leave his face, eyes unblinking.

“Of course.” You smiled awkwardly, darting over to get it started for him, making sure to keep your back towards him for as long as possible. It had felt like forever perfectly what he wanted, and for something so simple and made millions of times before, you felt as if you were being assessed heavily.

With cup in hand, shakily made your way to him, telling yourself over and over not to drop it, you finally got it to him. It didn’t take much to notice that his hood had been thrown back, revealing the rest of his face and pointed ears. He looked even taller somehow without it on- as you watched his eyes lit up when you came back over to him.

“Gracias,” he gave a long sniff as he brought the cup to his mouth, sipping slowly as he gave a low, deep hum in the back of his throat. The cup looked comically too small for his large paws, yet he was much too engrossed in his drink. “I didn’t know they could do good coffee around here.”

You laughed nervously. “We’re sort of famous for it here. Lots of people come here.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he remarked wryly, your eyes darting behind him to the mere empty stalls and tables, the dead silence settling in as you noticed he had made a joke. His eyes were still on you, observing before he spoke up. “Though I don’t think I’ve noticed a cordera like you around here.”

The thick wool around your face felt thick and hot, making it, even more, harder to breathe. “Ah, I tend to stick to the countryside, it’s much quieter out there than in the middle of it all here.”

The wolf’s chuckle was low and haunting, “I would have to agree.” He resumed sipping his coffee, never breaking eye contact, his voice a soft rumble. “Too filled with life, huh?”

“You could say that.”

You nervously resumed conversation with him, “How come I’ve never seen a Lobo like you around before?”

He paused from drinking his coffee, placing it down before he gave a low chuckle. “I tend to stick to the quieter parts, only needing to be around people when needed.”

“Oh, like it’s part of your job, si?”

His laughter was warming, even when a part of you felt alarmed by him, telling you something was off about him. “You could say that.” He copied with leading charm.

Despite his appearance, speaking to him did help ease your nerves. Maybe it was the smile he gave, regardless of how sharp his teeth looked, there was so array of charm to him, albeit rather awkward.

“What’s your name, corderito?”

You blushed easily at the name, even if it was a fleeting teasing nickname. “Y/N, yours?”

“Muerte.”

“What, like Death? Your name is actually Death?”

“That’s what some people like to call me,” he shrugged coolly, bored as if the name held no resonance to him. “So, La Muerte, can I get anything else for you?”

“No, that’ll be all,” he stood back fully to his full height, and you dwarfed in comparison to him and his shadow, completely engulfing you. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’m sure we’ll meet again sometime.”

“Hopefully for more coffee, I hope.” You spoke hopeful, at least in hopes of seeing him again to get to know him. You heard change cling to the bar table and by the time you moved to collect it, he was gone, vanished on sight and no sight of him despite believing he wouldn’t have moved that fast.

“Huh,” you thought aloud. “That was odd.”

“What was?” Sofia came through from the back, carrying stacks of clean glasses and mugs. “There was… this wolf, and he just… disappeared into thin air.”

“How odd indeed,” Sofia questioned before she nudged your shoulder suggestively. “Was he cute though?”

“Sofia!”

Muerte did not show his face for some time, and when the seventh day showed with no sign of him, your hopes of seeing him again dwindled next to nothing.

You continued your days like nothing had happened, telling yourself that customers had lives outside of the bar and that it was unlikely to see him again if he was not a regular.

The bar was peaceful this sunny afternoon, cool breeze coming through thanks to the shade as you resumed cleaning glasses, waiting for anyone to show up. Thanks to the hot heat, many people were outside, enjoying the rays. You would find your day off would be the next day, though you were disappointed to hear that the sun would not be out.

You had to endure nonetheless without enjoying it, stuck behind a bar with an aching back and sore arms from carrying things, dealing with rude customers or none at all. The last one you had was in the early hours after opening, and now, the sun had been at the highest point in the sky, mid-afternoon at least.

“Hey, I’m just gonna go on a quick break, give me a shout if you need anything.” Sofia had shouted from the back as you called back. “It’s fine, grab some limonada if you don’t mind on your way.”

Sofia gave a quick “see you later” before it was quiet once more, or so you had prayed for.

The ruckus that came was loud and jarring, in barging through the double doors were a group of four, short and plump, the four approached the bar, loud and rowdy before one of them recognised you.

Alejandro was a black and patchy goat, a scruff of fine hairs on his chin that didn’t hide the ridiculously sized horns atop his head, pathetically too big in comparison to the rest of his body. How did you know his name? He simply told you, though it took all the willpower within you to not give him yours.

You liked to imagine yourself as being a calm, patient person, but the moment he stepped forth and you saw his annoying pestering smile, you knew how slow the minutes would tick by the longer he stayed.

“Hey, querida, a few shots for me and my friends?”

You silently obeyed, grabbing the necessary things as you poured the shots with tequila. This was a regular thing, they came in for a few minutes to an hour, buying shot after shot with Alejandro flirting his way up a storm in trying to impress you.

Alejandro gave a pleased bleat, downing the shot with his friends as they cheered him on silently behind him. You watched him saunter closer to you, leaning one elbow against the bar. “Can I buy a drink for you? Or maybe a nice meal out—just you and I-”

“Like I said many times before, no thanks. I’m busy.” You looked back behind to see if Sofia was back after her short break. In times like these when the goat came for your attention, Sofia was quick to barge in and shoo them out, but she was still nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, come on, cariño. I’m a real catch.” Alejandro gave a wink your way, and you felt something within you shrivel up and die. Your patience was hanging on a thin cord, mixed with the way he persisted and his friends egging him on, you could feel the last remnants of your collectiveness holding on. “I’d treat you right.”

“I’m not interested.”

“What? You’re seeing someone?” He asked eagerly. It took a lot for you to stomach the words, but in the spur of the moment, you said it, in hopes that they would work. “Yes, I am actually. He comes here often.”

“Oh, well I’ve never seen him here before!” He laughed mockingly, his friends joining before he continued by propping himself up closer to you. “But I’m sure your little boyfriend wouldn’t mind me chatting with you.”

“He wouldn’t, no, he can be a bit protective,” you suggested, wondering if, by any chance in your mind, you were thinking of that wolf. Something in your chest clenched at the mention of him or even imagining him, and you had to dismiss it quickly before you could get your hopes up.

A lamb and a wolf, how funny. It’s not like he has some lovely wolf wife waiting for him anyway.

“Come on, cariño, what do you say? One night of fun. No one would need to know.”

“No.”

Alejandro looked for a moment frustrated by your constant answers, yet, whilst encouraged by his friends surrounding him, he sniggered lightly, giving one last jab your way. “Fine, your loss. It’s not like I wanted to go out with you anyway. I bet your boyfriend even finds you fea-“

Maybe it was the spur of the moment, counting the number of times he had come in, annoying you from your job and begging for your attention. With little help from how close he was to you with the bar in between, you closed the space, grabbing him as tightly as you could by the tiny scruff of his chin hair, tugging hard until he fell forward, suddenly supporting himself as he stared back at you in surprise and horror.

It was peaceful for once, not to hear amusement coming from him or his friends.

“I told you time and time again, but no, you didn’t listen. How many other girls did you have to get through before they told you the same thing? Countless, I believe. And when your tiny ego is ruined, you think of the perfect thing to keep your confidence going—just so you’re not embarrassed in front of your friends.” You calmly spoke, leaning up on your tippy toes to give the final quip as softly and threateningly as possible.

“I do not want to see you or your buddies in here again, or so help me, I’ll personally make sure you’re put out like garbage.”

Maybe you saw red, but your adrenaline was fuelled as you released the goat with a force that he stumbled backwards, nearly falling completely flat on the ground, but was stable by the grip he kept on the table.

With a scoff and a click of your tongue, you flicked your head back away from them. “And even if I did say yes to someone like you, you would’ve bored me greatly.”

It had looked as if the goat had seen red himself.

Before his friends could sway him to leave, Alejandro moved quicker than any of them expected, nearly leaping over the bar table to get to you, a raised hand ready to come in contact with the back of your neck.

“Listen here, you ungrateful perra, I’m not done talking with you-“

The connection didn’t come, instead, a loud clap that echoed in the small room startled you to look back over your shoulder from the suddenness. Expecting to feel the harsh grip of the goat’s hand on you, you and those in the bar were moved speechless as Alejandro’s hand was held inches from your body, blocked in the large, overwhelming grip of another.

Your heart clenched at the sight in front of you, aware that he could hear the way it beat so fast. “Lobo?”

“The corderito said she was not interested,” Lobo began, the hood hiding his face except for his piercing eyes, glaring daggers towards the goat and his pals. “May I need to escort you tontos out personally?”

Alejandro looked expectantly between you and the wolf, disbelief written on his face as if it read ‘How the hell did he get in here?’ before he was trying to choke on his weak macho ego.

“How the—hey, let go of me, man!” He looked back over to you, pointing with his free hand. “This? This is your boyfriend! You’re seeing a wolf!” He questioned sardonically.

“He-“ you went to correct yourself, but Lobo chimed in, surprising both you and the other patrons in the small bar. “Yes, yes I am her boyfriend. Now,” Alejandro gave a loud yelp, his hand squished in the tightening grip of the wolf, his red piercing gaze scowled as he snarled out, “run before I grow an appetite for goat.”

It didn’t need to be repeated, watching the retreating goats bleat in horror and flee from the scene, leaving the silence to fill the air as you stared up at Lobo in quiet admiration. “You… you saved me.”

“I couldn’t have left you with those idiotas now, could I?” He asked, looking over you carefully, his gaze softening as he calmed. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, you came in the nick of time.” You mustered the courage to thank him more, relieved your blushing face hid the wool. You took his paw into your hands, squeezing tightly. “Muchas gracias, Muerte. How could I ever repay you?”

He seemed taken aback momentarily by your sudden praise, before chuckling softly to himself. If you had mistaken it, you thought you had heard him mutter “Que linda” under his breath.

“You don’t need to repay me, mi corderito.”

Despite the cool you got from his fur, he did not pull back from you, instead, he didn’t seem to want to pull away. “I didn’t know you thought of me as your boyfriend.” He teased.

Your eyes widened in realisation. “Er, well, I had to make something up to get that estúpido away from me.” You stared up at him, nervously smiling. “I’m sorry I had to get you involved.”

“I don’t like people like him.” Muerte said softly, “especially taking advantage of someone like you.” His paw squeezed your hand momentarily before he let go. “I should get going again.”

“Can I see you again?”

He stopped in his place, turning back towards you, surprise written in his red eyes before they warmed. “Well, my job is rather busy, but I can be free just for you.”

Your eyes lit up. “Anytime this week?”

“How about tonight?”

“Yeah, erm, hold on, let me write the address.” You grabbed some paper from underneath the bar, and by the time you stood back up, Muerte was standing closely observing you, inches from your face. You jolted, not moving as if curious about what he would do next. “I’ll see you then, Y/N. Oh, and do try and keep out of trouble.”

With that, he took the note and headed out, not before you heard a low whistle, disappearing as he walked out.

The lamb and the wolf. Maybe it did have a bit of a ring to it.

Dios mío – My God

Señor - Sir

Cafe con leche, por favor – coffee with milk, please

Gracias – Thank you

Cordera – Lamb

Lobo - Wolf

Si - Yes

Corderito – Little lamb

La Muerte – The Death

Limonada – Lemonade

Querida – Darling/Dear

Cariño – Sweetheart/Dear

Perra – Bitch

Tontos – Idiots

Muchas gracias – Thank you so much

Que linda – How cute

Estúpido – Idiot

#puss in boots #puss in boots death #death puss in boots #death puss in boots x reader #death pibtlw #death x reader #x reader #female reader #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots x reader

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angstysebfan · 10 months ago

Text

My Roommate's Boyfriend - Chapter 9

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader AU: Modern

Chapter Summary: Bucky goes to the reader. Chapter Warning: Cursing, crying, angst

Series Masterlist

Bucky takes a deep breath as he stands in front of the brick apartment building. He didn’t know how this was going to go. He hoped you would listen to him, now that you know the truth. However, he knows that he has more than one thing to apologize for.

He looks up at the window, where he knows your apartment is. An apartment he spent many hours in with Nat. Every time you were there, he couldn’t help but watch you. The way you moved, talked, laughed, and especially the scowl on your face when he would make a nasty comment toward you.

He winces at the memories of all the terrible things he said. He regrets everything from the last year, including going for Nat when she wasn’t what he wanted. He enjoyed his time with her, but in the end, it was always you.

He takes another deep breath before walking up to the door and pressing the buzzer for your apartment. He waits a moment before he hears the door unlock. He walks in and up to the second floor. He slowly walks up to your door trying to hold everything together.

He knocks and waits. As he hears your footsteps approach the door, his heart races in anticipation. He hears you unlocking the door and takes a deep breath in as you open the door.

To say you were stunned when you saw Bucky standing outside your door would be an understatement. You weren't sure if he would ever turn up here again.

“Bucky?” you whisper, trying to calm your racing heart and mind.

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, and you see his Adam’s Apple move up and down.

“C-can I come in… please?” He asks quietly, his eyes begging.

You stand to the side, opening the door wider to allow him access into your home. He walks in and takes a look around the place. “Looks the same,” he says as he walks to the couch, maybe starting with small talk could cut the tension slightly. It didn't.

You nod silently as you sit on the far end of the couch, keeping your distance. You stare at him while he stares at his hands. You feel like you can hear the gears in his mind working. The silence is suffocating you, so you break it.

“Did you want a drink or something?” you ask.

He shakes his head, before finally looking into your eyes. Your breath hitches as you look back. His eyes have never seemed as blue as they are right now. Bucky clears his throat.

“I, uh, wanted to come and talk to you about what you saw in that text message from Sam. You see-“

“I already know what it was about. I spoke with Sam the other day.” You say cutting him off. He gives you a small smile.

“Yea, I, uh, I heard, but I wanted to know why you didn’t ask me about it? Do you really think so little of me that you assumed I would do that to you? I know I have given you a reason to feel that way,” He says, his eyes piercing you.

You can’t help but scoff and look away shaking your head. You feel the tears but force them to not fall. “Yea, Buck, you've given me plenty of reasons to think that way. And even though it wasn’t true, it doesn’t change the fact that this can never work, because you were the biggest asshole to me for a whole year for something you assumed. No! I’m not finished,” you say to stop Bucky from interrupting.

“But still with this trip, and the kiss, and especially that night. That night was…” you shake your head as tears slowly fall, then quickly wipe them away and clear your throat. “But, when I was upset at you, you were all over Nat the very next day!”

Bucky’s heart breaks as he sees your tears return. “I was stupid, ok? I was frustrated at not being able to talk to you. Nat and I were talking and she made me feel better. It was a natural reaction for me to hug her and kiss her head. It's what I've done for the past year. It meant nothing, but I'm sorry it hurt you. I promise you, Nat and I are over. My feelings for her are strictly platonic, and have been for awhile, honestly.”

You look up at him in shock. “What? How is that possible? You were here all the time! I heard you two fucking like rabbits nearly every night!” you say, getting frustrated.

Bucky sighs, “It didn't mean anything. It was just sex, to both of us."

"You were so upset that she was leaving. None of this makes sense Bucky. Clearly you have to understand where I'm coming from," you say.

Bucky nods, "I do. I mean I was upset she was moving, but it's because I care about her. She's one of my best friends. In the end though, we both knew that our relationship was never going to last regardless if she moved or stayed. My whole heart wasn't in it, and neither was hers. She's known how I feel about you, and was the one who made me realize it. She told me to go for it because she knew how we both felt.”

You stand up and start pacing. “I don’t know what you are expecting from me. I-I can’t… I…” you stutter unable to gather your thoughts together. When you turn to pace the other way you crash into Bucky’s chest. Bucky holds your arms and looks at you.

“Do you regret what happened between us? Do regret that night? Because if you do, I’ll leave now and you'll never see me again,” he says quietly.

You stare into his eyes as flashbacks of that night come to you. You remember all the feelings you had during that night. He made you feel beautiful and cherished. It was the best night of your life. Bucky waits for your answer, trying to calm his pounding heart.

You take a deep breath, “I…” you look down. Bucky’s heart breaks, as he takes a step back, releasing you. “I-I get it. I understand,” he says softly trying not to show his emotions. He walks around you and heads toward your front door.

“I'll never regret it,” you say softly, keeping your back toward him. Bucky quickly turns around, “Really?” he asks, finally feeling some hope.

You start to sob into your hands, going down to your knees. Bucky races forward and kneels in front of you, moving your hands from your face.

“Oh my beautiful girl,” he whispers as he picks you up and sits on the couch with you straddling his lap. You cry into the crook of his neck has he rubs your back, whispering sweet words into your ear and kissing your head.

You don’t know how long you sit on his lap, but when you finally calm down you finally look up at him. He wipes your tears with his thumbs with a soft smile. You take a deep shaky breath.

“I… that night, was the best night of my life. It was what I always wanted. I don’t know why, but I have had feelings for you since I saw you in the bar. Even when you insulted me, I stupidly continued to have feelings,” you say.

Tears start developing in in your eyes again and your voice breaks slightly, “I never thought you would ever look at me like anything more then that annoying girl that was your girlfriends roommate.”

Bucky kisses your forehead. “I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the way I treated you for the last year. There was no excuse for it, especially since I now know the truth behind what you said. But, even through the insults and dirty looks I gave you, I wanted to be near you all the time. I've been crazy for you for so long. So fucking long.”

He tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “I saw you at the bar that night and I swear I fell so hard. I firmly believe in love at first site because of you. I was angry and hurt when I heard what you said and tried to make myself feel better by being an asshole. But my feelings never went away. Nat… she figured it out a few months ago.”

You looked at Bucky in shock, as he nodded at his words. “Yeah, she told me she could tell my feelings for you were there, but I kept denying it. Didn’t want to believe it. But the more time I spent with you, the more I realized she was right. I… I was slightly relieved when she told me we should break up because she was moving to Seattle.”

You give him a small smile and look down at your hands. “That’s why she insisted we drive together?” you ask.

He nods, “She told me to stop being stupid, that you liked me too.”

You rolled your eyes at that statement. “Yeah, she kept bugging me about you, which I always found weird.”

You both lightly chuckle. Bucky brings his palm to your cheek and lightly rubs your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into his touch.

“Nat and I were a lie for most of our relationship. We both knew it, but kept up the lie. It was always you, and Nat wanted to make sure that you and I both got our happy ending. But I ruined it, as usual,” he says dropping his hand.

You grab both his hands, “No, it’s my fault. I should've asked you about the text. I just automatically assumed you were playing a trick on me. I should've given you the benefit of the doubt,” you say.

“I don’t blame you, Y/N. I’ve never given you a reason to trust me. But I’m hopin' that'll change now,” he says with a smile. You smile back at him and caress his face.

Bucky looks at your lips, licking his. You lightly pull his face toward you until your lips meet in a soft kiss. When you pull away you whisper, “I'd love for that to change, but we need to take things slow.”

“Baby, I'll go as slow as you need, as long as I finally get to call you mine,” he says softly.

Before you can answer, he pulls you back into another kiss. This one is more passionate. You allow his tongue access into your mouth and revel in his taste. You card you fingers through his hair and pull him as close as you can.

Finally you pull apart and lean your foreheads together, out of breath. “Yes, I'm yours. I don’t want to be anyone else’s. It’s you Bucky. It’s always been you!” you say. Bucky gives you the biggest smile and hugs you tightly.

You both spend the rest of the day in each other’s arms getting to know each other. You felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

Bucky felt like he was on cloud nine. He finally got a chance at redemption with you, and he was not going to ruin this again. You were too important.

—

Chapter 8 / Fin

One more chapter to go!!! Hope you enjoyed the edited version! Thank you to those who supported this story.

Permanent Taglist: Permanent Taglist: @rebekahdawkins @marajade1974 @missvelvetsstuff @phillygirl77 @pattiemac1 @winterslove1917 @vampire7595 @unkasworld @midnightramyeoncravings

Story Taglist: @unaxv @kandis-mom, @igotmajordaddyissues, @millercontracting, @thesoundresoundsecho, @kentokaze, @tornraltos, @bisexualnikkisixx @alwaysclassyeagle

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky angst #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x natasha #miscommunication #misunderstanding #buckysanasshole

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isaacforalpha14 · 1 year ago

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Imagine #116 Sam and Dean Winchester

A/N: This part is a bit shorter but it’ll pick up. The next part is gonna have a choice between a Sam route or a Dean route. I hope everyone enjoys! Let me know what you think!

Dean is in hell; he made it through actual hell, he even made it through purgatory but this was harder. Sam seemed evasive when it pertained to you; he ignored when Dean had questioned your whereabouts, he ignored him when he questioned whether he’d kept in touch with you and he definitely ignored him when he questioned what the pair of you had been up to for the past year. Sam knew there'd been something going on with Dean before he went to purgatory and he held the sneaking suspicion it had to do with you. Man, he had no idea just how right he was. Knowing that not only had Sam been living a normal apple pie life but that he’d been doing so with you killed Dean inside. He’s standing in your living room, a picture of you and Sam kissing at a Farmer’s Market clutched within his hand and his chest is aching. He’s never held anything but love for his brother but in this moment he felt envy and hatred. He hated how happy the two of you looked in the photos on the fireplace mantle. It was supposed to be him.

Sam asked him to wait on the porch while he went inside to explain the situation to you. Wouldn’t you be happy to see him? Why does Sam need to break it to you? He wanted to protest and follow him in but his brother sent him a pitiful expression, his signature puppy eyes, and he couldn’t help but curse under his breath and relent. “I am home.” Sam’s muffled statement caused Dean’s brow to furrow in confusion, did he live with you? The more time he spent sitting on the porch, the more questions he seemed to have.

“Hi honey.” Sam purrs in an affectionate coo, the living room was in complete darkness albeit for the warm glow of the movie playing on the television dancing across your softened features. He can see the tired expression on your face and he feels guilty that he’s about to destroy your serenity. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Maybe he could tell you tomorrow and Dean can sleep in the guest room? “Why don’t you head to bed, baby.” He suggested turning the hallway light on before re-entering the living room. “We can watch the rest of the movies tomorrow.” He can’t quite make out what your muffled protest is as you’d completely sunken into your blankets instead, he opts to remove you from the couch and carry you to bed. He takes his time; covering you up on your side of the bed, placing an affectionate kiss to your temple as you release a sleepy sigh and a mumbled ‘i love you’ before he exits the room to go retrieve Dean from the porch and show him to the guest bedroom. Maybe it was selfish, but Sam wasn’t looking forward to sharing you again; not with hunting or with Dean.

Now, here Dean is, standing in your living room at three am, since he couldn’t sleep without being awakened by nightmares, staring at the pictures hanging on the walls and lining the fireplace mantle of the pair of you and he hates how angry he feels. The relentless rage and jealousy trickling through his heart and creating a hollow feeling in his abdomen. His chest is aching and he can’t seem to breathe. Is this what heartbreak feels like? He couldn’t fathom this reality; he could deal with hell, demons, angels and the apocalypse but he couldn’t handle the fact he lost you. He couldn’t even really be angry with either of you because he’d never been honest about his true feelings for you. Now, he’d be destined to watch his brother being with the love of his life. How is he meant to do that? Can he do that?

Morning was interesting to say the least; you’d sprayed Dean with the faucet sprayer, the boiler had been blessed by a priest upon moving in, you’d stabbed him with a knife from your butcher’s block and just as you went to splash him with bleach, Sam entered the kitchen clad in nothing but a towel around his waist and stopped you before you threw it in his eyes. After Sam got dressed, and you finished buttoning Sam’s maroon plaid shirt that you were wearing, he decided to make breakfast for everyone as Dean filled you in on his year. It was horrifying to find out that Dean was locked up in purgatory with monsters, the constant fight for his life must have done a number on him emotionally and mentally.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Dean muses, a hint of bitterness in his voice that he can’t shake as he takes a sip of his coffee. “You and Sammy, huh?” A sour lilt to his tone as he stabs at his eggs a little aggressively.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You answer as a warm blush creeps up your neck and settles on your cheeks. Sam leans over and presses an affectionate kiss to your cheek before blowing on his coffee and taking a drink. “A year now.”

“That’s great.” He responds with a sarcastic smile, slamming his utensils down and drinking the remaining coffee in his mug. He throws the dishes in the sink and leaves the kitchen.

“He’s a little upset with us for giving up hunting.” Sam tries to justify the outburst, but he has a nagging feeling that there’s more to it than that. Dishes clattering in the sink interrupt the silence before he continues. “He thinks we gave up on him.” That had been the beginning of an awkward fight with Sam. Dean hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but the house was small, there was nowhere he could disappear to that he wouldn’t be able to hear the aggressive whispering turned to yelling. He could hear everything; the hurt in his brother’s voice, the apologies from your trembling mouth, but it was when he caught the hint of a sniffle that his heart ached. He just knew in his soul that you were crying and it tore him apart. He’s drinking his beer, digging in the shoebox of credit cards, driver’s licenses, badges and cell phones, when Sam emerges from the kitchen and a distant door slams shut.

“You’re being unfair.” Dean’s hoarse voice cautions, dialing the voicemail on a burner as he attempts to distract himself from his thoughts of you; crying in your room, warm tears rolling down your delicate flushed cheeks, nose rose hued from sniffling, the mental image was enough to make him itch.

“Butt out, Dean.” Sam growls, thrusting himself into the floral print armchair across from the fireplace.

“I am just saying, you’re being too hard on her.”

“Dean.” Sam groans sitting straight, he releases a guilt ridden sigh, trembling hand running through his chestnut hair before he continues. “I was too harsh but it’s only because I don’t want to lose her.” He gnaws on his lower lip, sending a brief glance toward the hallway before continuing. “I am afraid of losing her. I am afraid that if we continued hunting she’d get seriously hurt or… look at what happens to people around us, Dean. We’ve lost so many people. I couldn’t handle that… not with her.” He hesitates, wondering if he should tell his brother of his revelation. “I want to ask her to marry me.”

“You, say what now?” Dean questions, blood freezing as he feels his throat go dry.

“I want to marry her.” Sam confesses with a vulnerable expression before he leans forward and mumbles. “I’ve always loved her, since we were kids, but I never thought she’d feel the same way about me. I was happy being friends with her just to have her in my life but now, this last year, I’ve had something that I’ve never had. A normal life; and now that I’ve shared that with her, there’s nothing in this life that I want more than to spend the rest of it with her. Hunting or not hunting.”

“Listen, Sammy, we don’t have the luxury of having relationships like that.” Dean murmurs, he’s uncertain whether he’s saying it to be selfish, because he wants you to himself, or whether he truly believes it. The Winchesters are cursed in love. “This business is dangerous.”

“I know that, Dean.” Sam huffs, he’s offended by the insinuation that he’s not aware of the dangers of the lifestyle. It’s part of the reason he never wanted to be a hunter; you can’t have a normal life, a family, while living on the road with stolen credit cards, cheap motels and gas station food. “But Y/N grew up in the ‘life’ too. If anyone can understand that it’s her. Bobby gave us as normal of a life as he could, he did the same for her, maybe we could do the same.”

“This is a dangerous game, Sam.” Dean warns, heart hammering against his ribcage as he stands and begins to pace with the burner in his palm. “Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”

“Don’t quote Shawshank Redemption to me, Dean.” Sam sighs, sending an incredulous look at his brother before voicing his concern. “You think it’s a bad idea.”

“Hell yeah, I do.” Dean agrees, halting near the fireplace before meeting his brother’s hazel eyes and feeling a sense of guilt swell in his chest. “Look, just think it through, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think it through.” Sam agrees, feeling an odd sense of tension in the atmosphere before he gestures to the burner in Dean’s hand to change the subject. Dean plays the voicemails, all from Kevin, before there’s another argument about how Kevin was their responsibility.

#sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader x dean #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #supernatural imagines #supernatural imagine #sam winchester x reader x dean winchester

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annaraebananawriter · 1 year ago

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Now what if I just took this ask right here and wrote a small little drabble for you all? Well, you’re answer doesn’t matter, because it’s already written. I do like it. And I hope you all do as well. Especially you, @dreemurr-skelememer.

5. Stone will never break (I’m never going to forgive myself)

When he first sees the statue, Dream believes he must be seeing things.

Because there’s no way other people were trapped like he was. No, that’s impossible. Nightmare would’ve gloated about the collection he’d made, would’ve rubbed in how it was all thanks to him that it was even possible. How it was his fault all those people were turned, forever frozen in time, eroding away slowly. His brother would’ve made sure he knew about the statues if they existed, and the simple fact that he didn’t means this sight in front of him did not exist.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, gaze flicking over the person. The moss growing on their feet, the chipped rock on their chest and arms, the crack through their head. Chest feeling tight, he keeps looking, still trying to convince himself this isn’t real.

It’s all a bad dream. It is.

Wake up now, please.

But nothing changed. The statue is still there and his chest is still tight. And Dream, choking down a sudden sob, stumbles forward, pressing his fingertips lightly against the surface of the person. His panic only increases when the pressure remains, telling him that yes, this was real.

Why would Nightmare never tell him this? Was he just waiting for him to find out first, to notice the shaken look to him and know without a doubt that he finally found his prized collection? No, his brother is cruel, but not that cruel. Surely he would give some kind of hint about this. Surely he would get impatient and find a way to make him find this place, lead him to the statue. And oh God, was it only the one? Or where there more? Was there a full garden full of these people, innocent souls caught up in something they shouldn't have?

Nightmare had to have given some kind of hint about this. He racks his memory to try and find it, abut the words keep getting jumbled.

He can’t think right.

Maybe Nightmare didn’t give him a hint. Maybe he just thought there was no hope of him finding them. Maybe he believed that Dream was a threat already taken care of, back when he was a statue himself, and he just tucked all the statues away to forget about them.

And when he escaped, it still didn’t matter because he was so weak at first. He had a whole language to learn, weapons to learn how to fight with. He wasn’t a threat to be taken seriously, always spouting hope and begging his brother to come back home to him. That’s why the statues weren’t mentioned, they weren’t relevant anymore. Why bring up something that couldn’t be fixed? Why bring up something that could be used as blackmail?

Dream won’t have it. No. He can’t let this happen.

These people need to be saved. He escaped once, surely he could help them do the same. He didn’t know how, but he would. He had to. It was already too late to save them for the first time. Hopefully it’s not too late to make it up to them. Hopefully they’ll give him a second chance to be better, be the guardian they need.

Blinking back the tears, he starts scratching at the statue, trying futilely to use his magic to break the stone. But he can’t latch on to any soul. There’s no emotion in this statue, no sign of life. Was it too late to do anything? Was his curse of being a step behind striking again?

Sobbing, he scratches more, harder. His fingertips start to burn, but the first bout of pain fades into a numb ache as nothing happens, blood staining the statue. But he doesn’t see that, no, his focus is elsewhere.

Flashes of a red sky and a fighting mob of villagers.

Flashes of a tree being cut down, apples tumbling and rotting in seconds.

Flashes of his brother screaming, white bones dusting to make room for tentacles and goop.

Flashes of a grin, a teal eyelight, and a golden glow as he finds himself thrust into a fight he did not want, hands shaking.

And then that dreadful moment that he can still feel phantom tingles from. The clash of positivity and negativity, and a creeping stone covering his legs as he stands there, horror growing, unable to step forward. Nightmare peers back at him, just as surprised, but that’s soon taken over by a gleeful laugh. He shakes, calling out to his brother, reaching a hand forward.

Nightmare only watches him, clutching his head as he continues to laugh.

Dream shakes even more, feeling like he can’t breath as the stone encases his chest, rising up to secure his throat and words, and then his sight, taking everything away. The last sound he hears is his brother’s laughter and the crying of the remaining villagers as they beg for mercy.

And then be blinks out the black spots, hands pulling his arms. Blinking again and Blue’s face fades into view, alarm and worry mixing together. His friend his holding his arms tightly, and when his fingers twitch, the grip tightens in response, close to bruising.

Dream realizes he’s speaking, cracking over sounds. “--se, please, please. Let me save them, it’s my fault, if only I was here sooner. Please, Blue, please, let me save them.”

And Blue is speaking too, speaking over him. “It’s okay, Dream, you’re safe. There’s not a person there. It’s just a statue, I promise. You did nothing wrong.”

Dream keens, finally breaking eye contact, trying to find the statue again. “No, no, no, you don’t understand. It’s my fault. I need to save them. I know what it’s like, their suffocating in there. I need to help them.” Inhaling, his vision gets blurry again. There’s a dull buzzing pain coming from his hands. “If I wasn’t turned in the first place, maybe I could save them. Maybe they wouldn’t be there. But I can still make it up to them, if I save them now. Please, Blue, please.”

But Blue follows him, blocking his view. “Dream, you’re hurting yourself. Please, stop. Listen to me. That’s not a living person, never has been. Someone made it, carved it. You’re fine. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

Breath hitching, Dream looks down, seeing the blood covering his hands. All his. And now it’s on Blue’s hands, too, because his friend is kind, too kind to be hid friend. He stares down at the blood, watching it drip onto the ground. There’s a faint ringing in his skull still.

Blue is still talking. “It’s okay. I promise. You did nothing wrong.”

Dream trembles.

The argument gets lodged in his throat, the pain he’s caused his friend creating the block. Blue means well, he does, and he hates to see him so worried like this, worried over him of all people, but he doesn’t understand.

It is his fault.

Even if this statue wasn’t a person, it could’ve been. And that means everything he was already thing is true. Because if he wasn’t stuck in stone, if he wasn’t foolish enough and let that happen, he could’ve saved so many people. He wouldn’t be here, wounds on his fingers from trying to save someone that never existed.

The statue could’ve been someone, you see. It could’ve.

And that thought might be worse.

#my writing #fanfic #drabble #utmv #undertale #dreamtale #dream sans #blue sans #swap sans #underswap sans #mentioned nightmare sans #tw self-harm #tw panic attack #hope you enjoy!

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fragiledewdrop · 1 year ago

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Isn't it amazing how, when you are exposed to multiple languages, it changes the way you think about reality?

I don't even mean when you learn a language well and it starts merging with your native tongue. More like...

...there are so many words for "apple" in this world, but to me the apple's truest name will always be "alma", because my Hungarian grandmother used to make me say it over and over and was sad that I never got the pronunciation exactly right. She was my "nagymama".

The first time I fell in love, it was with a girl of Chinese heritage, which means that, deep in my soul, the sweetest way to say "I love you" is 我愛你, both in Cantonese and Mandarin.

I was around German speakers a lot as a child, and I thought it was very funny that "sorry" was "Entschuldigung", so that's what I think every time I bump into someone on the street. I had a seizure at a hospital once, and when I came to the nurse started asking questions to see if I was all there. She showed me a pen and asked me what it was, and my immediate answer was "Kugelschreiber". She was so confused, but it took me a while to remember the Italian word, because "Kugelschreiber" has always been much more satisfying to think and say than "penna".

My Polish friend says "kurva" every time she swears (which is quite often), and so I have started saying that too.

Although, since I began studying French, my instinctual swear word is a very classy "putain de merde". When I am really happy, I am "aux anges". How are you? "Ça va". There is a game of cards that can be called many things, but to me it's "bataille corse", because I used to play it a lot with a French coworker in Ireland.

When I was little, I played almost every day with a girl who came from Venezuela. We could understand each other just fine, but once she asked me to pass her the "pajaro" and I didn’ get what she was saying. Eventually I understood she meant our Barbie's little blue plastic bird, and not a sparrow, which is what the word sounded like to me. So when I see birds in the trees? "Pajaros en las ramas". I had another friend whose surname was a play on the Spanish word for sunrise, which she was very proud of, and one of my favourite verses by Garcia Lorca is about the "breaking cups of dawn". When I watch the sun rise, the first word that comes to mind is "madrugada".

As a teenager, I read "Poor Folk" by Dostoevsky and there was a letter in which the protagonist wrote to his lover and called her "golubchik". I still think that's the sweetest pet name- along with "honey" in English.

After coming back from Japan, my brother has started slipping idioms in his speech when he is distracted. I couldn't understand them at first, but I thought it endearing, and now "wait a moment" is "chotto matte". He is my "ototo", "little brother".

A Romanian lady helps take care of my grandfather. Ever since I have met her, known her, helped her pick out gifts for the kids that she can see so rarely, taught her recipes and learned recipes frome her, "thank you" to me has become "mulțumesc".

A person I don't know is "ξένος (xénos)", the Greek for "foreigner, stranger", but also "guest, host, friend".

There are many more. I am a mosaic of the voices of the people I have met, the people I have loved. My own language is beautiful and it's home, but even its ancient, melodious poetry is not enough to encompass the beauty and tragedy of this world. And if I dream in English, curse in French, think of my former Christian God with a Hebrew name and of holiness as the prayer in Arabic over my sick bed that fell from the lips of a Malian refugee who had become a family friend, maybe I can come closer to grasp it.

#languages #I have been thinking of this quite a lot #multilinguism

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jinxthejubilee · 10 months ago

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So I have a question that I feel as if you're the only one who'll get it well:

So imagine this, a world with the stories is the same but sometimes after the villains have a final curtain call of their motives, but one thing is drastically different... And that's their recruiters are fully evil. Not only that but are so wicked and far not even their once masters can stop them

Either some were abandoned or betrayed by their villains or others simply didn't get their villains help from the beginning, but the end result is the same, they are cruel and ruthless

My question is, if this case scenario was true, what would you think their villain arcs are like?

First off, I'm sorry that it took so long to answer this ask. Life has been quite hectic for me these past few months, so I took a bit of a break. So, to make up for it, let's have some fun here!

Second, it really depends on what established lore you've set for them. Some people have different interpretations of their characters, but if you're going by my personality pages, I have some ideas:

Apple 🍎

Apple seems like the type to claw his way to power no matter what. If he didn't meet the Evil Queen/Grimhilde, he probably would've served under other corrupt monarchs before somehow manipulating them or the people around them to overthrow that monarch and take his "rightful" place as the new ruler.

Very politically oriented than outright murderous.

Jack Heart ❤️

Jack is kinda hard to imagine being strictly "evil" since he's more of the "fun guy who doesn't care about the consequences" type.

But, if you want to lean into him being more insane, I can totally see him becoming more and more unhinged as time goes on.

He craves chaos. He craves destruction. Similar to Kefka Palazzo from Final Fantasy, but less existential and nihilistic.

I doubt that he'd take out the Queen of Hearts, but for this case, let's say he did: He'd make it a spectacle. To show everyone in Wonderland who the true king is.

No longer does he want to be a pawn at her disposal. He'll have it all, one way or another.

Mr. Dalmatia 🐾

Even if this is the 101 Dalmatians universe, where animals are way smarter than we know, I don't see Dalma becoming a supervillain.

Maybe a gang leader of street dogs or something if he was never adopted by Cruella.

Or, more likely, if he was ever betrayed by Cruella, he would plot his revenge, killing everyone, even Pongo, Perdita, the puppies, and the others by burning Hell Hall to the ground and closing any escape routes, then disappear into the woods. Never to be seen again.

Eight Foot Joe 🐙

MURDER.

He finally snaps from exhaustion and has a full-on Death Note-style murder plot to kill Ursula.

Whether he uses an ancient artifact, potions, or goes along with Ursula's plot, only to steal the trident from her after she accidentally kills Flotsam and Jetson, that betrayal is coming full force.

He becomes the new king of the sea. Finally earning the respect he deserves.

Malfi/Malfie 🪞

Malfi, at least in my headcanons, was an actual bird who was later turned human-ish by Maleficent.

Considering how powerful she is in comparison to everyone on this list, I doubt that Malfi would be brave or powerful enough to take her on in a fight.

Malfi is more of an opportunist. He'd lie and wait for Philip to kill Maleficent. Then, once she's out of the way, he'd kill Philip himself.

Unfortunately, while he was trained by the Mistress of All Evil, he knows Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather would cause problems, so he'd capture them somehow and drain them of their magic, so he could use it to curse the kingdom once again.

Malfi would have everything he's ever wanted: Power, a kingdom, a beautiful bride, and servants and subjects that cater to his every whim.

Pretty Scar (Mzuri) ✨️

I've talked in length about what would happen at the end of The Lion King if PS was there to witness or take part in the killing of Scar, and I honestly don't see her in a leadership position of any kind.

But, if we want to change it up a bit, instead of giving up on Scar after he dies, we find out later that she joined Zira and helped raise Kovu.

Like Zira, she believes Kovu will one day become the great king destined to overthrow Simba and avenge Scar

This Mzuri, despite the fact that Scar betrayed her fellow hyenas, still worships Scar because she's used to the abuse she suffers from her family. She blames Simba for placing Scar in a position where he would have to throw the hyenas under the bus to save his own life.

Ms. Hades 🔥

As I've stated before, I see Ms. Hades as a creation of Hades, so her betraying him is kind of pointless, seeing as he could easily destroy her if he wanted to.

If she was to go all-out villain, though, she'd probably wait to reveal herself as the true villain until Hercules was far enough into the River Styx to die of old age. Then, she'd most likely push Hades down there or use some enchanted item of some kind to bind him, then throw him into the river.

Her motive? She despised working for someone who treated her like an object. She was created for the sole purpose of working beneath him, and she could stand it no longer.

I see her as someone who doesn't focus on the petty things, and that's what makes her so deadly.

She's so calm, collected, and controlled that she doesn't let any weakness of hers slip through the cracks. She looks through every possible option, every little detail. She makes good work of using any opportunities Hades never thought to use.

She is a force of nature; an untamable fire. There is no question that she will take over the living world and Mount Olympus. All hail the queen.

Veil 🔔

If Veil had never met Frollo, I don't see the possibility of her becoming a villain simply because she wouldn't have the resources to raise her status as a "lowly commoner." That, and her personality. She was essentially groomed to become Frollo's loyal follower. That wouldn't have happened otherwise

So, if we work with the opposite of what I wrote as an ending for Veil on her page, similarly to Pretty Scar, Veil would be so brainwashed that she'd still defend Frollo and continue his reign of terror in his absence. Only this time, it's even more dangerous than before.

Lady Hock (Hook) 🪝

Again, I really don't see her as a supervillain personality-wise, and even if Hock was betrayed by Captain Hook, I see her going down a more heroic path than anyone else.

Even if she never met the captain, I don't see her becoming a villain either. She's remarkably chill and goes with the flow in most situations.

The best I can see is that if you altered her personality a tad, she'd allow Captain Hook to kill the Lost Boys and Wendy.

Unless she finally got fed up with Hook's cowardice and decided to get rid of him, then the kids. But again, that's less likely.

Faja 🌹

I'll give Jafar this: He never betrayed Iago. They were practically best buds in the first movie, so I don't doubt that he might be the same with Faja.

However, if all three of them became trapped in the lamp, they'd all drive each other crazy. So much so that later on, once they learn about Iago's escape and betrayal, Faja realizes how power-hungry and abusive he's become. Should this happen, she will help defeat Jafar with Aladdin and the gang once and for all, but she'd immediately turn on them all afterwards.

Or, if we go with the option of her never meeting Jafar, unlike Veil's situation, magic exists in this world, so I can definitely see her taking a similar path as Jafar and learning magic on her own to escape her life as a street rat. Except more erratic and unhinged.

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stiffyck · 2 years ago

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Hullo!!! It's not really an idea, I am just blurping a small part of a hurt/comfort desert duo (taking place in third life) fic I'm writing, and I decided to give you Grian comforting Scar :D (also content warnings for mild ableist language)

His throat clogged at the thought of Pizza, petting her fuzzy fur, already infested by sand and dirt, feeding her carrots they had stolen from the village, calling her a good girl, and adjusting her headband and her saddle. He missed Pizza. He missed her so much, she didn’t deserve all the hate and the teasing the others inflicted upon her. He just wanted his llama back. His mind wandered back to his nightmare, and he pulled his hair to stop thinking about it, it was only a dream, she didn’t die.

A sob escaped his mouth and he let his head fall on the table. His shoulder blades and hips complained, a gnawing feeling between them and on his waist. He really didn’t know how he should sit. Should he slouch? Should he roll his shoulders back and sit up straight? Maybe he needed food and water. Should he yell at Grian to wake him up? No, the avian needed sleep, who knew at what time he went to bed.

“Scar?” A rough voice called.

Scar froze. Did he wake up Grian? He turned his head slightly to the entrance of the kitchen, not too much so that it required all of his lasting energy, but enough to see one macaw wing stretching out, looking fluffier than the last time he saw it. Grian sat down and inspected him, arms crossed against the table. Scar barely moved.

“What are you doing sitting here, looking into nothingness?” Grian’s face lightened up a bit, slightly amused.

Now that Scar thought about it, it was kind of silly sitting here, doing nothing. But he did not appreciate the lighthearted remark when he was hungry, frustrated, thirsty, boiling, and cursing at his body for making his life ten times more complicated.

He simply sighed in reply, looking at the table instead of those lightning green irises. Grian hummed and stood up.

“You hungry?”

Scar hummed. He wasn’t sure if he simply didn’t have the energy to form words or if the morning dryness in his throat clogged the words in it. He did cry, it might’ve contributed. He heard Grian rummaging in their food barrel.

“What do you want?”

Scar did not reply. He was simply hungry. He would eat anything at this point. He was mostly thinking how to relieve this ache, this soreness in his muscles. It was slowly beginning to hurt and he did not want to deal with that.

“I’m making applesauce, the apples are getting bad.”

Grian showed him the apples, asking him if he was actually holding the fruit, and Scar nodded. Grian squinted his eyes as he concentrated on making them food. Scar focused on the noises Grian made around the kitchen. The pots and pans clanging together, the harsh chopping noise, the swish sound the knife made against the peel, the bubbles of the boiling water, anything to distract him from the muscles spasms and the weight on his shoulder, the tension around his neck.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, listening, picking at his nails, while Grian cooked. His head perked up when the bowl clanked against the table. Grian sat down and started eating, eyeing Scar. Scar tried to pick up the spoon, he really tried. His upper arm didn’t stop spasming, he couldn’t control his movement, so he kept his arm close to his side, letting it pass. He looked at the applesauce and just wished his body could fulfill its own needs without throwing a fit.

Grian stood up, placed his chair next to Scar’s, and sat down with a big thunk, making Scar jump in surprise. Grian took his bowl and almost shoved the spoon in his mouth. He moved back, a grunt bubbling in his throat and his muscles whining at the sudden movement. Grian rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Scar, you need help and I am offering said help.”

Scar glared at the spoon in Grian’s hand, wishing all the deadly curses at it. Grian huffed, frustrated.

“Sometimes you just need a break and there’s nothing wrong with that. Look, nobody is gonna come bother us if you don’t want to see people. Heck, I’m sure if I explained the situation to the others, they would totally understand.” Grian’s shoulders slumped, and Scar wondered if that’s how puppy eyes looked. “Please, Scar?”

Scar hesitated. He was hungry, but he really didn’t want Grian to actually be his servant. It was a fun concept, at first. He really hoped Grian was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He cleared his throat.

“Not part of the debt,” he murmured, making sure to look deep into those electric green eyes, even if they intimidated him.

Grian blinked at him owlishly. “Of course not!” His accent was more pronounced than usual. “You’re not well, let me help.”

Scar shifted his gaze to the bowl and nodded. Grian fed him, making sure he wouldn’t choke on the applesauce. It was quite good for smashed boiled apples. He could taste some of the sugarcane they started cultivating close to the edge of the roof of the mountain. It sweetened the aftertaste of the acidic flavor the apples left. Scar was quite impressed, and it did fill a hole in his stomach, even giving him a bit more energy.

After being satiated, Grian moved behind Scar, rolled up the sleeves of his red sweater and dug his thumbs on Scar’s lower neck. Scar winced and inhaled through his teeth, making Grian stutter in his movements.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

The movement became gentler, rolling his thumbs against the tense part of Scar’s neck. It was quite relaxing, but a lingering pain made the gesture quite uncomfortable, as if someone was applying pressure to a fresh wound. Scar didn’t complain though, he appreciated the physical touch and was glad to know Grian became comfortable with him enough to touch him like this. He hummed in pleasure when Grian’s thumbs massaged his shoulders and traveled against his biceps, feeling the tension loosen up. Grian let out a chuckle.

“Jeez, Scar, are you stressed or something?”

Scar tensed, immediately thinking of his nightmare. The thumbs stopped circling his deltoid, and Grian’s long nose appeared in his peripheral vision.

“What are you worried about?”

Scar sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Grian’s right hand left his shoulder while his left hand rounded the other before squeezing it reassuringly. His gaze landed on wide bright emerald eyes, on a slightly freckled nose that almost looked like a beak without looking crooked, on rosy cheeks, on dirty blond curls that frame a concerned face. Scar never realized how majestic Grian looked.

“Scar?” Grian inquired.

Scar put his hand on the one holding his shoulder, to touch where he was permitted to.

“Pizza,” he let out. Grian quirked an eyebrow. “Had a nightmare about her dying,” he confessed, closing his eyes and rubbing his thumb against Grian’s knuckles.

“Oh, Scar.” A warmed hand wormed itself close to the base of his hair. He shuddered.

“I miss her, G.”

“I know.” The hand nested itself in his hair, bringing his head to Grian’s shoulder. He stuttered a breath.

“Why did they take her away? She didn’t do anything, she didn’t deserve that.”

Scar let out a sob, his body slack from easing tension out with his crying. Grian shushed him, playing with his hair, scrubbing his scalp. It felt amazing, even if the tension in his neck was back. He grabbed the hand that was playing with his hair, stood straighter on his seat, and brought the hand closer to his chest, letting his other hand fall and grasp Grian’s thigh. Grian’s hand was now slowly rubbing circles, and Scar couldn’t be more relieved to receive physical touch.

-- bloop anon who feels less intimidated :D (not enough to go off anon)

ANDNDKDKDKAKA YOOOO THIS IS SO GOOD OMG ANDJDSKSK I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS

#stiff talk #asks #gtws #grian #desert duo #cw ableist language #< just to be sure

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safyresky · 2 years ago

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YOOO hellooo!!

Okay! It took me awhile to think of some titles, lmao, BUT:

Snap, Crackle, Pop

Road Trip

Lazy Day

Poker Face

Ghost Town

These are all from my braino but I DID at one point consult a fic title generator just to see what it cooked up and the first result was “Case of the Blue Pygmy” which— you don’t have to do anything with, but thought you’d appreciate bc it had me absolutely. HowLING. Catch Mel constantly referring to Jack as “the Blue Pygmy” from this point onwards, lmaooooo.

ALSO ALSO PLEASE tell me about Fino’s orcish rival, they sound fab!!! The Lucy in me is already shipping like mad! 🥺🥺💖

THANK YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT THIS ORCISH FELLOW OF FINO'S (not to sound like my 60 plus year old neighbour) BECAUSE I LOVE HIM TO BITS (orc friend shenanigans under cut)

ANYWAY, HERE'S WONDERWALL PROMPT REPLIES

Snap, Crackle, Pop

Would take place in Pyros House Arrest AU. Could also be called "How Jacqueline Finally Got Used To Having Her Evil Uncle Around".

CRYSTAL SPRINGS SPOILERS ABOUND

In which, during multiple midnight rice krispies cereal excursions, Jacqueline and Pyros start to sort of get along. Sort of. Would include: a lot of roasting (Pyros is like is this how Blaise is going to kill me dead if I don't behave?? His teenage/young adult daughter just roasts me to death with WORDS?!). Unpacking the whole, uh, evil mind control bit, and uh. All that. As well. She doesn't forgive her Uncle for taking away her agency and attempting to destroy everything she knows, however, she can make him see how bad that was. Y'know. Through ROASTING. Until the ice breaks with a shitty joke >:)

CRYSTAL SPRINGS SPOILERS UN-ABOUND

Road Trip

The Legates get de-magic'd and have to road trip cross country (countries?!?!?) to get their magic back in working order.

This one is an ANCIENT idea that popped into my head MANY years ago when I was at the Big Apple. Not New York, no; at the Big Apple, Canada, which is this roadside attraction off the highway in the Trenton/Kingston corridor. It's. Well.

It's a Big Apple.

Google it.

You Will See why I say it is a CURSED OBJECT. The guy who created it was inspired by DISNEYLAND I shit you not. The view from the top of the apple is abysmal. IT'S ON THE SIDE OF THE 401. THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE BUT TREES AND PEOPLE DRIVING BAD AND ANYWHERE FROM 20 TO 40KM OVER THE LIMIT. Their claim to fame, aside from the giant murderous apple that could TOTALLY be a weeping angel, are apple based products. They only got an apple orchard like in the last 5ish years. They have existed for at LEAST twenty.

ANYWAY they have this sign at the front of the shop that just has like, all these locations and how far from the Big Apple they are, and one of them is the North Pole, and every time I see that sign (I regret to admit I have stopped at the big apple too much for my liking), I think of a scenario where Jacqueline tries to poof herself and several legates, but their magic is fuckey so who KNOWS where they'll end up, and when they appear she sees the 401, sees the big apple, and is just like GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. Thankfully a witch she knows has a little shop down the street so they go there for help! (Mel perhaps? Who's to say!)

Lazy Day

Blaise tries to have a lazy day. It does not go well at all. This man is inCAPABLE of doing nothing. Winter catches him prepping dinner and she almost freezes him solid. She's like, this is not how a lazy day works. Blaise is like but we need to eat and Winter's like I CAN COOK, DEAR, BACK TO THE COUCH GO ON NOW DON'T MAKE ME KNOCK YOU OUT

Poker Face

Either Winter enters a poker tournament and cleans everybody out, gets banned from poker tournaments. OR. A 1000 word piece on all of Blaise's tells told from Winter's POV (maybe a stream of consciousness bc I think Winter's thoughts must be very funny) that explains why he's so easy to read (to her) because, believe it or not, Winter doesn't actually cheat at cards ;)

Ghost Town

Diteline kids find themselves in a right pickle when they are trapped in a literal ghost down. It is deserted except for ghosts. Robyn and Eira/Bianca (still haven't decided on which name for her ): won't stop bickering about which one of the two of them got the three siblings stuck in the Ghost Town. Robyn's like you shouldn't have opened the weird door! And Eira/Bianca is like YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WENT hey sis check out this cool scroll, and ACTIVATED IT MISTER OU LOOK AT ME, I CAN WARLOCK!

While the two youngest are arguing, Joy reaches out and touches a ghost and it goes from a passive little floating sad sack to a murderous violence machine, making things about 1000% worse.

So now the three have to fend off all the murderous shades while trying to figure out why they're trapped and if putting the ghosts back in the afterlife will free them from Ghost Town because Mom's making burritos tonight and Mater made an angel food cake with SPRINKLES IN IT and this is one of the FAVOURITE dinner/dessert combos the kiddos have.

Object: Figure out why the ghost town exists, fight the ghosts to get the town fixed, and make it back home in time for dinner!

Their moms have no idea where the kids are today. It's just a fun evening of cooking for them, while their kids are facing The Horrors.

---

"The Blue Pygmy" sounds like some kind of very inconvenient little monster, so I think Mel's onto something with dubbing Jack that lmao. Either that, or it's a weird magibean cold/flu 😂😂😂😂.

DR. MILLER, WE'VE GOT PYGMYS, CODE BLUE and she's like well SHIT! and rushed over to be a bamf doctor witch as she do!

Anyway, thanks for sending this in!

(from this post: send me a made up fic title and i'll tell you what i'd write about)

RIGHT SO ORC FRIEND

I haven't even NAMED HIM YET but he snuck his way right into my heart (and also Fino's! Fun fact! Of all 4 kiddos Fino is the only one to ACTUALLY TELL A PERSON HE LIKES THAT HE LIKES THEM. He's the suave one out of all 4, believe it or not. Jack is like "I'll keep everything bottled up inside until I DIE", Jacqueline is the most OBLIVIOUS mother fucker and then, when aware, an absolute MESS of a magibeing, and Fiera panics hard before finally attempting to take the first step if she doesn't get overwhelmed with uh. EMOTIONS and EVERY WORD SHE WNATS TO SAY EXPLODING ALL AT ONCE while she's trying to do the asking) and I am soft for him and Fino! Ah!

BUT ANYWAY when Fins is in caster school, he meets this orc who always, always, ALWAYS has to get better marks than him. It's like a competition. Very one sided, bc Fino's just vibing and happy to learn. But Orc Friend is like, if I do not surpass this sprite I will surely perish.

Turns out, the orc is under a lot of pressure from a parent to DO BETTER for w/e reason, and our orc friend is very stressed until one day he like, explodes when Fino gets half a mark better than him on an ALREADY PERFECT TEST.

Fino, who has 0 concept of this competition being a thing, is like dude. Okay. Why is this a thing. Why are you so upset, the only reason I got a half mark more was b/c of this doodle here! Like why are you pitting us against each other, that's how you get RANK mental health!

And the orc admits that his parent or parents really want him to be top of his class and DO BETTER and he's really, really trying but he doesn't LIKE it and it's taking the joy out of learning all the magic shit and Fino is, of course, appalled bc learning is SO FUN TO HIM. HE LOVES THAT SHIT. How DARE someone make learning NOT FUN. ILLEGAL

So they become study buds and Fino helps him like, love learning again. Orc friend does a LOT better when Fino is making it fun and helping him not feel the pressures of home life NEEDING him to do good! He's just doing it! And their one-sided rivalry ship becomes a funky two-sided FRIENDLY rivalry that they both ham up on occasion (Fiera is very proud when Fino fake dies when Orc Friend does better than HIM by half a mark, Orc Friend thinks it's gd hilarious) and Orc Friend now has a Fino Friend!

Anyway, they become roommates later on and Fino brings him to holidays and shit and he v much becomes one of the family and is often referred to as Fino's partner :) I'm still debating if Fins is on the aro scale or not, so this bit's a little murky, BUT it is so important to me that you know that when Fino's like oh I like this dude more than normal, he is like to Orc Friend "Hey man, I think ur real neat, wanna go out??" Like. It is SO IMPORTANT TO ME THAT YOU KNOW, THAT EVERYONE KNOWS, THAT FINO IS THE ONLY FROSTY KIDDO TO ACT NORMAL WHEN LIKING SOMEONE. SO IMPORTANT TO ME TO MAKE THIS KNOWN.

okay I opened this ask with this bit but I have gotten uh, carried away with Orc Friend (who feels like a Ken?? But that CAN'T be right), so imma just. Slide this under a cut and pretend I STARTED with the uh, original ask box shenanigan :o

but YEAH. Holidays at Frost Manor are FUN in later years. Fino and Orc Friend are like, sparring together in the backyard, talking smack and shit (it's their flirting). Fiera's latest catch is probably schmoozing the parents, unless it's her one long term partner who is SO fucking normal, he's probably like, grilling with Blaise and Fiera is just sitting at the bench like, ogling him like "my god. my god he is flipping burgers while holding the WORST beer ever. He is so normal. holy shit. I'm love him".

Dite and Jacqueline are being v cute, or, Dite is being a sweetheart while Jacqueline either A) ogles Dite being sunshine incarnate while Fiera ogles mister normal, or, B) doing something absolutely batshit with the Diteline kids (depending where in the timeline we are) and dodging Fins and Orc Friend sparring.

Suddenly Jack goes flying through a window, lands in a heap. Killian sticks his head out the broken window, laughing at Jack's pain.

Just another holiday at Frost Manor ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#long post #sorta #dani answers #definitelyy-not-a-vampire #ask box shenanigans #crystal springs #crystal springs FACTS #fino's orc friend #frost family #I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT THE BLORBOS AS YOU CAN SEE #AND DITELINE KIDS ARE THE DEFINITION OF 'SHENANIGANS'#Blaise has to relax in that scenario bc of either too much work related stress OR he got a magical sickness and needs to rest it off #but refuses to rest #so winter's like. HOUNDING HIM #the BLORBOS. I JUST. AH.#orc friend #kenothy

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believingispowerfulmagic · 2 years ago

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Beyond the Call of Duty

Summary: Season 1 AU. The night of the fire at Town Hall, Regina is treated by a dashing EMT named Robin Locksley. They have an immediate connection and Regina pursues it, going against everything she has been taught by her mother and Rumpelstiltskin. With Emma Swan threatening to end her curse, will Robin help Regina learn what a happy ending truly is?

Chapter 1: FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Chapter 13: A Plan Gone Awry

FFN | AO3 | Wattpad

Regina had to delay putting her plan into action. While Robin had made it through his surgery, it ended up only being the first of many. She feared the curse was slowly killing him and continued to pray for it to spare him as she sat by his bedside, kissing his hand as she watched his chest rise and fall. It assured her that he was still alive just as much as the steady beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals. But she vowed she would not eat the apple until she was certain that Robin was on the mend.

Then she would take herself out of the equation.

"Regina?" Tuck interrupted her thoughts as he entered Robin's room. "You have a visitor."

"A visitor?" she asked, her heart sinking. She doubted that was a good thing. "Who is it?"

He shrugged. "He's an odd-looking but young fellow."

Odd-looking but young? Regina frowned as she stood. "I'm not sure who that is but I'll go out and talk to him," she said.

"I'll stay with Robin," Tuck said. "Take all the time you need. Maybe get something to eat."

"I'll try," she said, knowing that Tuck would find a way to feed her anyway. He understood why she didn't have much of an appetite but reminded her that her body still needed food anyway.

Regina stepped outside of the room and turned down the hallway. As she approached the waiting room, her heart sank into her stomach. Dressed in his faded purple coat and elaborate black top hat, Jefferson stood there waiting for her. She wondered how he had escaped Wonderland after trapping him there to rescue her father and knew that his presence in Storybrooke likely wasn't a good thing.

"Hello, Regina," he said as if they saw each other every day.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, almost hissing at him.

His expression remained neutral. "Do you mean here in the hospital or here in Storybrooke?"

"Both," she replied.

"It took a while but I eventually found the right hat," he told her, answering one question. "And now I'm here for my daughter."

She nodded, not surprised by that answer. "And what do you think confronting me in the hospital will do?"

"Hopefully get me my daughter," he said.

"I can't help you now," she replied, feeling tired. The last thing she needed was to deal with Jefferson, even if it was her fault that he was separated from his daughter. Grace was safe and happy while Robin was unconscious and fighting for his life. She needed to focus on him more.

She started to walk away when he grabbed her arm, firmly holding her in place. "Don't walk away from me," he said.

"Let go of me," she hissed, panic filling her. She didn't think Jefferson would hurt her but she also knew the lengths a desperate parent would go to be reunited with their child. Regina couldn't rule anything out.

"Not until you promise me I'll get Grace," he said, his face so close she felt like she was going cross-eyed trying to look him in the eyes.

She swallowed before saying: "There's nothing I can do. But if you're patient, I believe you'll get what you want sooner rather than later."

"That's not a promise," he said. "I want you to promise me you'll do it."

"I can't," she replied, anguished. The only way he would get Grace back would be for the curse to break. And once she bit that apple, it would likely only be a matter of days before Emma figured out how to break it and did so.

And so Emma, not her, would reunite him with his daughter.

"You can't? he asked, almost snarling. "Or you won't?"

"Hey! Back off her," John said, his voice booming. She looked away from Jefferson to see him striding down the hallway toward them, glaring at the mam. "Let go of her or we're going to have a problem."

Jefferson released Regina's arm, stepping back. "I see you haven't changed. Still only caring about yourself and not worrying about whose life you destroy in the process. You'll regret this."

He stalked away, bumping against John's shoulder as he pushed past the burly man. John glared at him before turning back to Regina. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know," she answered, feeling numb.

"Who was that?" he asked. "And what was he talking about?"

She sighed, deciding how best to put what her relationship with Jefferson was. "He's someone I worked with several years ago and he believes I took something important from him. He wants me to return it."

"Do you know what happened to this thing?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I do," she replied. "But it's not in my power to return it."

He nodded. "But he's not accepting that, is he?"

She shook her head. "He is not."

"Do you think his threat was just empty words or do you think he could do something to hurt you?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she replied, a statement that pained her. She wanted to believe she had everything under control but the last few weeks have proven the opposite was true. "But I doubt there is much he can really do to me. My best friend thinks I'm the reason she got kidnapped, the DA wants to charge me despite a relatively weak case, there's a good chance I'm going to lose my son and my boyfriend is fighting for his life. What else could he possible do to hurt me?"

John sighed, pulling Regina into a hug. "I know Robin has suggested you go talk with Archie Hopper before and that it didn't go well…but maybe you should try again. You've had a lot happen and need help processing it."

She melted a bit into his hug, feeling tears in her eyes. "I don't really need help processing it. I know why this is happening. I'm just meant to be alone."

"Well, that's bullshit," he replied, leaning back. There was a serious but concerned look in his brown eyes. "Regina, I really think you might be depressed."

"Of course I'm depressed," she said, wishing she had the energy to laugh. "Wouldn't you be if you had to deal with all the shit I've had to the past few months?"

John shook his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I think deep down, you know that you're likely suffering from depression too."

"Great," she said, knowing deep down that John likely was right. "Just what I need. Another reason for Emma to use to keep Henry from me."

"Emma Swan is not going to keep your son from you," John said firmly. "And if she tries to use any possible mental health condition you have against you, she's going to become very unpopular very quickly."

Regina sighed, wishing she could believe him. "Thanks, John. But I have a feeling I'll become unpopular very quickly. It's how these things usually go for me."

John tilted his head. "Is this the dark place Robin has mentioned?"

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"Every so often he makes a mention of you tending to go to a dark place," he explained. "He then realizes what he said and stops but I think I now realize what he means."

A chill swept through her. "I didn't realize my mental state was conversation at the dinner table," she said.

"It's not," John replied, rushing to reassure her. "I'm sure you've realized by now that Robin is a nurturer by nature. It makes him a great EMT, a great father, a great friend, and a great man. He gets frustrated if he can't help someone to the extent he wants and when he gets frustrated, he talks to himself out loud. So he wasn't talking to me. He was just talking and I happened to be in the same room."

"Oh," she said, feeling better. She also felt a little spark of warmth knowing that Robin cared so much for her that he would try to figure out some way to help her.

Too bad nothing could help her.

She took a deep breath. "Well, while I appreciate the concern, John, now's not the time. I really don't have the energy to discuss any problems I may or may not have."

"Alright," he said slowly. "We can table it for now."

"Thank you," she replied, knowing that they would never go back to this conversation once she completed her plan and Emma broke the curse.

#once upon a time #outlaw queen #oq au #oq ff #first curse au #beyond verse #beyond the call of duty

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malvolios-yellow-stockings · 2 years ago

Text

Throwing my two cents and headcanons in here:

Especially with Surana - you get to become radicalized, in my opinion, in a very organic way.

My Warden grew up in the Circle, it’s the only thing he remembers, which is why questions about his family really upset him. They tug at something he’d rather not think about. There’s a feeling of I should know this, right? I should remember the people who brought me into this world? but he simply cannot recollect anything. How his family looked, what they were like. Nothing. The only place, and lack of a better word - home, he’s ever known is the Circle.

Now, he’d been one of the more talented children there, which did go to his head, and that meant he really had no incentive to think about his position or the position of mages in general. He surely didn’t see any problems with the Circle on an institutional level, more like a case of a few bad apples that need to be thrown away before they spoil the lot. Just follow the rules and you have nothing to fear etc. etc. Obviously, yes, you don’t get to see much of the outside world, but you’re dangerous. Magic is as much of a blessing as it is a curse. And all mages are inherently dangerous, especially the “unstable” ones.

On the other hand, the Circle did make him feel like an elf sometimes, but not enough for it to be more than a little grating. My Warden chalked it up to the other mages being jealous and close-minded. After all, he was favoured by some higher-ups so he must’ve been doing something not only right, but better than the rest.

And then the whole fiasco with Jowan happens and shakes it all up. For some reason, my Warden became friends with him. He thought about is sometimes - how? and came to believe it was a matter of the right place at the right time. And they became close. And then, this person he cares deeply about drops this plan in front of his feet, and Surana is absolutely certain Jowan’s a blood mage although he doesn’t want to believe it. So, he decides to rat Jowan out, spoil his plan. Now, it’s because everything Jowan plans goes amiss, I’m doing this to save his life is mostly what my Warden thinks. But there’s something else there. The anger he feels for not having told him about the Harrowing, for not taking his desperation seriously enough and for not realizing the threat of becoming Tranquil looms over the heads of many mages in the Circle. He’s going to use his good graces in the Circle to save Jowan’s life because it’s true, we all make mistakes. And he is positively certain that something considerably worse would’ve happened to Jowan had he not intervened. I mean, for Maker’s sake, it’s the Circle! You cannot hide anything here! It will eventually be found out. And everything goes as well as he’d expected. He intervenes to help Jowan, doesn’t help nearly as much as he’d hoped, because the stupid fuck is a blood mage. In a way, he hopes he never sees Jowan again because he’s angry, but in a way, he hopes he never sees Jowan again because he’s acutely aware of the fact that maybe, just maybe, Jowan was partially right, and maybe, just maybe, he could’ve helped him escape had they prepared better, and maybe he’d always help him, if he’d only ask. well, we all know how that please don't let me meet jowan again thing goes

After this, thinking about his own Harrowing and the Tranquil becomes painful. There’s something deeply rotten about the Circle, isn’t there? Jowan wasn’t born to be a blood mage, even Surana cannot believe in that, circumstances made it so. And this whole thing, with the Wardens, it might give him some much needed perspective.

The thing is, he knows he’s right. He bloody despises Isolationists, Lucrosians, Loyalists and Libertarians - almost equally. Loyalists basically being puppets and Chantry apologists. Libertarians, dreaming of breaking away from the Chantry, like they’re five years old. Aequitarians really do have the clear picture in mind, slow is gradual and peaceful, always.

He meets Morrigan. She inevitably pisses him off but there’s something enticing about her. Especially the whole apostate, hedge mage business. And sometimes, at night, he has to think about it - that maybe, although typically cruel in her wording, Morrigan had a point - the mages of the Circle simply allow themselves to be subjugated, accept their nature as inherently dangerous without second thought.

Outside the Circle, he’s always treated like an elf and this time, other elves aren’t treated badly because they’re lazy, untalented or any other reason (ahem excuse) he could think of. it’s because they’re elves. That is the entire reason. That cannot be right, now, can it?

For Surana, from the beginning onwards it’s just disillusionment after disillusionment. He thought he’d had the worst of it as an elf in the Circle - he was wrong. He thought apostates were all on the road to become vile abominations - he was supposedly wrong about that as well.

After Redcliffe and a short while with the Dalish (where he flirts with Dalish concepts of religion and their gods, plans to get a tattoo as well because returning to his roots and embracing them, particularly after the treatment he had gotten outside the Circle, feels right), he returns to the Circle and it is a mess. What have the mages done? What have the Templars done? What have the Templars done to the mages? And this really is the turning point.

Mages are not human - they're weapons and tools to be shaped and wielded, and, when no longer useful - to be cast away.

In the end, after meeting Wynne, he realizes there’s nothing to be gained from her ideology. That’s probably his final disillusionment. He reluctantly, slowly, and painfully thinks about what the Circle has taken away from him. How he had embraced their narrative with open hands. He got used to the treatment of the Circle and was fed with Chantry propaganda, practically nurtured, since he was a child.

The culmination of his status as an elf mage (in Origins) comes when he gets to ask Anora for Circle independence. He simply thinks that elves are guaranteed some rights in the future, surely, he’s helped not only Ferelden but Thedas, as have so many other elves, it has to happen because the alternative is unthinkable… and Ferelden cannot be that backwards thinking, right? So he chooses to ask for what are basically mage rights.

His status helps him choose Bhelen as well, hearing the rumours his rival spreads about him, his casteless lover and “anarchy” and anti-tradition he is supposedly bringing to Orzammar. Among many other things.

And that is why, when he meets Wynne again, in Awakening, he says this to her:

He has changed and truly believes this and he feels something brewing. There is no compromise and there is no peaceful solution. He, as a Warden and Hero of Ferelden (a title he greatly dislikes), and an elf mage, has tasted freedom. He just want that for everyone else now.

I think this is why I simply adore the Surana origin. Being an elf and a mage play so well together. It’s why a Surana romance with Morrigan is my canon.

Just look at the barren Wiki for Surana.

tl;dr - And elf mage Warden is a very specific concoction of oppression and in my personal headcanon the Warden really gets to understand the plight of elves when he gets out of the Circle, while his understanding of mage oppression works backwards - when he returns to the Circle during the Broken Circle quest. And I think that's really neat :)

Sometimes I remember that if you play Surana or Amell in Origins the origin (hehe) of the conflict that ultimately leads to the death of the Archdemon is... the First Enchanter of one of the most "liberally run" Circles in southern Thedas leaving out a bunch of books on blood magic with the explicit hope that young apprentices will pick them up and become blood mages so that they can be handed over to the Templars as maleficars. With your best friend falling for this trick explicitly because he's terrified that the Circle is going to magically lobotomize him against his will just because he's not particularly good at magic so he feels his only hope is to run away whatever the cost. That's the starting point for your character. And again, Kinloch Hold is supposed to be one of the most liberally run Circles. This is one of the good Circles. And then in Awakening we learn that Anders was kept in solitary confinement for a year just because he wanted to live outside the Circle, and you can comment that he's lucky they didn't just kill him outright. And I know I've said this twice already this post, but this is supposed to be a good Circle. This is nice. The mages at places like the Gallows would probably kill to be at Kinloch Hold. And your introduction to it is first you, a young adult (or possibly in your late teens; you are mentioned to be young for a Harrowing, and Harrowings generally seem to be done when the mage is quite young to begin with), being thrown to demons without warning as a standard test, and then when you wake up you learn that your best and possibly only friend is likely to be magically lobotomized for not being great at magic unless you help him escape. And between those things and during the latter you'll hear about fun things like apprentices disappearing into thin air (with no one questioning it because it's that normal) and the Templars watching the female apprentices bathe! And when you return it's to find out that when things went tits up the Templars, who are supposedly there for your protection, locked every surviving mage in Kinloch Hold in the demon infested part of the tower and are waiting for permission to murder everyone inside down to the youngest child. Ten bucks says that the Templars also in there would've been allowed to live.

I think it hits a lot harder just because you don't learn that Kinloch Hold is considered a liberal Circle until after it leaves the series, apparently for good, with the Templars planning to hang out outside the door until they get legal cover for murdering everyone inside. Like, you see all that and then after that you learn that that? That was the best a Circle mage could hope for. Just a few life-threatening tests you're not allowed to prepare for. Just a bit of entrapment by the person who's supposed to stand between you and the Templars. Only rumours that the Templars will watch you while you bathe rather than confirmed fact. And only a small chance that they'll murder you the moment they're given the opportunity. That's a good life for a Circle mage.

And then in DAI they genuinely expected us to buy that actually the Circles weren't that bad and the Circle mages are just so whiny for not knowing how to survive outside the cage they've been trapped in their whole lives and also wanting to kill a lot of their jailors. It's like the writers forgot that we've seen that even the best the Circles offered was still absolutely fucking horrific. And that that was a lot of players' first introduction to the series.

#oops sorry OP #I mostly added this for myself #a kind of exorcism really #dragon age #mages #mage rights #now that I think about I might just make this an actual post #my warden #surana warden #da headcanon #da textpost #I also profusely apologize to anyone who thought coherent thoughts were being written in my addition #I have so much more to write about and say but I had to stop myself

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