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twoidiotwriters1 · 7 months ago

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: And we're back to not having a break! -Danny Words: 1,945 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Young Love' -by Phillip Vo

XL: Please Say Sike Right Now

Everyone knew about Leo's curse by the next morning. Jason told Piper, Nico told Hazel because Hazel already knew half of it, and then Hazel told Frank because Leo knew about his curse anyway, so it was fair. At least they all had the decency to pretend not to know and treated Leo and her like usual, though they'd started to look at Leo like he'd predicted.

Ara's recovery is tough throughout the day. If she does things that take a lot of effort she feels something like a heart attack and has to sit down for a moment. Next time she runs into Eros, she'll snap his bow in half.

Things are changing, Nico isn't a sweetheart, but now they've been able to train together without any major fights. More so, they can sit and have a civil conversation without having to be half a mile from each other. Nico is polite when Ara asks what to expect from the House of Hades, and he makes a few suggestions for the best way to tackle the mission. Ara listens and together with Hazel, they make a solid plan.

Leo trains hard, but by the third day the weather gets too unpredictable to stay on the upper deck for long periods and he gets worried about Festus malfunctioning like he did during their first quest, so he takes the day to do a full check-up of the ship.

"So much for the big team meeting," he glares at the gray sky, they were supposed to be holding up a session to talk about their new plan, but there was much to be done. "Looks like it's just us again."

Ara can't help but stare while he works, removing the Archimedes sphere and turning off Festus. He gestures at her to get closer and she does, now he's ready to teach her how to use it, the problem is that she isn't paying attention at all. She is so in love there might as well be little 3D hearts floating around over her head while Leo points at the symbols around the sphere and talks nonstop about their functions.

All her life she'd been stressing over being the nice, adjustable girl so people wouldn't leave her, all to find out she'd never been the problem, she just had to find her people. Percy, Annabeth, Lily, Leo—heck, even Nico has proved to her that she's valued. Hercules's words don't sting as much now.

All these kids that are used to moving on and never staying in one place, keep coming back to her. Especially Leo Valdez, and man, she's crazy about him. She can now admit that with a smile on her face. "You're so cute," Ara blurts out, leaning against the control board with a smile on her face.

Leo looks back up at her, eyes slightly out of focus after being interrupted mid-sentence. To Ara's surprise, he frowns at her compliment. "You didn't hear a word of what I just said, did you?"

"I'm sorry," she grins and blushes, feeling like her old Aphrodite self for a moment. "I think I'm sick."

"Sick?" Leo touches her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm lovesick, Admiral," she continues with a silly smirk. "It has no cure."

The boy looks at her in amused defeat. "Who are you? My girlfriend doesn't flirt like this—she rolls her eyes and pretends to be annoyed at my bold moves until she gets tired and kisses me."

"I flirt!"

"No, you don't."

"I flirt all the time."

"This is genuinely the first time in seven months I hear you say something so wack," he laughs. "Sunshine, Eros did a number on you."

"I literally proposed to you like what, a week ago?"

"I proposed first! You can't flirt by reusing my moves!"

"Guys," Jason interrupts their banter. "Hate to interrupt your argument on who's the smoothest, but we want to know how long 'til we reach Epirus."

Leo has the answer at the ready, of course. "By tomorrow morning, we'll reach the western coast of Greece. Then another hour inland, and bang—House of Hades! I'ma get me the T-shirt!"

"Yay," Piper sighs.

"Pipes, can you tell your sister I'm the one with the rizz in the relationship?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Of course not," Ara nods solemnly. "Because it's a lie."

"Come back when you get a fanclub of nymphs," Leo snorts.

"I have a satyr fanclub," Ara shrugs.

"Satyrs are easy to charm, though—!"

"Guys," Piper interrupts them again. "I've been thinking about the Prophecy of Seven."

They share a look and then Leo turns to Piper. "What about it? Like... good stuff, I hope?"

"In Katoptris," the girl starts explaining, adjusting the cornucopia over her shoulder. "I keep seeing that giant Clytius—the guy who's wrapped in shadows. I know his weakness is fire, but in my visions, he snuffs out flames wherever he goes. Any kind of light just gets sucked into his cloud of darkness."

"Sounds like Nico," Leo jokes. "You think they're related?"

"Hey, man, cut Nico some slack," Jason scowls.

"He's joking," Ara intervenes, giving Jason a look that means 'drop it'. The point is to not bring attention to Nico, and if they try to protect him from random and harmless teasing it's going to look suspicious.

"Piper, what about this giant?" Jason makes a fleeting face of discomfort before looking back at his girlfriend. "What are you thinking?"

Leo and Piper share a look of confusion, not knowing why Ara and Jason suddenly seem slightly upset with each other, they usually get along just great.

"I keep thinking about fire," Piper continues. "How we expect Leo to beat this giant because he's..."

"Hot?" Leo smirks.

"Um, let's go with flammable," Piper raises a brow. "Anyway, that line from the prophecy bothers me: To storm or fire the world must fall."

"Yeah, we know all about it," Leo glances at Ara, but he doesn't say anything. "You're gonna say I'm fire. And Jason here is storm."

"So you're worried one of us will endanger the quest, maybe accidentally destroy the world?"

"No. I think we've been reading that line the wrong way. The world... the Earth. In Greek, the word for that would be..."

"Gaea." Jason tilts his head. "You mean, to storm or fire Gaea must fall?"

Leo tries to look cheery when she mentions it, once again giving Ara a look that it's meant to say 'I told you so'. "You know, I like your version a lot better. 'Cause if Gaea falls to me, Mr. Fire, that is absolutely copacetic."

"Or to me... storm." Jason kisses the girl's cheek. "Piper, that's brilliant! If you're right, this is great news. We just have to figure out which of us destroys Gaea."

"Maybe. But, see, it's storm or fire..." She draws out Katoptris and places it on the console.

Leo hooks his fingers on the waist of Ara's jeans, pulling her away from the blade. He scowls at it the same way Ara does all the time, neither Piper nor Jason notices, but Ara feels a warmth spreading on her chest at the boy's gesture. It's nonsense because the dagger on itself can't hurt her, but still, Leo trying to keep her away from the things that make her uncomfortable is sweet.

"I'm worried about Leo and this fight with Clytius," Piper continues. "That line in the prophecy makes it sound like only one of you can succeed. And if the storm or fire part is connected to the third line, an oath to keep with a final breath..."

Ara feels a weight dropping on her stomach at those words. An oath. She hadn't thought about it nearly as much as she should've.

"I think my prophecy overlaps with this," she confesses.

"Ara." Leo says warningly.

"No, listen—I'd forgotten that line," she tells him. "That doesn't sound good for us."

"Ara." The boy insists a little more sternly.

"Wait, what?" Jason frowns. "What do you mean? Your prophecy is about Leo's curse?"

"Yes."

"Guys, wait up," Leo stands between her and Jason to stop their exchange, still holding the Archimedes sphere in one hand. "Don't freak out yet."

"Yet? I've been freaking out a whole month!" She exclaims.

"Leo's right, Ara," Jason tries to reason. "We'll drive ourselves crazy overthinking it. You know how prophecies are. Heroes always get in trouble trying to thwart them."

"Yeah," Leo agrees ironically. "We'd hate to get in trouble. We've got it so good right now."

"You know what I mean," Jason insists. "The final breath line might not be connected to the storm and fire part or your prophecy. For all we know, the two of us aren't even storm and fire. Percy can raise hurricanes."

"And I could always set Coach Hedge on fire," Leo suggests. "Then he can be fire."

"I hope I'm wrong," Piper turns to her. "But the whole quest started with us finding Hera and waking that giant king Porphyrion. I have a feeling the war will end with us too. For better or worse."

"Hey," Jason comments, "personally, I like us."

"Agreed," Leo reaches for Ara's hand. "Us is my favorite people."

Ara squeezes Leo's hand and looks at Jason and Piper. She has a weird relationship with this trio, she's protective of them because they were their first quest as a guardian, like an older sister, even though she's the youngest of the group.

She remembers their time bonding inside a sewer, when they went to a cafe all dressed up for different parties, and their fight to free Hera. The first time Ara felt like a real hero, even if she was beaten, cold, and so scared and angry...

She wants to tell them about the prophecy but Leo is stopping her, knowing it's better to have a clear view of things before jumping to conclusions. She's spiraling and thinking Leo will die if he decides to take matters into his own hands, and he doesn't want her to push him out of this again.

The girl shivers just thinking about what would happen to her if Leo gets hurt again. Then she shivers again and realizes the temperature has drastically dropped. The smell of snow increases, the clouds are thickening above them, and the air... It doesn't matter how crazy the weather can be, there is no way a snowstorm is likely to happen in the middle of July, near the coast of Greece.

"Leo," Piper seems to have noticed something's up at the same time as Ara. "Sound the alarm."

Leo tenses and slams his fist on the button, then the charmspeak wears off and he frowns. "Uh, it's disconnected—Festus is shut down. Gimme a minute to get the system back online."

"We don't have a minute! Fires—we need vials of Greek fire. Jason, call the winds. Warm, southerly winds."

Ara looks for Almighty in her pocket and drags her Octopi bag from under the control board, looking for her flintlock. "Wait, what?" Jason watches them in confusion. "Girls, what's wrong?"

"It's her!" Piper seizes her dagger. "She's back! We have to—"

It happens too fast to understand it: The ship freezes in place and ice quickly covers every surface, Jason draws out his sword and he gets turned into an ice statue like Thalia all those months ago.

"Leo! Flames! Now!" Piper calls desperately.

Something tries to snatch the Archimedes sphere out of Leo's hand and he holds onto it tightly, getting lifted along with the object and he starts to struggle in the air. "Hey! Hey! Let me go!" Leo yells at the wind.

"No!" The moment Ara tries to move, her feet get frozen in place.

"Yes, Leo Valdez... I will let you go permanently."

The boy gets thrown out of the ship so violently that all Ara hears is a brief gasp before he's out of sight.

"Hi again, Arae Jackson. We didn't properly introduce last time, daughter of Olympus," Khione speaks to her. "And unfortunately, there is only enough time to kill you now."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez fanfic #doo #leo valdez x oc #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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majorbaby · 2 years ago

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Re: Your Retention Please MASH writers I am once again asking, have you even met Maxwell Q. Klinger?

Honestly, I think it’s a fair question because we see Klinger take on a lot of things that are cast off by other characters (gay banter with Hawkeye post-s3, being the dog one pets once Radar is gone, occasionally the buttmonkeyism that I enjoyed when it was Frank on the receiving end) or he’s molded to fit whatever agenda the show needs because while Klinger the character isn’t expendable, his characterization certainly is. This is how you end up with all of these late-seasons Klinger subplots and traits that either completely contradict everything we know about him or tbh, outright play into racial stereotypes. Like when he’s all of sudden really into money-making schemes, or the weird friendship he strikes up with his exploitative boss, or when he takes a lot of racist, classist abuse from other characters (usually from Charles and sometimes Potter, but everyone gets a turn) lying down. This is the man who got into a fist-fight with Frank and then afterwards came back with a grenade to blow him up after Frank told him he couldn’t wear his lucky scarf.

This disregard for his character is how you start off with Klinger in a dress*, gun-toting, back-talking, practically fire-breathing (and hella risk-taking, considering he is a Corporal) all over Majors Burns and Houlihan in the early years and end up at Your Retention Please.

*I’ve read that Klinger stopped wearing dresses at Jamie Farr’s request which, while I respect his reasoning for that, I still feel we the audience and Klinger the character deserved a mourning period and a damn good, in-universe reason for him to have suddenly flipped like that especially after we saw the effect wearing the uniform has on him in Change of Command.

Though he may not have the emotional weight that comes with being a drafted doctor forced to fix people up just to send them out to get hurt worse or possibly die, his belief in the utter uselessness of the army is indistinguishable from Hawkeye and Trapper’s (BJ too, but by the time he’s settled in, the army is in the crosshairs less and less and the Klinger character starts to waver) and anyway he’s affected by having been drafted in his own personal and no less tragic way.

I’m on board with the way the recruiter goes after Klinger. First off, he goes after everyone. Secondly, it’s a common recruiting tactic, to this day, to go after the disenfranchised, the destitute and the desperate, particularly when those traits intersect with race. So there’s some realism in how hard the recruiter goes after Klinger - however, while I know that, these writers likely do not. There’s no race awareness going on. Par for the course.

And let’s talk about that scene with the recruiter for a moment: the slow music that sounds to me just the slightest bit sleazy. The way the recruiter doesn’t just offer a drink, he takes the empty glass from Klinger and places a full one in his hand and then he puts his arm around Klinger and leads him to sit down. The repeated closeups: the recruiter’s smile showing off his yellowed or missing teeth (nothing wrong with having imperfect teeth and idk if it was intentional, but it’s a common physical trait for a villain) and Klinger’s clearly zonked out expression. Klinger says, “You’re right... who are you.” and the recruiter responds again by being overly familiar, saying they’re buddies and that the army is his friend and family. Like if nothing else, I’ll give them this - there were numerous ways for us to read that this guy is a predator. It was appropriately unsettling, but my praise ends there.

Maybe I could buy that Klinger might drunkenly agree to sign up Nope. I started typing it out and I got midway before I decided I would finish and then cross it out for dramatic effect.

The writers forgot who main-cast member Klinger is yet I’m supposed to remember who Laverne is and believe that Klinger is so broken up about her leaving him after she’s already left him (3 seasons ago! hello???) that he decides to do something as drastic as signing up for the army, whether he’s drunk as a skunk or stone cold sober? I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it anymore than I would if it were Hawkeye in that position, but they figured it was easy enough to do such a thing to Klinger. I think he (Klinger) gets this plot because it can’t be given to Hawkeye, BJ or Charles, which is funny because one of those three flew off the handle when his wife got a job, so if there’s anyone I could see doing something very drastic (though, tbf, even then not as drastic as re-enlisting) if his wife were to leave him, it’s not Klinger.

Klinger wants to go home but he’s not overly specific about why. He doesn’t have the same attachment to Laverne as BJ does to Peg - he’s not cheating on Laverne but he says about as much about her as Trapper does about Louise. In addition to wanting to be home, I think Klinger, like Hawkeye, is philosophically opposed to war.

He has that very touching scene in War of Nerves where he’s actually given space to tell us why he doesn’t want to be in the army - and it’s way more essential than just ‘I want to go home’ - he does want to go home, but he also doesn’t want to be given orders to do something that would violate his beliefs and he works tirelessly to try to avoid that fate.

In his dresses for 7 years, he’s a walking a protest, or as Sidney aptly puts it, “a monument to hope in size 12 pumps”. He does not believe in the mission of the army, opposes its authority over him and how powerless it renders him as people die around him - who does that remind you of? If you had to call any other character “a monument to hope”?

The other characters on the show are to different degrees opposed to war, with the exception of Frank but consider their reasoning - Margaret and Potter find the army fulfilling but are morally opposed to war, Charles is opposed to his life having been interrupted by the draft, BJ shows a great deal of compassion towards the wounded but his resentment towards the army also comes from how he’s been taken from his family (not a dig at BJ, completely valid for him to feel that way, it’s just different from what Hawkeye feels) and finally Hawkeye is opposed to the army I suspect long before he’s drafted and remains that way long after he goes home.

Getting back to Your Retention Please, I have to pass on setting up Potter and Hawkeye to “rescue” Klinger from his bad decision. Hawkeye I’ll let slide - I have my reservations about the white saviour-y undertones but I’m more fine with Hawkeye being the (white) saviour here than I am with Potter, the regular army guy, getting to be the hero and undermining the anti-military message.

And finally, i can’t accept this at all because we already have an in-character example of Klinger’s reaction to Laverne actually leaving him in Mail Call 3 - he deserts. He returns, blessedly not because he wants to ‘do the right thing’, but rather because he doesn’t want to be a fugitive. The icing on the cake is him declaring that when he does leave the army it’ll be the honourable way, via Section 8 - that’s Klinger!

Have you ever been upset that Larry Gelbart trolling-ly suggested that Hawkeye would become a right winger post-war? That’s how I feel about this episode and the difference is it actually happened, they really did that to Klinger. He deserved better.

#long post #mash #race on mash #max klinger #klinger meta #majorbaby.txt

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mary-queen-of-longbeach · 2 years ago

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Profile: Mauretania

Energetic. Optimistic. Competitive. Strong-Willed.

Mauretania is well-known for her cheerful, energetic personality. She’s outgoing and exuberant, with a tendency to playfully tease and bicker with her friends and sister, and she believes that since life is fleeting she should enjoy it while she can. It’s a belief she takes very seriously, a lesson learned from four long years of grief and fear during the First World War. She’s made that outlook a part of her, but its significance pales in comparison to what is perhaps the most important aspect of her identity: her speed. Mauretania was built to be a greyhound capable of crossing the Atlantic at an unprecedented pace, and indeed she remained the fastest liner for twenty-two years; in fact, the Blue Riband is her proudest achievement, and she was devastated when her speed record was broken in 1929.

Type: Ocean Liner

Class: Lusitania

Hull/Yard Number: 735

Launch Day: 9/20/1906

Country: United Kingdom

Company: Cunard (later Cunard-White Star)

Other Names: Tuberose

Language: English

Accent: Geordie

Voice Tone: High and clear, bright, full of emotion, usually talks very fast

Height: 6’0” / 72in / 183cm

Hair Colors: White, red, black

Eye Color: Red-orange

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Skills/Abilities: High speed, energy, optimism, ability to run in heels without hindrance, witty banter, fast reflexes

Likes: Running, being in motion, stargazing, playful teasing and bickering, practical jokes, racing, dancing, jazz and swing music, breaking records, life in general

Dislikes: Sitting still, submarines, cruises (as opposed to transatlantic crossings), war, Liverpool (kind of)

Trivia:

As a ship, Mauretania would sometimes steer herself ever-so-slightly off to one side during rough weather so her bow would plunge into the trough of the nearest large wave, sending a spray of seawater up to splash her crew. As a human, she has to find other ways to pull pranks on her loved ones - all in good fun, of course.

She likes to believe that stars are the lights of lost ships, sailing forever in the sky. This helped her cope with the loss of her sister during the war.

She loves swing music, but really, any tune is enough for her to want to dance.

One of her biggest pet peeves is people spelling her name with an I instead of an E. Other misspellings are less annoying to her, as long as they at least remember the E.

Selected Songs:

Frank Sinatra - I’m Gonna Live Till I Die

Celtica Pipes Rock! - Full Steam Ahead

Fergie feat. Q-Tip and GoonRock - A Little Party Never Killed Nobody (All We Got)

#humanization #humanized ship #ocean liner #rms mauretania (1906)#rms mauretania #character profile #ship profile #character design #boat lore

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thegcng-arch · 10 months ago

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oh shit, something from the top shelf? i can't help but laugh at the implication that we don't even have top shelf stuff. normally i'd be offended by a statement like that but he's got a point. "'course we gotta top shelf, man. come on." i tease back, following my words up with a roll of my eyes. i turn around and reach up, grabbing the bottle of twelve year macallan that was tucked away. always reserved for special occasions or when someone stuffy decided to walk into paddy's. i grab two glasses, raising a brow. "you want some?" i ask as i pour a bit in a glass for myself, raising it and taking a sip. good shit. if frank saw me drinking this he'd flip out. "y'know ... usually hate when rich fucks wander in here." alright, i guess i can't help myself from meeting his sharp tone with a bit of banter myself. "but you're not too bad man."

The chuckle helps settle Jeryd a little. It always took a bit of time to adjust to time outside of the job and that entire landscape but in a shit-hole bar it was easier to do. Easier than the more established places he’d been. “If it works out in my favour then I’m fine with it.” Afterall, he was a politician and everyone in his line of work had that mentality even if they didn’t admit it. “Fuck it. Have one of the top shelf drinks on me.” He grins and knows his tone is going to be sharp, taunting almost. “If you have top shelf stuff.”

#jmencken #jmencken ft. dennis.#dennis / interactions.#dennis / main verse.#alcohol tw

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thistreasurehunter · 4 years ago

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Class is in Session: sneak peak under the cut...

[...] Pope’s expression had morphed from quiet agreement to mild shock, but when JJ started singing, he couldn’t help barking out a laugh. “JJ!”

JJ shuffled. “Sorry. I agree with you that we shouldn’t make anyone feel bad, I just wanted to make sure we weren’t going to veto all poop jokes forever. That would be such a shame.”

“JJ?” Pope said, looking at him a little incredulously.

“What?” JJ gazed back, face open. “Well, are we?” [...]

#jjpope smut #mayward smut #still a WIP #but just to give you an idea of the ~tone~ of this fic #halfway between a sex ed class and a TED Talk #with their usual frank banter of course #there might be some smut in there somewhere #eventually #these boys #*eye roll*

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buckyhoney · 3 years ago

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𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i can't tell you how much i love this fic, it's up there in my favorite i've ever written. im obsessed with it and proud of it, so hopefully you guys like it too! please let me know your thoughts <3

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: frank castle x reader

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, drinking (but nobody is drunk, except david), unprotected sex, fingering, a hefty makeout-ish session, mutual pining?, light body worship, frank kisses you while you fuck, sorry for any missed typos!

You asked yourself how you ended up in this situation a million times.

You questioned how you started working on this case with David. You questioned how you ended up helping David track down and convince Frank to help him.

You questioned how you ended up playing nurse to the man who could never seem to come back with minor injuries- and you questioned how you ended up in a room with an empty bottle of tequila, a very drunk David, and a very quiet Frank.

David had started drinking when he sent Frank to check on Sarah and the kids. When he got there and fixed the cameras, Sarah misread the situation ending in kissing Frank- and David witnessing the whole thing on the monitor.

Of course, you were in no position to be telling him how to cope with seeing his wife kiss another man (internal or not)- so all you did was provide the alcohol and glasses.

It’s been weeks since you had a break, and now is an as good time as any to- unwind a bit. Finding the names of anyone involved with the tape was more difficult than any of you thought, especially when going to Homeland was not an option- and you’re working as ghosts.

When Frank returned, David was on his fourth glass of tequila with his head lying on the desk while the screenshot of the kiss was blown up on his screen. Even though you encouraged the drinking, you still wanted to be sober enough to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid- so you tapped out after your second glass and started drinking water.

“Jesus,” Frank sighs, walking up to the computer and seeing the screen- and half-empty tequila bottle.

“I guess he saw?” You nod, handing him the empty glass.

Frank takes the glass, tossing his jacket on the desk behind him.

“This is how we’re handling this?” You nod again, pouring the liquid into the cup.

Frank exhales and takes a sip. David lifts his head to see Frank, unsure what to say. All he does is shrug and walks over to his makeshift bedroom, and the two of you follow him.

The next hour is spent letting David talk about wherever his drunken state wanted. Frank would laugh occasionally and refill his glass. Frank held his alcohol well and stopped after only a few glasses. You remained with your water but egged on the banter between each other.

Frank laid back in the chair, resting his head against the wall and his hands in his lap. It was the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you’ve met him. It has only been three weeks- almost four. Frank didn’t really acknowledge you for the first few days until he came in bleeding from the four-inch gash on his arm and needed to be stitched up.

It seemed like a good idea not to piss off the only one who could properly clean and dress wounds.

After that night, you got more comfortable with each other. Mutual respect, you guessed.

You usually settled the arguments between the two men, helped keep the peace within the compound, and left to get supplies and groceries- since you were the only one who wasn’t supposed to be dead.

Even if he won’t admit it to you, Frank enjoyed your company. Just being around you helped settle the restlessness that plagued him most nights. Neither of you slept well and were up all hours of the night. Those nights both of you ended up eating in the kitchen while Frank let you talk about whatever.

There was a night that looked much like this one, except David was already sleeping on the other side of the compound. The bottle of whiskey was almost empty, and you bounced back and forth from exchanging stories from your lives before.

“Frank, do you miss sex?” The question was sobering to you, and you haven’t even been drinking.

“What?” He chuckles, waving off the unexpected question.

One that the longer you think about, the more you become curious. This was one subject that neither of you touched on your nightly kitchen conversations.

“Because I miss sex- do you miss sex?” David then points at me, making you shift in your seat.

If you were being honest, it had been months. One-night stands weren’t really your deal, and finding someone who understands your line of work wasn’t always easy- and getting yourself off was very difficult, considering your new home. There was very little privacy, and you weren’t going to leave it up to chance.

Frank’s ears and eyes perk up, but you shrug.

“Sometimes,” Frank adjusts in his seat, eyes locking with yours.

The real answer was yes- very, very much.

“I definitely miss sex- I miss sex with my wife,” He starts, reminding Frank about earlier today.

“- because I’m hung like a moose- I am!” David informs us with a small hiccup while he downs the rest of his glass.

You and Frank crack a smile and still looking at each other. The tequila was really taking over, you thought.

“You didn’t answer my question, Frank- do you miss sex?” The eye contact between you doesn’t break.

He takes a deep breath,

“Sometimes.” You inhale sharply, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, shifting your eyes over at David.

David laughs and claps his hands.

“That’s it! You need to get laid! Maybe that’ll get the stick out of your ass!” Frank clears his throat while you hide your faint smile behind your cup.

“I think it’s time for bed.” You stand up, taking the bottle from his hands.

Frank leaves with the glasses to the kitchen while you help David into his cot. He flops onto the cheap frame and groans something incoherently. Taking his robe and hanging over the back of the chair, you take a deep breath. You walk to your corner of the compound, changing into something more comfortable than your jeans and pulling your hair away from your face.

Frank clenched his jaw and began to wash the dishes in the sink, letting his thoughts run wild. He placed the wet dishes onto the drying rack and wiped away all the things racing through his mind.

“Need help?” You ask, walking into the kitchen.

“I’m done, actually,” Frank puts the last dish on the rack and cleans up the slipped water from the counters.

Hoping on the counter, you reach over and grab the back of chips and the bottle of tequila. Unscrewing the cap and taking a small swig, you hold it out for Frank. He hesitates but gives in. He leans against the counter in front of you, chuckling.

“He might be right,” You tease, bringing the handful of crushed chips to your mouth.

Frank cracks a smile, shaking his head.

“Get laid, and you’ll be as good as new,” Chuckling, your eyes meet again.

“Yeah? How you suppose I do that?” His voice turns raspy as the tequila slides down his throat.

You shrug, chewing on another handful of chips. Frank’s eyes fall down your body and back up to your eyes. A chill crawls up your spine, sending goosebumps over your arms and back. Frank’s mouth parts to say something, but nothing comes out.

You’re not wearing anything particularly sexy unless you counted sweat pants, socks, and an oversized t-shirt sexy- which Frank did.

You dust off the crumbs from your hands and hold onto the edge of the counter. It falls silent. All you can hear are the strain of the air conditioner and the hums from the computer monitors.

Frank shifts, standing upright and setting the bottle next to him.

Your heart begins to speed up when he takes a step forward. He swallows and takes another step between your legs. Neither of you has made a sound, too scared that any sudden change would bring whatever this was to a crashing hault. He towered over you; even on the counter, his body made you feel small.

Frank slides fingers onto the cool metal, barely grazing yours. You held your breath when your eyes flickered down to your hands and back up to Frank. He runs them over your fingers- they’re calloused and cover yours with ease.

His skin burned against yours while he began to play with them. He was studying your face and all its little details- wondering where you got the little scar right above your eyebrow and finally noticing how beautiful the color of your eyes are. His other fingers interlock with yours- now both fingers are tangled with his.

Nerves begin to settle in the pit of your stomach, unaware of his next move- but pleading that somehow his lips would find yours.

His eyes fell to your lips.

Frank wanted to know what they tasted like, how soft they were, and if you tasted like the vanilla chapstick that he always saw you putting on. Taking another step forward, he closed the rest of the gap between you.

You’ve never been this close, even with all the times you’ve stitched him up, never like this.

Hesitantly, Frank parts his lips, tilting his head slowly to the left. You inhale softly before tilting yours to the right. Your lips brush against each other before he teasingly pulls back.

Leaning forward, you close the gap. Frank parts his lips enough for you to melt into him. It’s soft, lazy, and still unsure. He toys with your fingers before you shake free and cup the sides of his face. Frank places his hands on your lower back.

The stubble tickled your palms, and you sighed into the kiss. Your fingers traveled to the back of his neck, racking through his hair. Frank wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you as close as possible. He holds you with so much care and so gently.

“Sarah’s a lucky girl,” You mumbled against his lips, chuckling.

Unable to hold back his laughs, he pulls away- the joke catching him off guard. Frank’s resting his forehead against yours with his hands still settled on your back. They creep under the hem of your shirt, feeling your cool skin against the palms of his hands. His thumb rubs the skin softly, easing your ever-growing heart rate.

Your hands find his jaw again, guiding him back to your lips.

This time you’re more comfortable, and the kiss is effortless. You wouldn’t have guessed that such a rough and brooding man would have such a gentle touch when it came to intimacy. He slides your shirt up your back but stops halfway up when he doesn’t feel a bra. Breaking apart from the kiss, he glances at your eyes for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” You whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth.

His hands feel unsteady, and he swallows the lump in his throat, before sliding it up the rest of your body and over your head. The shirt is discarded next to the bag of chips. The cold air hardens your nipples instantly, and Frank inhales sharply.

Your breasts hung perfectly on your chest. Frank looks down, caressing the side of your breast. Shivers go down your spine when his thumb rolls over your nipple. Taking your breast in his hand, he massages and kneads them.

His lips fall back to yours while your hands now tug on the hem of his shirt. Frank pulls it over his head and drops it beside him on the ground. The fresh marks and scars decorate his chest and abdomen.

Glancing down, you admire your handy work and trace the newest one. You had taken the stitches out a few days ago.

“It’s healing nicely,” He chuckles, tilting your chin upward and drawing your eyes back to him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you attach your lips to his neck while your pelvis is brought towards his. His growing bulge presses against you, causing you to moan into his mouth softly. Frank drops his hand to your waistband, sliding inside and pulling them down. Lifting upward, Frank is able to slip them off your legs.

No panties either; it was like you were trying to kill him.

Sitting up straighter, you arch your back feeling his fingers slide further down- brushing over your clit.

You were embarrassed to admit how wet you already were. Before he even kissed you, the faint heartbeat started between your thighs. He exhaled when he slipped between your folds, arousal coating his fingers.

“Shit,” Frank murmurs.

Adjusting your body, you lean back just enough for Frank to have better access to your aching cunt. Slipping two fingers inside you, you moan against his mouth, gripping his shoulder. Neither of you was worried about waking David (especially with the quantity of alcohol he consumed), but it was better to stay on the side of caution.

“We have to try and stay quiet, okay?” He steadied his pace inside you; you nodded, biting back a moan.

He had to keep himself from moaning- watching your eyes flutter open and closed- he was completely mesmerized. You dug your nails into his shoulder, your mouth opening to make a sound, but nothing came out.

Frank leans down and peppers light kisses on your jaw and shoulder. He wished that you could be on a proper bed, but without anything big enough to fit both of your bodies- this was as good as it was going to get.

Your walls clenched around his fingers, and you rolled your hips into his hand, adding more pleasure. Frank sighed into your neck while he fluttered his fingers inside you, making your head fall back against the cabinet.

“Please- Frank, faster-” You were edging closer and closer to your orgasm, and you wanted to cry out, but you refrained- which seemed to push you even closer to it.

Picking up his pace, you tried to muffle the moan against his neck but failed. Frank wanted to tell you to keep it down, but he wanted to hear you. At this point, he didn’t care about being loud; he just wanted to make you moan even louder.

Frank nudged you to look at him; your eyes met once you got the hint. This time his eyes are flooded with lust and passion, letting you know he wants you to cum all over his fingers. Your mouth opens, and your face scrunches, pure euphoria falls over you, and the wave of pleasure crashes into you. Frank melts at the sight of your body tensing and relaxing.

“There you go, fuck- that’s it,” He groans when he feels your walls pulsating around him.

Frank cups your cunt, calming your body down from your high. When you’re brought back down, Frank brings his fingers to his lips. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted to taste your sweet arousal. The sight of him tasting your arousal was enough to make your cunt flutter and your breath hitch.

“Frank, m’want you inside me- m’want to feel you- please,” Your breaths are short, and your words fall out needier than you wanted.

Frank cuts you off but attaches his lips to yours. You’re crawling at his jeans. He chuckles, unbuttoning and shivering them down enough for you to pull himself out. Sighing, you wrap your fingers around him- whining, you slowly stroke him. Precum dripped from his head, coating your hand. Frank thrusts forward, relieving some of the pleasure.

“Baby, please, don’t tease me,” He sighs, catching your wrists.

Smiling up at him, you scoot forward, allowing him to position himself at your entrance. You feel his cock twitch while he slides himself inside you.

“Oh fuck-” You whimper.

Grabbing his hips, you use them to steady yourself while he pushes himself in. Frank uses the cabinet above you to keep himself up. He curses under his breath when he pushes the last bit inside you. Staying like that for a moment, you jerk your hips into him- desperately needing him to move.

With one hand on the cabinet, the other cups your jaw, and his lips attach to yours once more. Frank picks up the pace while your legs wrap around his waist. Ignoring the volume rule, you’re both grunting and whimpering against each other's mouths. Your bodies are hot, and sweat glistens over Frank’s chest.

Neither of you expected your night to end up like this, but neither of you regrets it. Frank’s cock twitches inside you while you clench around him with each thrust. His rhythm gets faster, and soon you are practically off the counter.

Incoherent sounds flow past your lips, and you’re holding onto his shoulders with all your strength.

“Frank, baby, I’m so close-” You choke out, your voice- strained.

Frank nods, continuing to ram into you. Your walls pulse faster around him, and your body feels weak. Pure bliss washes over you, overwhelming your body. Frank curses when you clench around him, feeling your body sink into him. Pleasure shoots through you, sweat beads in your hair, and glistens on your chest.

“Holy shit-” A shiver shoots up your body.

Frank’s thrusts fall inconsistent- he grunts with the final thrusts before cum spills inside you. You whimper with the last buck of his hips. Trying to steady his breathing, Frank’s forehead rests on the base of your neck.

You stay like this for what feels like forever. The only thing you can hear is the sound of panting and Frank blindly finding the drawer of towels.

“Are you alright?” He whispers, kissing your forehead.

You nod, squirming at the feeling of the towel cleaning up your thighs and cunt.

“Good,” Frank takes the towel, folds it carelessly, and places it next to you.

He slips back between your legs, fingers interlocking with yours. There is a moment of silence while you both study each other's faces, trying to figure out what the other is thinking.

You asked yourself how you ended up in this situation a million times.

You questioned how you started working on this case with David. You questioned how you ended up helping David track down and convince Frank to help him.

You questioned how you ended up playing nurse to a man who could never seem to come back with minor injuries- and you questioned how you ended up in a room with an empty bottle of tequila and with the same man naked next to you.

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mickey-henry · 3 years ago

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𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

pairing: bucky barnes (bookstore au) x reader

summary: eager to escape the heat, you find yourself in the presence of a mesmerizing bookstore and an irresistibly beautiful man.

word count: 2.3K

author’s note: hello! welcome to my third fic😊 I’m eager to share this with you all! I now have a taglist (the link is also in my bio) if you’re interested🥰 thank you to @certainaesthetic for helping me workshop this idea, @fuckandfluff for the grammar help, and @midnightf for hyping me up as I wrote it! likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! the header images are from pinterest and the divider is from here. I hope you like it! 💖

You’re desperate to escape the smoldering heat. It’s too hot to rest in the car; it’s been baking all day beneath the sweltering summer sun, parked just outside your place of work. If you attempt to sit in it now, you’d only be greeted with a wave of torrid air, stung with the touch of your seatbelt, and burnt from the searing leather of your steering wheel.

You’re off from work earlier than usual—the blinding sun is usually long beneath the horizon before you head home for the day. The pathetically small sun visor does nothing to shade your eyes from the blazing sunlight. Rather than driving half-blind, you decide to wait out the setting sun.

As you ponder how to spend the rest of your afternoon, you realize that now is an opportune time to visit the new bookstore, The Book Haven, that opened last month. After changing out of your uniform and throwing your work stuff in the trunk, you walk across the plaza to the shop entrance.

The bookstore greets you with the chime of a bell and a rush of cool air as you step in, a blissful contrast to the scorching outdoors. The welcoming scent of coffee grounds and the tangy aroma of old books accompany the refreshing breeze. You take a deep breath, appreciating the convivial atmosphere. The bookstore is a sublime sight; words almost can’t describe its charm.

Shelves like skyscrapers—stuffed to the brim with books, magazines, and comics—graze the ceiling. An intimate reading nook lies next to the door; an inviting window seat dwells beside a floor-to-ceiling window. Clear mosaic window clings cover the glass, casting beautiful rainbows throughout the store. Stringed vintage light bulbs illuminate the shelves; candle-lit sconces adorn the top corners of each one. Oriental rugs lay between the shelves, covering a dark mocha floor. Tucked in the back of the store is a small coffee cranny, hidden at first glance. Frank Sinatra’s charming, rich vocals travel through the air, tickling your ears. The owner clearly put the utmost time, energy, and love into the creation of their shop. It is unequivocally perfect and already one of your favorite places.

You wander to the classics section, enthralled by the exquisite covers. Sensing someone nearby, your eyes glance at movement caught in the corner of your eye. Your stomach somersaults at the stunning stranger. The instant you lay your eyes on him, you forget to breathe for a moment—your breath engulfs your throat. You’re astounded by the Adonis of a man before you.

Bristles of scruff grace his defined jawline—his low man-bun neatly styles his dark chestnut hair. A grey short-sleeve button-up shirt hugs his toned arms; a white tank top clings to his lean, fit frame; cuffed slim-fit khaki pants, help up by a bronze braided belt, embrace his thick thighs; and weathered, chunky brown leather shoes don his feet.

Through the rose-colored glasses that surround your heart, your soul imagines a life with a perfect stranger. The hopeless romantic in you can’t help but steal glances, hoping to catch a better glimpse of him. The moment he turns to walk away, your heart sinks to your stomach. You hope this isn’t the last time you see this gorgeous man.

A few minutes later, you’re mulling over a collectible edition of The Catcher in the Rye, attempting to justify purchasing yet another copy of your favorite book. A melodic voice interrupts your pondering. “That’s a pretty edition of The Catcher in the Rye you’ve got there.”

You turn towards the charming voice. Lo-and-behold, it’s the love of your life: the handsome stranger you’ve mentally lived a lifetime with. His beauty is even more profound up close: now you can see that his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. His eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, draw you in, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. You find yourself entranced in his sea-blue current; you could easily drown in his gaze. You attempt to hide your awestruck expression and converse with him like a normal human being. “I agree! I already own a copy though, do I really need a new one?”

“I think we both know the answer is always yes,” he assures.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I'll get it! Thank you for justifying my unnecessary purchase.”

Your words hang in the air, everything going quiet as you wait for the ravishing stranger to introduce himself. The two of you stare in silence at each other, the tension thickening as the seconds pass by. After a few moments, his face flashes in realization—you were waiting for his name.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers with an enchanting smile, extending his hand out to you. You share your name as the two of you shake hands. Your eyes stare down his veiny arm to his ring-studded fingers grasped around yours. You allow yourself to imagine for a few moments how amazing those fingers would feel tracing your arms, tangling your hair, and teasing your inner thigh. Your lustful reverie comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of the book nestled inside the crook of his elbow: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, the bane of your existence. You scoff with furrowed brows; of course, Mr. Handsome Stranger would be interested in the one book you despise.

“Got something to say there, sweetheart?” he questions with an amused grin.

“Out of all the classic novels in this entire store, that’s the one you chose? The Metamorphosis?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he jives.

You pause for a second, debating whether it’s worth it to argue with a stranger. The pondering lasts only a few seconds; the exhaustion from your day disintegrates your filter. Besides, you loathe The Metamorphosis.

“What isn’t wrong with it? The dude wakes up thinking he’s an insect? The reader has to sit there throughout the entire book, wondering whether he’s a man or a bug? What the actual fuck? I didn’t appreciate the existential crisis that book gave me at fifteen; if I can help someone else avoid the suffering caused by that monstrosity, I'm going to do my part,” you huff, unamused by the joy Bucky seems to gain from your zealous analysis.

“Wow, what a passionate review! Perez Hilton would be envious of your slander. Okay then, what classic would you recommend instead?”

You cross your arms, expecting him to challenge your response. “The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde.”

“That’s a play,” he counters.

“It’s published as a book; it counts! It’s witty, playful, and has a happy ending, which is the most important point of all. It also doesn’t make you want to pull a Fahrenheit 451 and burn every copy in existence,” you attest.

He steps closer to you, tucking loose strands of his hair behind his ear. “Life doesn’t always have a happy ending, sweetheart.”

Great, there he goes again with that freaking pet name; it’s going to be the death of you. He knows your name, you just gave it to him, yet here he is, infuriatingly insisting on calling you sweetheart instead. Stupid pretty boy with his ocean blue eyes and amorous smile.

“That’s exactly the point,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So, why would I want to read something that doesn’t end well? If I’m going to escape this reality for a while, it better be for a happier one.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then I’ll throw the book across the room and make up my own happy ending!”

“Ooh, aggressive,” he tuts. “The owner of this place might not be too happy with you if you’re throwing books all over the place; it’ll scare away the customers.”

“Then it’s a good thing the owner isn’t here,” you interject confidently, knowing full well you have no idea who the owner is.

“Well, that just isn’t true, sweetheart. You’re looking right at him.”

He’s lying—he has to be. Why would a dreamboat like Bucky own a bookstore?

You scoff, “you’re not the owner of this place.”

“I’m not? What makes you say that?” he banters.

“People like you don’t own bookstores!” you exclaim.

“People like me?” he goads, cocking his head to the side. The action erupts butterflies in your stomach.

“Attractive people!” you groan.

“So you think I’m attractive?” he plays, stepping to close the gap between you.

“Psh, no, you wish,” you muster. The heat spreading across your cheeks betrays your bluff.

There are mere inches between the both of you now; you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat. You watch his eyes go down from yours to your mouth and back up again. He eyes you with a smirk, his teeth playfully tugging his bottom lip. It takes everything in your power not to give in to his spell.

“I’ve known you for what, five minutes? I don’t go around kissing strangers, Bucky,” you falter, taking a step back from his closeness.

“Then let’s not be strangers, sweetheart. Grab a coffee with me; I know a nice place, not far from here,” he flirts, gesturing to the counter at the back of the store.

“Let me learn more about what goes on in that pretty little head of yours,” he purrs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“Okay, fine. I’ll have a coffee with you,” you surrender.

A bright, honeyed smile dons his face.

“It better be good, though. Not the stale crap you usually get in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I’d only give you the best, sweetheart,” he winks, extending his right hand. You take it; he gives you a soft squeeze before weaving you through the towering shelves.

Your discussion continues with another passionate book review as he prepares your drink. He’s a sucker for gritty dystopian novels while you gravitate towards sappy romances. He shares his passion for painting as he guides you to the reading nook. The artwork hung on the edges of the bookcases is crafted by him—a detail you hadn’t noticed at first glance. His stunning work features both landscapes and people. He loves to sit in a picturesque landscape and paint for endless hours. Occasionally, he takes his old polaroid as he explores the town, snapping moments between strangers, translating their intimacy to canvas when he gets home.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the reading nook before handing you our steaming cup of joe. You sit with your legs crossed, your hands hugging the mug in your lap. Bucky sits with his leg draped over the side of the bench, his left foot pressing into his right thigh. The conversation shifts topics; the two of you divulge your desires and unfulfilled ambitions. You aren’t sure if it’s the look in his eyes, the sweet cup of joe in your palms, or the aroma of coffee surrounding you, but in his presence, your senses feel wide awake.

Before you know it, the mesmeric moon replaces the sizzling sun, melting away the blistering heat, and the steaming cup of coffee in your hands has long chilled. Bucky’s employee interrupts the blissful rendezvous, informing him that all the closing duties are complete, and he’s headed home for the night.

You stare at your watch in shock—it's five past nine. Where did the time go? You apologize profusely to the poor kid who had to close up alone; he assures you it’s no problem.

A melancholic pit in your stomach forms as you turn back to Bucky. He’s nestled himself into your soul; you don’t want to say farewell to him so soon. He has a sad glint in his eyes; you hope it’s because he’s also dreading the end of this perfect night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks timidly, his earlier suave demeanor gone from his voice. He stands up in front of you, offering his arm to escort you.

“I’d love that,” you reply with a shy grin, grabbing his arm and hugging it tightly.

In the blink of an eye, you’re in front of your car. You let go of his arm and lean against the trunk. You stare into his eyes, hoping that he can see without the use of words how much you don’t want this moment to end. There’s a few moments of painful silence before Bucky clears his throat.

“So, now that we’re not total strangers, how about that kiss?” he flirts with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” you reply with a bashful smile.

He slowly reaches his hand towards your cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. He presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do, you might not be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.”

“Yes I do, Bucky,” you giggle.

He grins as he gently presses his pillowy pink lips on yours. The kiss steals all the air from your lungs—his touch sends tingles throughout your body, electrifying your veins. You’re breathless when your lips finally part.

“Let me get your number before I let you go,” Bucky insists. You nod and hand him your phone, unable to form a coherent thought. The ghost of his lips and fingers trace your figure. You’re barely acquainted with his tender touch, yet you feel naked without it, yearning to once again be within his grasp.

You exchange phones—adding your number and name with a sparkling heart emoji and swiftly passing his phone back before you can change your mind. Bucky snaps a quick selfie for his contact, smirking for the camera. You grin when you see he also put emojis by his name: a beetle and a kissy-face.

He pecks your cheek before opening the car door for you. “Hope to see you around, lovebug.” The new pet name burns your cheeks and erupts butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until your car disappears completely from his view.

You drive home with thoughts of Bucky swirling in your mind. You send a silent thanks to the universe for bringing this beautiful man into your life. His voice, touch, and smile echo in your thoughts for the remainder of the evening—his presence paving its way through your dreams. You’re falling hard and fast; you only hope he’ll be there to catch you.

tagging a few mutuals who expressed interest in this story🥰please fill out the taglist form if you’d like to be tagged in the next story! 💖

@ritesofreverie @midnightf @certainaesthetic

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #mickey-henry #my fic: you're the best book I ever read #mel's writing

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shittygaypornmagazine · 2 years ago

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You. You get it. Also we can maybe throw in some period-drama-style money issues? Like Leo going "Oh no, my grandpa Sammy Valdez just died and now tia Rosa's son will get all his and my money because... period-drama-reasons" and giving up on fighting for Hazel's hand because well, he has nothing to offer her (and of course he doesn't say anything about it to Frank because he doesn't want to loose his respect). Then we see Frank getting ready for their usual banter at an upcoming event or smthn but it turns out that Leo's nowhere to be found so he asks Hazel about him and she's is like "Oh yeah, he just... kind of left". So Frank goes full on I-Just-Realised-My-Feelings Airport Run to get him back because "Well I have the damn money for both of us you... simpleton".

I'm sorry. This was a lot.

valzhang period drama crumbs: Leo is scared of touching Frank because he might burn him. Frank's love language, on the other hand, is physical touch.

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 3 years ago

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Hi, I absolutely adore your writing and it’s quite inspiring and making my imagination go WEEWOO!

Could I request something for YJ With Dick? So like a headcanon or one shot (which ever you prefer queen) where the reader is quite reserved, snarky and can get angry real fast. They have feelings for Rob and they are especially snarky to him to hide their feelings, but they eventually start to open up more and during the events of episode 24 (you know, the one at haly’s circus), they open up to him and they confess? And he does the same?

Flower Language

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Robin x Reader

Warnings: Blood and injuries and plant death.

Word Count: 3.8k words

A/N: This is kind of my take on the Hanahaki disease, kind of. This was so much fun to write honestly, I didn't realize I like all this floral stuff so much. It also reminded me of another 'True Love's Kiss' trope I wrote for Dick Grayson as well. Also I changed the episode this was based on because I’ve already done something based on the episode with Haly’s circus @hanbedumbaf I really really really hope you enjoy it! Sorry it was so late, I finished it a month back but it was in my queue.

Adrenaline was a common feeling to you. A little too familiar. The life of a superhero puts you in peril more times than you would like but it was the only life you had known. You knew the familiar feeling of sweat forming on your skin and your heart pounding so loudly that you could hear it in every step you took.

However, when you heard the pounding, it was because there was a supervillain, usually hairy, chasing after you and determined to get your head on a stake.

Although, feeling your heart jump to your throat was becoming more familiar whenever you were around a certain someone. Robin annoyed you to no end, whenever he was around you couldn't help your face from growing warm and your lips from tingling to form a permanent smile on your face.

Having a crush was irritating, you couldn't think or even function without thinking of him. It was frankly humiliating, you were always so gung-ho about being bold and to the point and yet whenever you were around Boy Wonder, you couldn't help but bend your personality to something you felt like would appeal to him more.

Sometimes, you couldn't even stand yourself.

And so, as a pathetic act of rebellion, and maybe as a clear-cut sign that you had no idea how to handle emotions or anything similar to it, every time your heart got just a little soft, your tongue got a whole lot sharper. Probably not the best way to win a boy’s heart. But you weren't here for a romance story.

It was also a true sign that you had no idea how to flirt, thinking that borderline insulting witty banter was the way to go. Or perhaps it was a way of controlling your emotions, since being bitter and snarky was the thing that came easiest to you.

You seriously needed better tactics.

It was also your oblivious mistake thinking that Robin only saw what you wanted him to see. He was raised to be a detective, of course he was more observant than that. Papa (or let's be real, Alfred) didn't raise no fool.

You made the mistake of thinking Robin saw you as strong and independent and bold, just as the rest of them did. But he saw much more than that.

Robin was distressed by the number of crying faces around him, the kids were inconsolable which was understandable because of just how many things went wrong in the past couple of hours. To be quite frank, Robin was a couple seconds away from having a fit himself.

"Shh, little one," He heard distantly and his neck practically snapped. You were crouching in front of the few who were crying, with a small nurturing smile. It was the first time he had seen you out of uniform, usually referring to you as Antheia, named after the goddess of flowers, but this wasn't she.

"I know you're scared, my flowers, but I promise, we will find your parents." You soothed, gently wiping away their tears. They still looked up at you apprehensively and with uncertainty.

"I'll show you a magic trick." You began, grinning as the kids began to smile back at you. You pulled a seed out of your pocket and held it between closed hands, using a bit of your powers and felt it grow in your palms. When you revealed what you were holding, they collectively gasped.

A bud of a flower now rested in your hand. You smiled at their innocent eyes and held it to them, "Now I'm going to need your help for the next part. Everyone has to blow on the flower."

They nodded eagerly, crawling around you and on the count of three, everyone followed your instructions. And low and behold, the bud bloomed into a beautiful blossom right between your fingers.

One of the girls clamoured into your lap to hold the flower herself and you chuckled, wrapping your arms tightly around her, "You know what this flower means?"

They shook their heads, "It means faith, and hope. If you have faith and hope in us, then you'll get something beautiful in return."

For once, they look contemplatively and you chuckled, feeling pride at the fact that you managed to sow some wisdom in their minds. The girl that had been sitting in your lap turned in your grasp, with the flower in her hand and then reached up to tuck it behind your ear.

"For me?" She nodded happily and you smiled widely, kissing her cheek, "Thank you, petal."

Satisfied that you were able to calm them down, you gently placed the girl back on the floor before moving away from the group. Just as you were about to join the others, you ran into Robin. You didn't know he had just seen the whole thing.

Pulling the flower from behind your ear, you handed it to him, "You know in some cultures, this flower means to pick up the slack and stop looking like a confused chicken." You snapped.

Business as usual.

Robin looked back to the flower you had slipped into his hands, you had said it meant faith and hope, and you had given it to him. He looked back up to see you shuffling away from him quickly, a blush on your face. He smiled.

You were more nurturing and kinder than you let on, it was like it was programmed into your personality and yet you never showed it when you knew they were watching. That wasn't the only part of yourself that you were hesitant to show them.

And the more Robin observed you, the more he realized that you used flower language to depict a lot of your emotions. It was a silent way of letting them out, without having to tell other people what's really in your heart.

You thought you were sly about it, but nothing went under Robin's radar.

Everyone was watching a movie on the flat screen in the rec room. You hadn't realized you were so tired, the movie was boring, something that M'Gann had picked and you hadn't slept the night before, busy patrolling your city.

Your eyelids began to droop before you could even understand what was going on, your head lolling as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

Robin hadn't realized that he was napping through the movie until he felt a weight on his shoulder. He nearly jumped awake and glanced to his side to see you sound asleep, breathing gently. He nearly chuckled, was this what you looked like when you weren't scowling at everybody?

His heart skipped a beat, god, were you beautiful. The smell of flowers vaguely hit his nose and he noticed the red gardenia plant growing steadily in the corner of the room.

'Red Gardenias means a secret love,' Robin recalled from a book he had read, 'It's a secret way for someone to say I love you.'

He glanced back at you still sleeping peacefully, face completely relaxed and briefly wondered if your powers were taking the lead on your emotions and making gardenias grow around the cave. Or were you dreaming about something?

Something in his heart grew, here you were sleeping against his shoulder, making symbols of a secret love grow around the room. This had to be a sign of something, right?

Before he could contemplate it any further, you squirmed and then began to stir. Your eyes fluttered open, hazily taking in your surroundings before they landed on the boy beside you and widened in size, skin darkening with a blush.

"Why the fuck didn't you wake me up?" You snapped and turned on your heel to stomp out of the room without even waiting for a response from him. The others who noticed the way he was just staring at the place you were in surprise. You always do such a 180 when you're around him and conscious.

"Wow, sunshine's crabby in the morning." Wally commented from beside him. When he didn't get any response, he looked over to see Robin with a silly smile on his face.

Dick couldn't stop himself from grinning. The gardenias were still blooming.

***

"Antheia, do you think you will be able to stop the plants from growing any further?" Batman turned to face you, only to find you staring at him with a hazy, blank expression.

"Antheia?" Robin called but you didn't even flinch, your eyes were locked onto the holo-computer, seeing the thick vines that were twisting and turning. Their call was overwhelming, you could feel them grow even beneath your feet. It was like a siren was blearing through your head.

You couldn't tell what they were trying to say, it was like they were muffled. It was confused and lost, following Ivy and it was happy listening to her. And yet, it was feeling pain, the Justice League was busy pruning her as we speak. It was scared, crying out for someone to help them and you felt obligated to help. Your mind was getting heavy, throbbing with an oncoming migraine.

"(Y/N)!" Your eyes snapped open and focused onto the boy in front of you. Everyone was staring at you in concern and you blinked, suddenly not able to remember what the hell was going on. You were just trying to focus on something other than the screams and cries of the plant.

"......What?" You asked a little dumbly, noticing the concern on Robin's face. The plants were still crying. You couldn't get the painful sound of their screams out of your mind. You felt like curling up into a ball and crying.

"Batman asked if you would be able to stop the plants?"

"Oh, um, no." You answered in a distracted way that made his face pinch with worry. His hands were still grasping your shoulders tightly, keeping his face in close proximity to yours. You didn't even realize, too out of it to even notice.

Robin on the other hand felt his cheeks get uncomfortably hot the more you stared at him with those innocent, beautiful eyes of yours. If Batman hadn't been breathing down his neck, he was sure he would've kissed you in the moment.

Unfortunately for him, his dad always knew how to ruin the moment. And he would continue to for the rest of his life. Until death do them part. Even after the two of you grow up and live together, the Batman would find some way to interrupt your fun.

"Robin?"

"Huh?"

"The mission."

Oh. Right.

***

"Robin!" You screamed when one of Ivy's plants wrapped around his neck and slammed him against the trees. They didn't let up curling tighter around his throat. Fear struck you as he began choking from breath and you knew you had to do something.

Suddenly murderous intent took over you and you glared at Ivy who returned it with a smug smirk of her own. Oh, how you'd rip that smirk off her face.

"Okay Ivy, you wanna play? Let's play." You ground out, slamming your hands against the vine around Robin's neck and it began disintegrating beneath your fingers. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath and you tuned out the sound of the plant crying as it died beside him.

Ivy heard it just as loudly as you had, she screamed and more plants lunged towards the both of you.

"Go help the others! I'm about to snap this twig." You spat at Robin, using your powers to kill the roots as it reached you. It was working slowly, your powers weak to the pain of the plants around you. Even as every cell of your body told you not to, you clenched your fingers into fists and watched as the creeper feel to the marsh, dead.

You engaged in battle with Ivy. Plants were screaming for mercy all around you but you couldn't stop for even a second. Life around you was trembling but you had to keep fighting the villain in front of you because if you hesitated for even a second, many more would die.

Thorns scratched your skin, drawing blood and curled around Ivy, sinking barbs into her skin.

"Face it girlie! You're never going to overpower me!"

"Oh, I'm not trying to overpower you, just distract you long enough for Robin to get rid of the control system." You replied, just as smug as she had been at the start of the fight. Now you got to see her face melt into one of panic just as Robin jumped over her head and to your side with a grin identical to yours.

"Cover your ears!" He sang, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and ducking, covering your body with his own. You were grateful for it; you weren't sure you could even keep your body upright at the moment.

Then you heard the explosion and your heart stopped. Every single fibre of your body burned red hot fire as you heard screams and cries around you. Bile was crawling up your throat and your breathing got thin. They were sobbing a heart-broken wail and your eyes misted at the mere sound.

Without realizing it, you were gripping onto Robin's hand, brows furrowed together. The sound of the explosion cleared, the Injustice League was captured and he pulled you up to stand with the others.

It was silent for a moment. You had won.

And then the consequences of your actions hit you.

Everyone's necks snapped towards you when you let out a heart-wrenching sob. Robin, who was standing right next to you caught you just in time before your body hit the ground. Pain exploded in your chest as you began wailing against him.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)! What's wrong?!" He panicked but you didn't respond, crying into his chest as you gripped his cape in an iron fist. Everything hurt and all you could feel was sorrow and guilt.

The other heroes crowded around you but your eyes were screwed shut, tears making your eyes sting. Robin held onto you tightly, pulling your body against his as you continued to cry.

"What's happening?" Artemis murmured, looking around to see the environment change before her eyes. Everyone else followed her lead to see how leaves began rotting, then the trees. The smell was pungent. Thorns and weeds were crawling up the dying trees, pulling them into the swamp.

"(Y/N) please, what's wrong?" Robin whispered in your ear but you couldn't hear him. The sounds of plants screaming and wailing was echoing through your mind. How they begged you to save them. How they begged you to stop.

And then it got hard to breathe, your chest constricted and you were wheezing. Robin had to watch in horror when petals and blood poured from your mouth. You were choking, throwing up and sobbing in his arms, and he was unable to do anything to help you.

"Flash get her to the Batcave." Batman said gruffly, he was shocked and worried for you but didn't say anything, not wanting to scare his son more, "Sending you the coordinates now."

"Alfred prepare the med-bay."

Dick watched with a sinking heart as he handed you into Flash's arms. It took him a few seconds for his mind to stop whirring, he was still kneeling in the swampy marsh when the team huddled around him.

"It's gonna be okay." Wally murmured, wrapping an arm around his shaking body.

"We just have to hope for the best."

***

When the others had gotten back to the Cave, you had just been moved there, after being looked over by Alfred. He joined you in the med-bay, wanting to keep an eye on you. But as of yet, you still had to wake up.

Dick wasn't supposed to be listening to the adult’s conversation, but he couldn't help himself, he had to know if you were going to be okay.

"The situation is undeterminable, sir. But as of now, the flowers that are clogging her respiratory system keep growing. If we don't find a cure for this, it's inevitable that she will suffocate and pass."

His heart stopped. Die? You couldn't die, not when he still had so many things to tell you. For so long, he hadn't told you of his feelings, wanting to keep the relationship between the two of you professional. But now more than anything, he wished he had said something.

There were so many things he didn't get to do with you yet. You had yet to give him a bouquet on your first date. He wanted to lay in bed with you, smelling fresh flowers as you told him what different plants symbolized. He had yet to see moments where you can't control your powers and make plants grow around the cave.

He hadn't even given you a flower yet.

"Rob listen, I did some research on this 'disease'." Wally said, falling into step with him, "It's called the Hanahaki disease."

"That's fiction Wal—"

"But that's the best we've got right now." Came his curt reply and Dick's heart clenched.

"Hanahaki disease is a fictional sickness that only occurs when someone is suffering from unrequited love. The victim will cough up flower petals that symbolize their love. This disease is only cured when the victim's feelings are romantically returned." Wally read off his phone before turning to Dick with a smile.

He raised a brow, "What?"

"You have to kiss (Y/N)!"

"What!?"

"Yep! You have to return her unrequired love!"

"Wally that's ridiculous, kissing someone doesn't cute anything."

"Well, it's the only thing we have. And for (Y/N), we need to try anything." He said, pushing him towards the med-bay. His voice was tight and tense, like he was holding onto his as his last hope and Dick prayed that it would work when the door of your room came into his sight.

You were asleep and if he hadn't known any better, he would've thought you were healthy. Wally closed the door behind him, leaving Dick alone with you. The only sound in was the beeping from your heart monitor and your light wheezing. It was getting harder to breathe.

Dick inched his way closer to you, watching as your eyelashes fluttered gently in your sleep. Leaning over the bed you were lying in; he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving his head in line with yours.

"God, please let this work." He whispered and your bottom lip was caught between his. It was feather-light but yet, electricity was buzzing through his veins and fireworks went off in his mind.

For a minute, nothing happened and his heart clenched in his chest before he kissed you a little harder. This had to work because they didn't have any other lead. Dick felt you exhale feebly against him and he almost gave up hope.

But then you took a deep breath, stealing the breath from his lungs and he pulled away quickly to see your eyelids fluttering open. The colour was returning to your cheeks and your eyes were sparkling up at him. You smiled gently and he blinked away tears of relief. Thank goodness.

'His eyes are blue' You thought, staring deeply into them. They were beautiful, alluring. You didn't know why but just looking into his eyes was addicting. Was this what it felt like to be so deep in love? That even his eyes were enough to captivate you?

"I'm so glad you're awake." He muttered, cupping your cheeks firmly and planting another kiss on your lips. You giggled lightly, heart overjoyed to find the boy you had been in love with for so long had returned your feelings and you responded to the kiss eagerly, placing your palms over his hands and leaning into him.

With your regaining strength, you felt a flower materialize in your hands. The stem between your fingers brought you comfort just as the scent of the flower brought you back life.

When Dick pulled away, you delicately slipped it into his hands and he turned his attention to it, blue eyes softening when he recognized this particular flower in his hands.

"It's an Aster." You whispered quietly, lips brushing against his and he chuckled. It was the only flower you thought of when he came to your mind, "Get it?"

Dick turned his eyes away from the blossom and looked at you again. Your heart jumped, noticing just how much love he held in them. Eyes you could swim in, overflowing with love for you. Suddenly you were overwhelmed, feeling adoration and attraction. You needed to be closer to him, even though he was pressed against you.

Your fingers curled into his collar and pulled him closer to you, slanting your lips over his in an open-mouthed kiss. Dick gasped against your lips, startled for no longer than a second before sinking against you and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer.

Your lips moved gently against his, the blushing flower trapped between both your bodies. The smell of fresh flowers clouded Dick's mind with everything that was you. Your hair, your smile, your lips. If you kept kissing him like that, he was certain he'd forget his own name.

And then you pulled away and Dick noted that you were as beautiful as a fresh flower. Your skin was glowing with life and your tired eyes were twinkling. You smiled sleepily at him, eyes closing shut and he lowered you back to the bed. Immediately, you slipped back into slumber, exhausted from the day's events.

He watched for a couple seconds, making sure you were able to breathe without any problems before realizing he should tell the others that you were okay.

He slipped out of the room quietly, stealing a final glance of you sleeping peacefully in the bed and a huge smile grew on his face, "She's awake."

It was only then he noticed just how colourful the room had gotten in the few minutes he was with you.

The walls were covered with vines and roses of different colours, camelias and carnations of different shades. It littered the room, not leaving a single inch of the wall untouched and scattered petals all over the floor like confetti.

Different creepers hung from the ceiling, dusting all the superheroes with sparkling pollen and colourful petals. Not to mention there were stems crawling up the Justice League members, flowers hugging their ankles lovingly.

Batman looked a lot less intimidating with petals in his cape and a rose stuck behind his ear. Robin blushed at the sight of everyone giving him knowing smiles.

"We noticed."

Aster: This flower became a symbol of love when in Greek mythology it was placed on the altars for the gods. So now, when you send a bouquet featuring this vibrant bloom, the message of "Take Care Of Yourself For Me" is implied. It conveys deep emotional love and affection for someone.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

903 notes · View notes

mega-bastard · 4 years ago

Photo

Bitch in Heat Stuck Under Debris Gets WRECKED

a miki mouse whorehouse collab, the m.list you can find here

cw: sexual harrassment, abo themes, dubcon kinda

as the poor quality picture can’t really show you, I got stuckage and I chose Bakugo with the finishing touch of making it ABO <3 It’s also two days late but shhhhh we don’t talk about it uwu also 2.7 words of pain enjoy

katsuki bakugou is becoming a thorn in your side.

you’ve both been metaphorically and somewhat literally glued to each others sides since highschool. it’s not necessarily a bad thing, to be quite frank katsuki is something of a deterrent in a world of second genders and pheromones— something you capitalized on in high school.

being an omega hero isn’t something entirely world shattering, but it’s a position that comes with lots of stereotypes— stereotypes you fought tooth and nail to fight against in your younger years. being one of four omegas in your class was...irritating, to say the least. lots of preconceived notions that you needed to be helped with trivial things, and while your classmates intentions came from a good place it was maddening. save for katsuki, back when he had no restraint with his anger and aggression, he didn’t coddle you like your classmates did. Labeled a brute for his actions towards his omega classmates in trivial interaction or sparring, you thrived on the normality— katsuki was an ass to everyone. Your omega was placated, finally encountering an alpha who wasn’t belittling her with preconceived daintiness.

it was easy to hang near katsuki, ignoring the atrocity that was his vocabulary. eventually like the rest of the peanut gallery that was the bakusquad, you just existed alongside katsuki— which meant that you grew on him. katsuki swears up and down that you’re all a nuisance but you’ve seen him go up to bat for all you at some point, you knew you’d all made some sort of ragtag pack with one another. this was rather amazing to you at the time, not to sell yourself short but you’d never really imagined belonging to a close knit group of friends— especially realizing that they understood when it was appropriate to step in for you. katsuki in particular had a knack for being at the right place at the right time.

During your second year you fumbled.

interning with miruko had its perks, a top 5 hero with raw strength, cunning, and the drive to just keep going— and an omega. landing and internship with her had been a dream, even more-so when you learned she’d been watching you since your first year because of the festival. bright eyed and eager, nothing could have dampened your spirits— neither katsuki and his usual moody behavior or the standoffish alpha from shiketsu. yes, you all had landed an internship with miruko and part of you was...worried? katsuki had never looked down on heroes based on their second genders but you couldn’t speak for the shiketsu alpha, both alphas interning under an established omega hero put your inner omega on edge— you didn’t quite know why though. but you chose to squash the feeling and enjoy your internship with who was essentially your idol and continue on.

then you started getting sexually harassed.

his name was omori kisai and he was the worst. hailing from shiketsu, known for their dignified schooling, he was far from it. salacious comments dropped when no one was listening, less that appropriate touching when passing by and just general ick that had your skin crawling and omega snarling. it was easy to brush it off as banter the first time, section off the awkward contact as an accident. The second time you made it clear the comments were not liked and the touches far from appropriate, after the third time you’d snap an insult or have to hold a trembling fish from making contact. but it was coming to a head and your suppressors could only do so much to hide your souring scent. looking back you should have said something, but your pride had told you that it was a necessary step to overcome and push through— that he wouldn’t be the last. it weighed you down, day by day, a heavy cloud that wouldn’t let up. one particular bad timed comment brought tears to eyes and shame to your entire being.

thankfully, as time would come to show, katsuki tended to nose into your dilemmas.

the day prior to the abrupt end of your harassment you’d been tripped up by a villian and had fallen a sizeable distance into a pitiful excuse of pond. of course, omori had taken this as an open invitation to mock you and then offer you his shitty hero costume cloak— not without hinting at you returning the favor ‘somehow’. yeah right. you had stomped off, unaware of katsuki’s presence nearby. come next day, omori avoided you like the plague and katsuki not so subtly stuck to your side like an unwilling chowchow— all growly and temperamental. but his constant presence rubbed his scent off on you. despite his less than chummy attitude, you weren’t mad; katsuki smelled like cinnamon spice and whiskey with hints of burnt caramel— absolutely overpowering yet decadent all the same.

you tried not to think about just how much you enjoyed his smell. your omega was purring about it.

the omori incident was the beginning of katsuki’s subtle hovering. though you pried the truth of his involvement in omori leaving you alone after offhandedly bringing it up to mina and jirou one day, katsuki helped you out of situations as invasively as possible time and time again. by the end of third year it was no secret to you of your classmates teasing of your relationship with katsuki; an amiable and prideful omega and the irritable powerhouse of an alpha. you brushed it off because...well you didn’t know why, but katsuki’s seeming indifference to the teasing had you quelling every jittery happiness your inner omega expressed at the thought of katsuki being your alpha.

now, three years out of highschool and beginning to climb the ranks, katsuki was becoming testy— and for the life of you the reason couldn’t be more opaque. you both work at the same agency, and due to the nature of your quirks you spend all your time together due to their compatibility. compatibility was a bitter word for you, katsuki and yours supposed compatibility had been talked about for some time now but the sobering reality is that perhaps you two were simply good friends— and now sharing your omegas endearment for the explosive alpha had reared its ugly head.

your heat was a week away and already you felt the familiar fatigue begin to lap at you alongside general moodiness. all that coupled with the annoying need to be around katsuki was maddening and sprinkling his own extra grouchy attitude on top and you were ready to snap. in hindsight, that should have been your cue to take an extra week off— instead you chose to once again to champion pride instead of your intellect.

you could have stayed home this morning, you should have.

patrol had been slow, not particularly unusual but favored nonetheless. face raised to the slowly dipping sun you couldn’t help but sigh, the warmth of the late afternoon sun was heaven sent-- you could sleep standing up with much issue. it remided you katsuki, strangely enough though most things did recently.

the sound of screaming and rushing feet shook you from your drowsy stupor. Set on alert, you spied the source of the sudden discordance and found several villains causing a commotion. quickly calling for backup for you before finding yourself facing a hulking mass of green charging you head on. tranquility gone, it was time to fight.

the ache in your body could not be more apparent but your humiliation ran more rampant in your system than any ache or pain could, your fatigue more than present as your body hummed with warmth. leave it to you to get stuck face down and ass up amongst the trashed ruins of what was an office building, weighed down between a broken desk and a collapsed bookshelf. the villain you had engaged with, some self-named idiot calling himself cruel croc, packed a punch and your bruised body and rendered office floor were a testament to that. of course, you’d done quite the bit of damage to him yourself before the entire floor collapsed underneath you both— rendering the meathead unconscious under a rather hefty pile of concrete and debris whereas you were pinned and to utterly weak to do much.

the thrum of your heat was beginning its path of vengeance through your body, feeling too pliant to get yourself out of what was otherwise easy to fix problem. you were feeling it, bad. the heat of your clothed cunt was beginning to become too apparent, unconsciously squeezing your thighs to provide relief to no avail. no, this could not be happening right now of all times. but as much as your inner monologue fought to try and will away your heat, the warmth was becoming too much and sudden breeze of wind had you trembling and whining. the feel of slick beginning to wet your hero costumes spandex set your hazing thoughts into sudden panic, if cruel croc woke up or if another villain came across you would they be above...the thought alone could’ve made you puke. flashbacks to second year had you bucking wildly for freedom, you wouldn’t let anyone have the opportunity for—

“ OI! Shitty ‘mega were are you? Are you—“

you stilled, biting hard to keep your mouth shut. your omega was whimpering, desperate for the alpha, HER alpha to relieve her from her heat. on a normal day she could melt into his scent, but right now? she could drown in it and die happy. with his scent getting stronger the closer katsuki clambered toward you, the more the head haze grew-- the slicker your thighs became. the whimper you let loose was pitiful, the need for some sort of stimulation to your cunt becoming near painful the longer you remained so close yet so far from katsuki. the pathetic little “alpha” you whined as you heard him quickly approach from behind would’ve been utterly embarrassing to you in any other situation.

but if you could have turned to see katsuki, you would’ve been met with the look of an unmistakably feral alpha-- pupils dilated to hell, fingernails blackened, and canines elongated and sharpened. but what you lacked in sight, you could hear and smell.

katsuki was the definition of an alpha as is, but the way he was pushing his scent out was like a big red sign that screamed ‘DANGER’. To you, it had you feeling utterly submissive-- if you weren’t already face down and ass up you certainly would’ve moved into position. practically salivating at the thought of what katsuki could do--

the heated palm on the globe of your ass is thought pausing, the sudden heated touch coaxing a sugary sweet moan from deep in your throat-- the small touch quickly turning to rough palming at your moaning. tt feels so good, but you want more. need more.

“Please, need more Alpha” it's breathy and whiny, something you're far from day to day but it feels too natural escaping you. mewling at the ghost of a touch over your clothed cunt, your blubbering when it presses harder-- escalating you to tears of frustration when it ceases. practically feeling katsuki’s harsh breathing near your cunt you begin to wiggle and wail with all manner of unrestrained vigor; chanting alpha and katsuki like a prayer and begging for relief like a sinner for forgiveness. it’s working, you know it is, if katsuki’s breathing is anything to go by but he refuses any further touching. you want katsuki everyday, but right now you need him.

“Only want you Katsuki, please it’s only been you,” you hiccup your words through a shrill plea, but the tearing of your soaked spandex sends an excited chill down your spine. your legs tremble with excitement when katsuki grips the tops of your thighs and spreads them-- revealing your drooling cunt. it’s both too much and not enough all at once and you wiggle once more, yelping from a smack to your left ass cheek. it’s not particularly painful, not even as katsuki rubs over it right after the hit, but it quells your wiggling nonetheless. you open your mouth to urge him on but he beats you to it.

“No one else, you got that ‘mega? No one gets to see you like this, no gets to touch you like this-- your mine,” he punctuates his declaration with two of his deliciously thick fingers in your cunt and you squeal, “ you got that? I’m your alpha, always have been always will be.” nodding despite yourself, you struggle for words with his fingers pumping in and out alongside the ghost of pressure on your clit “Yes! Yes, I’m yours Katsuki!” you babble your words already teetering on the precipice of your first orgasm. it takes a pickup in pace and a rough rub along your clit and your wailing, slick streaming down your thighs as your first orgasm crashes into you.

despite the pleasant haze in your head, you faintly hear zippers being undone and the shuffling of clothes. licking your lips, you perk your ass up as much as the heavy bookcase allows, purring in excitement like a spoiled cat. The rough grab of your hips leaves you gasping, feeling the length of katsukis dick along your thigh-- long and heavy. you're salivating as he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, ramming his entire length in you with little regard. stars shoot across your vision and your ears deafen, crying out at being so full. it feels wonderful being stuffed this full and you babble it to katsuki. if you could see him, you would see just how prideful and smug he looked-- only he can take care of you like this, none of the other shitty alphas can take care of you this well.

katsuki sets a rough pace, drawing himself out slowly like he’s aiming for you to feel every vein of his dick before slamming back into you. your poor cunt clenches sporadically, drawing groans and growls from your alpha and all you can do is choke on broken moans because the way he feels churning your insides is downright sinful. you felt a band begin to tighten in your belly, your broken moans evolving into babbling-- how good katsuki was making you feel and how he was the only one who made you feel this good. it spurred him onward, fucking into you with more vigor alongside groans of your names and his own praise for you. “Good fuckin ‘mega”, “Takin’ me so well”, and “My perfect little mate” were some of the praise you could catch and had you preening. All of it combined you felt the band tighten and you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing out. feeling the base of Katsuki’s length begin to swell, you could only salivate at the thought of being knotted.

“Want your knot Katsuki! Alpha I need it”

at your blubbering demand, katsuki faltered in pace for only a moment before a deep mix of a groan and growl ripped from his throat. grabbing and bending your leg upwards he fucked deeper and faster into your battered cunt, the new angle sending you hurtling into your orgasm. eyes rolled back and tongue, you felt utterly boneless-- momentarily brain dead before screaming out at Katsuki knotting you, his own groan of pleasure mixing with yours as he filled you impossibly full with his seed.

trembling underneath him, you were only a fraction aware of movement above you before the weight of the bookcase vanished from you. weakly you glance back up at your alpha. your surprised to see just how feral he looks, no doubt you’ve pushed him into his rut. whimpering as he moves down upon you, he nibbles and kisses along your jaw and neck before biting down on you scent gland. a flash a white hot pain curtailed by just as intense pleasure wracks your wrecked body but the dopy look of happiness pulls a low purr from katsuki.

you wanna say something, anything, but your too exhausted and as katsuki knot subsides you let another weak whimper as he removes himself-- feeling his seed spill from your battered cunt. he pulls a quiet moan from you as he gathers some of it a pushes back in-- and a glance at his smug face lets you know that he’s decidedly not done with you yet.

#miki mouse whorehouse collab #whorehouse compilation [rawdog 1080p] (try not to cum)#stuckage #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #abo #alpha/beta/omega #omegaverse #alpha katsuki #omega reader #self indulgent in that I want more alpha katsuki #so #I'll do it myself #happy belated valentines whores <3

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gonzo-rella · 4 years ago

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Rodrick Kinda Rules, I Guess | Rodrick Heffley

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): Rodrick Heffley x plus size!gn!reader (romantic)

Summary: From a young age, you and Rodrick have had a love-hate frenemy dynamic. However, when he realises he has a crush on you, he makes things awkward.

Warnings: Mild body-shaming, dictionary-related violence. (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 2.9k

(A/N: Diary of a Wimpy Kid is my ultimate guilty pleasure trilogy. I didn’t get around to watching it until I was around 13, nor have I ever read the books, but I enjoyed the three movies nonetheless and it still feels full of nostalgia. This was posted on my old account, but I decided to move it over to here (albeit tweaked) because I was proud of it. Feel free to request more Rodrick stuff. Lord knows I love that boy.)

O/S/N = Older Sister’s Name L/B/N = Little Brother’s Name

Since kindergarten, you and Rodrick had loved to hate one another.

From the moment you met as neighbours, you just couldn’t get along in a normal way. It started when called you fat when you were running around your front lawn like Naruto, too preoccupied by your own fantasy world as your too-big cape glided behind you. In a retaliatory manner, you said that the lanky boy ‘looked like a giraffe’.

Luckily, your wit had sharpened since then.

Though you two were very similar in many aspects of your individual personalities (minus your academic prowess exceeding his), neither of you could be nice to one other for the majority of the time. Both of you shared a favourite hobby in annoying the other in any way possible, even when your parents told you to just try and get along for once.

As kids, you would wrestle and play-fight in one another’s yard, on the playground and (if it was empty) the road, or just make fun of each other whenever possible. Even if your parents couldn’t see it, you both laughed and grinned as you did this.

As pre-teens, you threw various things at one another when the teacher wasn’t looking, be it erasers, balls of paper or (when one of you was particularly annoyed at the other) a hardback book. When Rodrick threw a beaten-up copy of the Oxford English Dictionary at your head, he had to take you to the nurse’s office and got detention. In addition, he only sat next to you just so he could annoy you all day, and both of your laughter often resulted in getting into trouble.

As teenagers, the physical aspect of your mutual hobby of irritating the other had disappeared, and you just made quips, jokes and comments, which meant most of your conversations were banter.

Even though neither of you would nor could admit it, you both kind of liked challenging one another; it had become the way in which you had gotten used to bonding with one another.

Regardless of the frequency of your mutual teasing, you both knew not to say anything that could truly hurt the other. As much as you thought and acted as though you loathed one another, you still hated the idea of truly upsetting each other.

Over the years, your parents had gotten close with Frank and Susan Heffley, Rodrick’s parents. That’s why, every couple of months, they invited one another over for dinner. This usually resulted in you being forced by your parents to sit with Rodrick, his younger brothers, your older sister O/S/N (two grades above you and Rodrick) and your younger brother L/B/N (Greg’s age) in the living room. Rodrick and you would often nudge each other repeatedly, or you would both tell Greg to shut up when he requested: “Could you lovebirds stop flirting for one minute?”

What neither of you realised was that, over the years, you two had gotten to know each other so well that it seemed as though you both had enough knowledge of one another to write a 1000 page biography about one other.

Rodrick, for seconds at a time over the course of many years, realised the little things about you that made his heart skip a beat. You, for mere moments scattered over the years, had felt your breath hitch in your throat as Rodrick looked at you in a way that matched the expression he wore when bantering with you, but somehow made his feelings towards you clearer than glass.

You ignored all of the feelings. After all, you knew it was foolish to think that way. The old saying about boys pulling girls’ pigtails in the playground meaning that the boy had a crush on the girl was merely an often-dangerous sentiment mothers recited to make their kids feel better about being picked on.

But, perhaps Rodrick kept doing this to capture your attention while covering up any feelings he had subconsciously realised he had.

Perhaps you kept retaliating to cover up your own feelings while acknowledging him at the same time.

Both of you getting a great deal of amusement out of it was just the icing on the cake.

The bottom line was that, buried deep down beneath your history of faux hatred, love had blossomed in spite of (or perhaps even as a result of) the frequent ‘conflict’ between you.

And, neither of you could keep hiding it for much longer.

O/S/N and L/B/N joked that you and Rodrick were their favourite couple, which had the ability to fluster and frustrate both you and the eyeliner-wearing boy in question.

However, in spite of your near-lifelong feud, you had seen all of Löded Diper’s gigs to date. You often went with your best friend and/or older sister, so that, the next day, you could tease Rodrick about it in class.

Despite pretending like you hated watching Rodrick perform, you felt a surge of a warm electricity be pumped by your thudding heart every time you saw Rodrick onstage.

Little did you know that your best friend and sister could see straight through your critical facade, especially when Rodrick locked eyes with you. It caused a blush to spread across your round cheeks. They also noticed the small smiles and giggles you and Rodrick shared when you made eye contact, especially when you gave him a sarcastic thumbs up.

These were some of the moments in which you were friendliest with each other.

Though, there had been a few sweet moments sprinkled over the mildly bitter coffee that was your frenemyship.

This included the hundreds of times when Rodrick shut up, or (if he was feeling especially nice) asked if you were okay, and listened to you for once when he saw tears streaming down your cheeks (unrelated to anything he’d said and done), or when you stood up for Rodrick against Heather Hills when she rolled her eyes at him and called him a loser when he asked her out.

Even if he did have deep feelings for you, being rejected by his crush like that still stung him like salt in a wound.

Somehow, Rodrick’s feelings hadn’t dawned on him until his latest Löded Diper gig.

It was at a local coffee house where he’d been playing every Friday night for the last 4 weeks. The quaint but fairly modern-feeling coffee house was often semi-full with older teens and college students, which tended to include yourself (and the unwitting friend you forced to tag along with you).

As he was sat on the small stage, playing his drum-kit as he’d rehearsed, he locked eyes with you. You were sat at the closest table with your sister, as you typically did. You smiled dorkily, a giggle escaping your lips (though it was muffled by the sound being blasted out of the amps and produced by Rodrick’s drums) as you did your usual thumbs up.

He briefly chuckled and smiled. It was in that single moment that he realised a truth he had obliviously ignored.

He had fallen for you.

His eyes widened. His face fell.

A myriad of memories flooded into his mind, reminding him of all the things about you that were enough to make butterflies (or probably moths in his case) flutter in his stomach. Your weird laugh, your jokes, your confidence and so much more he couldn’t possibly cram into his mind all at once.

His change in expression from usual caused your smile to fade and your brows to furrow. What was up with him?

I’ll stay behind and ask him what’s up in a totally casual way. Not in a way that makes me sound weird or whatever, though.

O/S/N, sat to your right, glanced between you and Rodrick.

Eventually, the band was done playing, and they were getting ready to load their equipment back into their shoddy van. You told your sister to wait and finish her coffee as you talked to Rodrick, who was now dismantling his drum-kit.

“Hey...um...Rodrick. What was that about?” you questioned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rodrick quickly answered, not bothering to look at you (not that he even had the courage to).

“Look, I’m not as stupid as you. I saw that weird look on your face.” you said, folding your arms. It had been over a decade that you’d known each other, so how could you not notice that he was lying?

“Pfffft. What look?” Rodrick replied dismissively and defensively, finally daring to look at you. “Seems like you’re imagining things, Y/N. Actually, you’re the one whose got a weird look on your face, not me.”

Rodrick’s desperation to hide his feelings only further demonstrated to you that it definitely had something to do with you. Judging by his visible embarrassment and defensiveness, it must have been something big. Perhaps not bad, but definitely big.

You took a step closer to him on the small stage, rendering you a few feet away from him. “You’re acting weird. Tell me what’s going on before I-“

You didn’t manage to finish your sentence. A pair of chilly hands rested securely on your cheeks as a pair of lips crashed into your own. Instinctively, you closed your eyes, though you did get a moment to notice Rodrick’s eyeliner-painted eyes close as you kissed back for just a moment.

That was until panic set in. As right as this felt, you hadn’t had enough time to process what was going on.

You quickly pulled away and glanced to the side, noticing that the many customers that were there, including your aghast sister, had been spectators of your first kiss.

Oh, and said first kiss had been with Rodrick, the guy who had called you fat, thrown a dictionary at your head and wrestled with you.

Your face flushed red as you looked blankly at Rodrick. Your heart hammered in your chest, pumping that same warm electricity throughout your body. No matter how much that split-second had allowed you to realise, such a jarring change caused anxiety to tingle within your head and fingertips. You bit your lip and turned away, hurrying to your sister’s car.

O/S/N looked awkwardly at Rodrick before scurrying after you,

He awoke on Saturday morning to Greg’s incessant repetition of his name, and just a moment of consciousness caused his memory of the kiss to suddenly flash in his mind.

“Rodrick. Rodrick! Come on! Mom says we can’t eat lunch until you’re downstairs because we have to ‘eat with our guest’.” He spoke his mother’s words in a mocking tone.

Rodrick groaned, cheeks noticeably red from the thought of you, and shuffled out of bed. He made his way out of the attic, his surprised brother trailing behind him. Susan and Frank looked equally as surprised as Rodrick tiredly set himself at the kitchen table. At 12 PM. On a Saturday. In their books, this was at least 3 hours early for their teenage son. They hadn’t truly expected Greg to be successful in waking him up, especially considering the incident the night prior.

He didn’t bother looking up at the people sat at the table, but he did notice an extra person sat at the table between his dad and Greg’s vacant seat. Luckily, it wasn’t you. Instead, it was your younger brother, L/B/N, who eyed him mischievously.

“Oh...Wow...You’re awake. We couldn’t wake you up for breakfast, so we told Greg we wouldn’t eat until you were here. We thought this’d be a nice time for a casual family conversation.” his mother greeted, making a feeble attempt to cover up her shock. Greg sat down in his usual seat.

“We thought you’d be tired from your gig last night.” Greg said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I am, but you woke me up and I was hungry anyway.” Rodrick spat with clear venom in his voice, though it was heavily veiled by his exhaustion and an attempt to feign nonchalance.

His parents exchanged a brief look, before starting to eat their sandwiches. However, Susan aimed an expectant look at Frank. Though it took him a moment to realise what he should say, he quickly spoke once he’d figured it out.

“So, son, how’d it go last night?” Frank asked, breaking the brief silence.

“Fine, I guess.” Rodrick muttered, mouth full of sandwich. As far as he was concerned, they were unaware of what had happened last night.

Oh, how blissfully unaware he was for those few moments.

His parents now exchanged looks of clear concern, while Greg and L/B/N glanced at each other and snickered.

Suddenly more awake, Rodrick looked at the boys with an irritated look in his eyes. He then glared at L/B/N specifically.

“You told them what happened, didn’t you, you little-”

“Rodrick!” Susan intervened with a stern expression, which quickly softened. “It’s okay to tell us how you’re feeling. Tell him that this sort of thing’s normal, Frank.”

Frank, who had a mouthful of sandwich lodged in his mouth, quickly swallowed his food and nodded. “Son, love at your age is very difficult.”

Greg and L/B/N stifled their laughter, earning a glare from Rodrick, Susan and Frank, who continued with: “Everyone gets rejected at some poi-”

“Ugh; stop talking.” Rodrick groaned, slouching and rolling his eyes.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Rodrick. If I wasn’t your mom, and I was a teenage girl, I’d still think you were an attractive young man.” his mother insisted.

Rodrick wordlessly groaned, his face flushing as he looked away from his parents. He felt his blood boil at the sound of Greg and L/B/N’s laughter and, leaving behind his uneaten lunch, stormed back to his room.

On Monday, you didn’t talk to Rodrick, nor did he make any attempt to talk to you. He wasn’t mad at you; he was embarrassed that you didn’t seem to reciprocate his feelings that had only grown stronger.

His heart still skipped a beat when he looked at you. His chest tightened when he overheard you talking to your friends. His cheeks heated up when you apprehensively glanced over at him during class.

Luckily, he could try to distract himself because of his next gig on Friday night.

The band was learning a new song, but Rodrick could hardly concentrate all week. He kept thinking about how you wouldn’t be there to watch him or mock him.

It would be the first gig where he wouldn’t see your grinning face in the small crowd.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday seemed to drag on just as much as Monday. Rodrick missed the banter and teasing between you two. He’d much rather you act like you hate him than act like he didn’t exist. The most interaction he’d get would be when you’d glance up at him when he entered class, before turning to face your friend and pretending as though you didn’t desperately want to chat with him.

When Friday finally came, Rodrick had really missed your conversations (or arguments), and he felt uneasy when you hadn’t sarcastically said that you’d see him at his gig like you usually would.

His friends gave him a ride home from school and he napped until he had to get ready for his gig.

The gig was at the same coffee house as the previous Friday. He assembled his drum kit as his friends set up their guitars and amps.

Your usual table was empty as a waitress cleared up the cluttered napkins and plates scattered over it. Minutes seemed to pass like seconds. 7:53. 7:54. 7:55. 7:56. 7:57...7:58. They all passed as though they were making up for the slow pace of the several days prior.

7:59. Through the chatter of the people throughout the coffee house, along with the singer announcing the band was about to start, Rodrick could discern the sound of a bell resounding as the door opened and closed.

He looked up and saw two familiar faces: O/S/N and you.

You sat in your usual seats, chairs scraping quietly against the wooden floor as you two took your seats. You smiled faintly at Rodrick, who wore a smile that resembled your usual dorky grin.

A few minutes after the band started playing for their half hour set, you gave Rodrick a smile and thumbs up, at which he smiled and chuckled. Usually, you weren’t a fan of eye contact. But, the way your eyes met, your smiles and your snickers in that half hour made up for all of the unspoken words of the past week.

When the set was done, and the audience had finished their bemused, unenthusiastic applause (though you and O/S/N clapped the loudest), you waited until Rodrick’s bandmates were out by the van until you approached him onstage.

“Hey...” you greeted awkwardly, a weak smile on your face.

“Hey.” he greeted just as awkwardly, a matching smile on his face.

“About last week...” you began, your smile unable to stay. “Sorry for just leaving like that...and not talking to you for a week.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you looked at Rodrick with a burning face. Your palms were sweating, so you wiped them on your jeans.

“It’s cool.” Rodrick shrugged, trying to act more chilled out than he actually was. His equally red face matched yours, revealing just how not cool he was. “Totally cool. I shouldn’t have...y’know...anyway”

“It’s okay. Anyway...I just came here to apologise for ignoring you or whatever. And, I kinda wanted to give you something.” you said.

Quickly, in a moment with a build-up that seemed to drag on for an eternity in your anxious mind, you pecked him on the lips, causing him to grin like the idiot he was. “I really like you too, Rodrick. Even if I’m kinda a total jerk to you all the time.” You were silent for a few moments. “You have my number. Text me when you get home.”

In a moment of improvisation, you kissed him on the cheek before quickly exiting, your giggling sister scurrying behind you. Rodrick was left grinning and celebrating in a display witnessed by a confused crowd of people.

#rodrick heffley x plus size!reader #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley x fem!reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley x gn!reader

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quizzyisdone · 4 years ago

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Love Languages | Black Ops: Cold War Headcanons

A/N: Just some headcanons on how Russell Adler, Frank Woods, Alex Mason, Lazar Azoulay need to be loved! Based on the love language quiz which you can find here. Bonus for soft! Adler, which is sorely lacking.

Warnings: None

Russell Adler

🚬 Acts of Service + Words of Affirmation

🚬 Adler is definitely an “actions speak louder than words” kind of guy, so that’s why Acts of Service is at the very top. Adler appreciates when you out of your way to do something for him, whether that’s cook him his favorite food for no reason in particular, leave a little note for him to find, or take some of his workload so he’s not so stressed out. It makes him feel more loved than he thinks he deserves.

🚬 Words of Affirmation isn’t really something he likes to admit to needing (”Why should I care if someone approves of me?”) But when someone just tells him that he’s doing good, that he’s handsome (”I already know that one.” He jokes.), or that deep down, he’s actually a good person, it really gives him confidence boost. In those rare moments of self reflection, Adler can become consumed by his insecurities, and needs someone to be there to tell him that there’s more to him than his flaws.

🚬 Additionally, someone being genuinely kind to him, with no underlying motivations, is something Adler didn’t know he needed until he got it.

Frank Woods

💥 Physical Touch + Quality Time

💥 I’ve said this before, but Woods is a very physical person, and likes to love and be loved in return in that manner. If you want to show him that you love him, be physically close to him at all times. Come up from behind and hug him, crawl in his lap, whatever. It makes him feel just so happy to be in your arms, even if it’s in front of everyone. He’s not super possessive as a lover, but he wants everyone to know how stupidly in love the two of you are. Woods wants to be shown off to everyone.

💥 Someone please give this man a hug, he seriously needs (and wants) it.

💥 As for Quality Time, there is truly nothing better for Woods than getting to spend time doing whatever with you. His job often pulls him away from you, so he treasures every moment with you as if it’s his last. If you’re in the same line of work as him, one way to let him know your feelings is to always try to get yourself assigned on missions that he’s on. Much to Woods’ dismay, however, Hudson is hesitant to put the two of you together on an op, he doesn’t want personal feelings to get in the way of the objective. (Hudson used to separate Mason and Woods as well, but soon realized how much the pair needed each other.)

💥 Regardless, he’ll always know you love him when you at least try your hardest to find your way back to him.

Alex Mason

💯 Words of Affirmation + Physical Touch

💯 Similar to Adler, Mason is really ashamed to admit just how much he needs verbal reassurance to feel loved. Being the victim of brainwashing, above all, Mason needs to hear that he’s not crazy, that things are going to be okay eventually. Even just the passing compliment is enough to make Mason’s heart swell with joy. This poor man just wants to be told that he’s loved unconditionally :(

💯 Woods picks up on this of course, so he’ll sprinkle in some words of affirmation into their usual banter. That’s his best friend, duh.

💯 For so long, so many people were afraid to even touch him because of what Dragovich did; they were scared Mason would lash out in violence because of what happened. As a result, he went years without feeling the touch of another person, save for his best friend. Mason feels like he's human when you are physically affectionate with him. It's still hard to trust others in that way, but he needs to be hugged, to be held, to just have that real touch to remind him that he's not some freaky science project, that he's a person deserving of love, just like anyone else.

💯 Also, if his partner is super cuddly in front of everyone, he'll get super embarassed and start blushing profusely, but will give no protests other than a meek "Stop it." with a giggle.

Eleazar “Lazar” Azoulay

🥡 Receiving Gifts + Quality Time

🥡 Lazar, in every facet of his life, is very physical. Not just when it comes to cuddling or sex or whatever, but in terms having something that reminds him of you. When you go out of your way to look for something, spend your money and take the time to find a gift that is specially picked for him, it makes him feel proud, listened to, loved. All of which is something he so seldom feels. It’s the thought that counts, and the fact that you’re willing to pay attention enough to listen to what he wants and then go and spend your own money on it, means the world to him.

🥡 No matter how weird or impractical it is, Lazar will love it! It’s really nice to have cool little tokens that remind him of you while you can’t be there. It’s the second best thing to actually having you there. His favorite is the little necklace with the Star of David on it, which he’ll thumb over absentmindedly when he misses you. He’s not very religious anymore, but it reminds him of home, and the fact that you appreciate and love him enough to think to get it for him.

🥡 Although his love language is first and foremost Quality Time he rarely ever gets it. Lazar’s favorite thing is to be by himself and do whatever he wants with his partner, whether that’ll be lazing around on the couch all day or going on an elaborately planned date. He’s so down for either. Just being with you is a treat, something he so rarely gets to relish in. Want to tell him you love him? Make time for Lazar, try to be there whenever possible.

🥡 The best part about being alone with Lazar is that he’ll show you just how much he loves you too. He’s a sap for cuddling, cute words, and spending every moment possible with you.

#not me and adler having the same love languages #maybe it's unhealthy projection onto my comfort character. maybe it's maybelline #russell adler #frank woods #alex mason #eleazar azoulay #lazar azoulay #headcanons #quizzy writes #black ops cold war #bocw #bo:cw #call of duty #cod

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nanasparadise · 4 years ago

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“Losing my senses for you” Yan!Joseph (Part 3) x female reader

Hiya everyone! Here’s a little Yan! Joseph (Part 3) x female reader for y’all because apparently, I like to see Suzi suffer lol

Summary: You and your soulmate Joseph share a pleasant dream, as always. Though suddenly, the elderly wants to take your friendship to the next level...

TW: age gap, implied cheating, implied kidnapping, toxic relationship, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 2022

Joseph had always thought of himself as a sensible man. Sensible enough to fall in love with his current wife and have a child with her, disregarding the fact that Suzi Q wasn’t his soulmate. Why would he have denied himself love, a family? No, Joseph had been rational enough to not care about that ‘dreaming of your soulmate’ humbug. That had been the case until he’d met you.

The male would have never imagined seeing his soulmate in his dream, not after all these years being married and especially not as an elderly man. You were still so young, a blooming flower in your twenties, ready to conquer the world. How could Joseph be your soulmate? But there was no denying that the Brit was constantly dreaming of you. Nearly every morning he’d wake up, your face still lingering on his mind while his spouse slept peacefully next to him, knowing nothing about her husband’s dream invader. Sometimes, he’d even whisper your name. Joseph didn’t have the heart to tell her, after all, Suzi had been his love for most of his life. But apparently, not the one to spend the remainder of it with.

This night wasn’t an exception when it came to your nocturnal visits. This time, the two of you sat on the terrace of a café near Joseph’s flat in New York City. The crowding streets of the metropolis filled the air with a cacophony of sounds: honking taxi cars, chatting people, the occasional dog that barked loudly. Even though every tiny thing seemed to buzz with life, Joseph knew that none of this was real- all would cease to exist once he’d wake up, except for him and you. Politely, you smiled at the Brit.

“Hello Mr. Joestar, how are you doing today?”, you greeted him, as you always did. Both of you had agreed that you wouldn’t refer to the elderly man with his first name, wanting to keep some distance between you. Just like Joseph, you had been more than surprised to notice that your soulmate wasn’t a person around your age. Though never having been openly said, you two knew you wouldn’t pursue any romantic advances towards each other. At some point, Joseph had even revealed to you that he was married and had a daughter and a grandson. But since you hadn’t found a way yet to end these dreams, you were behaving on an amicable basis. The male believed you’d probably see in him a grandfather figure. Though Joseph couldn’t tell anymore if he saw you as a granddaughter …

As per usual, the pair consisting of you chattered the whole time. You told him about your new job, how you were nervous to meet your colleagues, wondering if you’d get along well. While you were talking, you kept fiddling the napkin next to you, demonstrating your anxiety. During your countless encounters, Joseph had learnt to read your body language. Confidently, the man rested his real gloved hand on top of yours, stopping your tic. You stared into the male’s green eyes, astonishment written on your face.

“Y/N,” Joseph said softly, “you don’t need to be nervous, dear. How could they not like such a ray of sunshine like you?” He flashed you a big grin at his final words. You averted his tender gaze. Oh, how Joseph loved this bashful expression on your face. You were so easy to tease.

“Thank you, Mr. Joestar, though I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Please, call me Joseph”, the elderly man blurted out. A big thumb idly drew circles on the back of your hand. He didn’t know what had driven him into saying this, into breaking the formal distance between you - at least he didn’t know consciously. Deep inside, he was well aware that he loved you - more than just a friend, than a granddaughter, hell, even more than Suzi. In the end, you were his soulmate. Suddenly, all the previous talk about how any other kind of love paled compared to the love for your soulmate didn’t seem like humbug to Joseph anymore. No, the once reasonable man had been utterly struck by the arrow of a foolish love, a love he hadn’t experienced beforehand – not even with his wife. He had been struck by you. Your surprise only grew.

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be awkward?”, you asked hesitantly, eyeing your hand. Joseph stayed persistent though.

“Not at all, Y/N. It’s only natural to call me by my first name after all our dates, isn’t it?”, the man winked playfully at you. He really wanted to see how far he could go with his flirtatious banter until you’d retreat. Or maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d feel the same as him, wanting more out of these encounters. Maybe… Hope blossomed in Joseph’s chest, making the elderly man feel like a lovesick teenager all over again. Only you held that much power over him. Your following words crushed that spark of hope fairly quickly though.

“I don’t know, Mr. Joestar…,” you retorted, obviously refusing to address him as Joseph, “Don’t you think it would enable unwanted feelings between us? This is quite a hard situation anyway for us – you with your family, me with my young age – I don’t think we need to complicate things further.” At this statement, the light in Joseph’s green eyes extinguished like a flame. Of course. He might have lost his mind, but you didn’t. No, you remained rational, cool-headed.

“Ah, I see”, Joseph simply replied, barely hiding the disappointment in his raspy voice. “This is for the best, you old fool,” the tiny voice whispered in Joseph’s head, “How could you keep up with her?” Bitter at his own thoughts, the man made a crestfallen grimace.

“I’m sorry, I don’t intend to hurt your feelings in any way. I do enjoy the time we spend together and I appreciate you, Mr. Joestar”, you added remorsefully. The Brit’s heart warmed at your words of consideration. You cared for him, you must, he was convinced. The effects of the soulmate bond couldn’t just be ignored by you. Maybe, there was still a chance for him. Maybe…

“Y/N”, Joseph murmured your name ever so gently. Surprised by the softness of his tone, you looked up to him. He briefly wetted his lips before he proceeded talking. “I appreciate you, too. A lot, actually. Every time I’m in your company, I’m the happiest man alive. You draw me in and I can’t help myself but wanting more.” You tried to interrupt him, but Joseph quickly stopped you by raising his hand and continuing his speech. “Ah ah, honey, please let me finish. I know what you want to say: ‘But Mr. Joestar, what about your family?’ Well, they’ll understand, they have to. We’re soulmates, I can’t just ignore that. I’ll leave my wife for you, then we can start a life together. Please, my love, consider my words. After all, even without knowing it, I’ve been waiting the whole time for you.” Joseph gazed intensely in your eyes, yearning painted across his face. He patiently watched you gulp heavily and waited for your answer while he put his hand back on yours.

“Your words are sweet and I’m grateful for your sincerity, Mr. Joestar,” you eventually sputtered, “you’re dear to me, I’d be lying if I said you weren’t, but not in the way you intend it to be. I don’t think I could ever see you in a romantic way. And even if I could, I don’t want to be a homewrecker. I know you love your family, you shouldn’t toss them away for me.” Joseph sighed deeply. He’d learnt with experience to tame his quick temper, but still, impatience flared up inside him.

“Why can’t you give me, give us, a try? I’m aware that our initial plan was to keep some distance between us, but if we both have feelings for each other, why deny them then? You said you couldn’t see me as a lover, but I don’t believe that. Give me a chance and I’ll prove you how much I love you.” Joseph slightly squeezed your hand while spilling out his passionate words. “You said I shouldn’t toss away my family, but you want me to throw you away. How could I do that? Every morning, it’s your name that escapes my lips, your body I want to feel next to mine, your scent I want to inhale.” The man grew desperate the more he talked. “Don’t worry about our age difference, I know a way for you to grow old with me.” Joseph perceived your puzzled face from the corner of his eyes as he fixated his gaze on your hand, but kept speaking. “I can give you so much Y/N, if only you’d let me. Please, let us try it.” He finally looked up to you, fearing and yet anticipating your reaction. Yes, only you could make him this nervous… Your brows were tightly furrowed, though a hint of sympathy seeped through your kind eyes.

“Joseph…”, you whispered softly. The Brit’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird upon hearing you finally say his first name. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to reveal this to you, but it’s only fair for me to be honest to you as well. I’ve actually met this man a while ago.”

Joseph’s jaw dropped at your confession and his eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be true. He felt as if his whole world had shattered in this moment. Cruelly, you decided to hurt him more with your words. “And to be frank, things are going well. We’ve even talked about moving in together. I think he might be the one I want to spend my life with, Joseph.” Thud. Joseph’s prosthetic hand slammed harshly on the table. Instinctively, you winced at the loud noise.

“Why would you say that to me?!”, the man in front of you shouted, desperation coating his voice, “Why would you break my heart like that? I can’t believe it! Here I am, thinking about leaving my wife for you while you’ve been having fun with some other guy!” Joseph’s grasps painfully tightened around your hand. His handsome features had transformed into a terrifyingly furious grimace. You gasped fearfully, trying to retrieve your hand from Joseph’s hold. “Why would you bother to be with him when I’m right here? He isn’t your soulmate, I am!” Hot anger flooded the male’s body. It’s been years since he felt this kind of raw emotion again. Joseph glared at you while you still tried unsuccessfully to escape his grasp. Eventually, he let go of your hand. Hastily, you pulled it away from the table. Taking a deep breath, you spoke up.

“I think you forget that I’m still an independent woman, Mr. Joestar.”

“So we’re back at the surname, huh?”, the Brit thought gloomily.

“No matter if we’re soulmates, I’ve still got my own life, as you do. Which means I can choose with whom I’m in a relationship. I hope this incident here is non-recurring and that you’ve come back to your senses the next time we’ll see each other.”

With these final words, Joseph woke abruptly up. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from his intense outbreak. While laying down on his bed, he tried to calm his agitated breaths. “I should come back to my senses, huh?,” the male muttered quietly into the room as to not wake up Suzi, “What a bold thing coming out of your mouth, since you’re the source for my irrational behaviour.” Yes, Joseph had always thought of himself as a sensible man. But times had changed. And drastic times called for drastic measures. Subconsciously, the Brit knew exactly what had to be done if he didn’t want to lose you to that pest you thought was your boyfriend. Slowly, he climbed out of his bed. Joseph glanced one more time at his spouse’s sleeping form.

There was no turning back now.

Out of a drawer, the man grabbed a polaroid camera and called out his Stand.

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jjba #yandere joseph joestar #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere joseph joestar x reader #minors dni #tw: yandere #tw: age gap #tw: noncon touching #tw: implied kidnapping #tw: injury

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onebatch2batch · 4 years ago

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kastle + "“Is that.. my shirt?” please and thank you❤️❤️

HI, I KNOW YOU SENT THIS A MILLION YEARS AGO BUT I JUST FINISHED IT SO HOPEFULLY YOU LIKE IT <3

If there’s one thing Karen hates most in the world, it’s laundry. Which isn’t entirely warranted, because a majority of her things are dry clean only, and she usually only has to do a load or two herself every other week—but still. She hates that it feels like an all day affair, she hates folding everything, she hates the feel of the lint of her fingers when she removes it from the filter. So when a warm Saturday in June arrives and she’s low on clothes, like really low on clothes, Karen realizes she should start a load.

Unfortunately, her body is not on board with the idea. She wakes up slow, eats some late breakfast, and lethargically gathers the clothes strewn about her apartment. It’s a Saturday, so she has nothing to do but procrastinate. Procrastination forces her into the shower, and procrastination has her drinking coffee in a towel at the edge of her bed as she realizes that she has nothing to put on. It’s either she wears a skirt and blouse around the apartment or a towel until the first load is done.

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, there’s Frank’s drawer.

Karen’s eyes slide unwittingly towards her dresser, where the bottom drawer remains firmly closed. He’s been out of town for the last week or so with Curtis, up in the mountains with absolutely no reception. She knows it’s good for him to get away every once in a while, especially with his friends, but part of her—the smallest part, the only part not thinly veiled in denial—wishes he would have asked her along. It’s a thought she’s had a lot in the last couple days, accompanied by the hollow ache left by his absence.

God, she misses him.

She misses his surprise visits that turn into too much wine and inevitably leading to his crashing on the couch. She misses waking in the morning to freshly brewed coffee and he at the kitchen counter, head bowed over a book. She misses walking into the bathroom and inhaling Frank’s steamy post-shower smell: cedarwood, something earthy, something subtly metallic. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have him stay the night at her place; she only wishes it was in her bed, not on the couch.

Karen sighs. Goosebumps are starting to pebble on her skin from the AC, and so she steels her resolve and kneels before Frank’s drawer. She’d casually offered it to him months ago over breakfast. You spend the night enough, she tells him while staring resolutely into her mug. Might as well have a change of clothes here just in case you need them.

She had felt his eyes on her, all intense heat and wariness, long enough for her to fidget. And then finally he’d said: Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Karen.

The drawer is filled with a myriad of things, and not just clothes. On the top of the pile there’s a paperback by Jack Kerouac, a box of ammo, and a pair of spare keys she suspects is to that intimidating black van he drives. Underneath is a pair of socks, boxers (that she hurriedly paws past), some grey sweatpants (that look absolutely sinful on him, she recalls), and a pair of dark jeans. At the very bottom is a long sleeved henley and a plain black t shirt—Karen pulls out the t shirt and slips it over her head before she can talk herself out of it.

It’s comfortable, if a little too big. The hem hangs just past her hips when she stands, so Karen slips on a pair of underwear and leaves it at that. The rest of the afternoon she spends doing laundry and pretending as if she can’t smell him on her with every inhale. And when the guilt starts to eat at her, she tells herself that the shirt will be cleaned and replaced before Frank even knows it’s missing.

—

Except it isn’t, because of course it isn’t.

Hour three of dragging herself through the slowest washing machine cycle in the world (she’d splurged a little on an apartment with a hook up, too unwilling to deal with the laundromat down the block) and the worst dryer to accompany it (she hadn’t so much splurged on the actual machines)—finds Karen on the couch, flipping through the television channels. It’s nearly four o’clock and the temperature outside has finally broken, so the air is off and the windows are open. A soft breeze occasionally brushes over the exposed skin of her legs. And there’s absolutely nothing on the television.

So she does what any sane person would do, and returns to Frank’s drawer for the book. Not that she doesn’t have plenty of her own reading material, but she’s never read Kerouac and she’s a little curious what Frank sees in him. It’s halfway through the first chapter that she realizes there’s a key turning in the lock, and that Frank’s back.

Because of course he would walk in to this: her, clothed in underwear and his t shirt and no bra; sitting with her legs stretched across the couch cushions, back against the arm; his book in her hands as she struggles to parse the casual run-ons of Kerouac; a basket of half folded laundry on the floor. And he does—his face appears at the end of the hall leading to her front door and he pauses, bag slung over his shoulders and eyebrows raised to his hair.

“Hi, Frank,” Karen greets, carefully closing the book. “How was your trip?”

His eyes glance quickly at her exposed legs, and then up to his t shirt, back down to her legs, and then up to her face. Karen relishes in the warm flush that spreads across his cheeks, even if it is partially covered by his beard. “It was, uh, it was good,” he tells her roughly, unmoving. His eyes stray back to her lower half. “Is that...my shirt?”

Karen realizes that she should be embarrassed by her lack of clothes or admonished for going through his things without asking. But the only thing she really can feel is frustrated as a thought strikes her. That day in the hospital when she and Frank were alone--before Amy had interrupted--after Karen had all but blurted her feelings into the stale, tension-heavy room. His entire body had been covered in lacerations and zig zagged with stitches; his face was bruised and battered. He’d been so evasive with her, gaze hardly connecting with her own before darting away again. She’d been so afraid for him. Hopeless. And frustrated.

“You could love someone else instead of another war.”

“I don’t want to.”

At the time he’d been so determined, so set in his jaw as the hoarse declaration hung in the air. She wonders if that’s changed now, months of spending the night and phone calls and take out dinners later. If she were to ask the same question now—what he would say?

“It is,” she tells him evenly.

Frank’s hand tightens on the strap of his bag, a nervous gesture. “Why?” he finally asks.

“I haven’t been pining after you, if that's what you mean. I was out of clothes.” Karen offers him a small smile, trying to quell the bout of butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the rough edge to his voice.

To her relief he smiles. The tension eases from his shoulders. “You don’t seem like the pinin’ type.”

“I’m not.” Liar, liar, no pants on fire. “You just got back?”

He nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Was thinking about gettin’ dinner.”

“You find the take out menu, I’ll put pants on,” she wages.

Frank’s blush rises. He coughs and then turns, walking into the kitchen at a pace quicker than usual. Karen fidgets with the hem of the shirt, waiting until she can hear the telling sound of the coffee machine being manhandled. She grapples for a pair of leggings in the basket beside her and hurriedly puts them on.

“Sorry about the shirt,” she says loudly. “I was completely out of laundry and I figured you wouldn’t be back for a while. I’ll wash it for you.”

Frank reappears in the doorway, eyes on the floor until he’s sure she’s fully clothed. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles. “It’s nothin’.”

“I went into your things, Frank, I hardly think that’s nothing.”

At that, he meets her gaze.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he counters, shooting her a grin.

Karen huffs out a laugh. “Whatever. Hang on, I’m going to change out of this and then I'll order the food.”

“No.”

Karen swivels her head to give Frank a surprised look. The intensity of his no is startling but he seems as shocked as she is. There’s a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat and looks away as his finger starts that familiar rhythm against his leg. “I mean. You don’t have to. If you’re comfortable.”

She considers pushing it. She doesn’t. Not yet.

“I am. Thanks.”

—

Several hours later, Karen realizes their bottle of wine is empty. She’s sitting against one arm of the couch with Frank against the other. Her legs bridge the gap between them, and if she were to point her toes she could touch the strong muscle of his thigh. Their take out boxes sit empty on the coffee table, and Frank has his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. The apartment is quiet.

“So what did you and Curtis do in the mountains?” Karen asks into the silence, hesitant to break it but curiosity finally getting the better of her.

Frank sips his wine, and then turns his head to look at her. Karen is struck by how handsome he looks, the setting sun’s orange rays highlighting the curve of his nose and the warmth of his eyes. “Stupid shit,” he tells her with a chuckle. “We chopped up some trees, went hikin’--that asshole’s still faster’n me even with that leg--I read a lot. Talked. Drank some.”

Karen waggles her eyebrows. “Does that mean you guys got hammered in a cabin?”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “Takes a lot to get me hammered, Karen.”

“When’s the last time you were?”

Karen is always careful about asking questions regarding his past. She knows it’s dangerous territory--one small slip could turn their conversation from lighthearted banter to emotional warfare. That’s the last thing she wants for him, for them.

Thankfully, Frank has a quick answer. “Can’t remember. Years.”

She hums, curiosity piqued. She wonders what an overabundance of alcohol does to someone like Frank Castle--someone who is already so intense, so physical. Someone who already isn’t afraid to cry in front of her, who isn’t afraid to show emotion--would he close himself off, shut down? Would he laugh more? Would he touch her more than the casual touches she already receives? Would he kiss her? A thrill runs through her at the thought. She stays firmly planted on the couch, fighting the urge to grab the whiskey in her cupboard and put her theory to the test.

“What about you?”

“What?”

Frank fixes her with an amused look. “The last time you were sideways.”

“Oh. A couple weekends ago, Foggy came over.” She smiles, remembering. “Marcie was out of town so he brought over the wine and we did--well, this. Take out and wine. A lot of wine.”

There’s an expression on his face she can’t figure out. A mixture of forced casualness, of caution, of amusement. “So this is--...” He pauses, takes a drink of his wine, starts again. “This is what you do with your other friends?”

Two thoughts settle into the sudden ache in her chest at his words. That on one hand he does, in fact, consider her a friend. She’s not just a warm body to keep the loneliness at bay. Which she’s known that for a long time, of course. They trust each other in the way that only two people who have gone through a number of life-changing and dangerous ordeals together can--why wouldn’t they be friends? The second thought is how carefully he speaks the word friends, as if solidifying the idea. As if reminding her of their relationship status. As if to say, we’re friends, and I know you want more--but I can’t. So we’re friends.

“Yep. This is what I do with my other friends. All two of them.” The joke falls flat, overshadowed by the catch in her voice. Karen finishes off her glass of wine and decides she will get out the whiskey after all. Even if he doesn’t drink it, she needs something a little stronger than just another Rosé. She starts to get up, but his hand catches her ankle and keeps her firmly in place.

“You’re upset.” He looks at her cautiously from under a furrowed brow. His hand doesn’t lift from her skin, and it sends an unfair thrill through her. Karen’s toes curl before she can stop them, pushing against his thigh.

“I’m not upset.”

He frowns. “And now you’re lying. Did I say somethin’?”

She doesn’t want to lie to him. She also doesn’t want to tell him the truth. There’s a nagging thought in the back of her mind that says if she’s honest with him, he’ll be scared off. He’ll decide her feelings are too much for him to handle, and then he’ll leave. Again.

Her heart couldn’t bear it.

Karen tugs her leg out of his grasp and sets her feet on the carpet. He sits forward, trying to capture her eyes again. “Karen,” he says gently. It’s cautious and worried, and so completely Frank in the way he grinds out her name that the words escape her before she can stop them.

“It’s nothing, Frank. We’re friends, and that’s all, and I’m being selfish wanting more. I’ve just been--I’m not trying to--...” she glances over helplessly, but he’s giving her a look that she can only describe as stricken. She looks away quickly, desperate for a change of topic. Desperate to pull herself out of the hole that she’s dug for herself. There’s a brief moment of silence where she tries to decide what to do, outside of leaping from her fire escape, and then she hears Frank move. The cushion dips next to her. Warm fingers intertwine with her own, and then his lips are pressed to the back of her hand.

“Shit, Karen,” Frank murmurs, exasperated. “For a smart woman, you’re bein’ pretty stupid.”

She’s still stuck on her fact that his breath is dancing over her skin, and that he’s pressed against her side, and that he still hasn’t released her. That he hasn’t gotten up and made a hasty exit. His words barely register. “What?” she asks weakly.

“Curtis and I did a lot of talkin’ this weekend,” he says, staring to look her in the eye. The sudden change of topic throws her off balance. Before she can get a word in, he’s continued on. His thumb strokes her palm. “And a lot of it was dumb shit. We talked about his new apartment, the one he had to get after Billy shot up his old one. He says it gets a lot of sunlight. He talked about how the vet group is going and what team he thinks will win the World Series this year. It was good, and easy. We talk about some hard stuff too. We talked about Maria and the kids, and the war, and you.”

She’s not sure she likes being in the ‘hard’ category, but he seems to be edging towards a point, so Karen remains quiet.

“And after we talked through all that other stuff, Curtis told me I was bein’ an idiot. He told me that you’re a good woman, and an even better friend. That I needed to make a decision before someone else made it for me.” He pauses, looking away. In the following silence, she digests his words and tries to keep the hope from blossoming in her chest. His hand is still warm in hers, and the earthy, woodsy smell of him fills her nose.

He doesn’t speak long enough for Karen to finally hedge, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Frank.”

He turns back to her and offers a tiny, nervous smile. Not many things make a man like Frank Castle nervous, and the thought eases some of the tension from her body. She grips his fingers and holds her breath.

“I’m tryin’ to tell you that I’m yours, if you’ll have me. I don’t want to be friends, Karen. I want you. I want more, too.”

In retrospect, her next words could have been a little more eloquent. She could have taken an extra second to think of something romantic and elated. Something that matches his earnestness. What she actually says is, “Frank Castle, you’d better quit keeping me waiting and kiss me.”

His eyes widen briefly, and then he’s grinning at her. His free hand cradles her cheek and between one breath and another he’s doing just that. Karen wont admit to herself how often she thought of this moment, but she does think about how every imagining doesn’t come close. She never could have pictured the tenderness with which he kisses her or the feeling that swells inside her. There’s no daydream in the world that compares to the softness of his lips or the sensation of his beard against her chin. She fists one hand in his coat, letting the other drift up into his hair. It’s longer, curling at his temple, and when she gently tugs he lets out a groan that makes her shiver. His tongue swipes at her bottom lip and she grants him access eagerly. The kiss devolves into wandering hands, heaving breaths, and the distinct feeling that Karen is being carefully, intimately devoured.

After some time, Karen forces herself to pull away. Frank backs off immediately, a flash of concern in his gaze, but she gives him a small smirk, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his chest.

“How do you feel about me taking off the shirt now?” she asks casually.

Her meaning sinks in quickly. His fingers grasp at the hem, dancing along the bare skin on her hips. Frank gives her a mischievous, sinfully attractive smile. “If you’re comfortable,” he repeats, and then drags his shirt up and over her head.

The buzzer on the dryer goes off in the background, but Karen has never been less inclined to attend to it than she is now. In fact, she thinks, if wearing his shirt gets this reaction, I may never do laundry again.

It’s a nice thought, but then Frank lips meet her shoulder and she doesn’t think about laundry for a long, long time.

#kastle #my writing #kastle fic #kastle ff

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jerseydeanne · 3 years ago

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Ellen DeGeneres is no David Frost – the Palace has nothing to fear from her Meghan interview

When it was announced that Meghan Markle was giving another tell-all interview on American television, Buckingham Palace will have initially feared the worst. What – and who – would she talk about? Harry? Charles? Andrew? But then clarification came through that the grilling would be conducted by Ellen DeGeneres – and it is easy to imagine the Palace's enormous sigh of relief. As a talk show titan, Ellen has rarely coaxed anything scandalous out of her guests. And if you’re a friend – as Markle is – brace yourself for onslaught of the squidgiest of softballs. Which means plain sailing for Markle – but also an interview that is unlikely to produce too many bombshells to rock the royal family. Meghan’s sit-down with Oprah Winfrey last March set shockwaves around the world – and straight into the heart of British royalty. That was at least partly due to the fact that, for all her celebrity, Winfrey can be a tough, dogged inquisitor and she pushed Meghan out of her comfort zone. In the case of Ellen, however, the word that comes to mind is not dogged but doggies – given that she and Markle first struck up a friendship at an animal shelter in Los Angeles, bonding over their passion for disadvantaged pooches. Why Meghan would agree to do the interview is no mystery. Ellen is no David Frost and her show is not a place for serious discussion. It’s a daytime distraction for people who’ve decided to put their feet up and switch off their brains. So there is no expectation of a tough line of questioning – or indeed anything beyond celebrity banter. Added to that is the undeniable fact that Ellen’s people skills are dreadful. She rarely pins down her subject – yet if things go wrong, the results are horrible to behold. Plus, this is Meghan’s first solo interview – belt-up for full Hollywood gush. Usually, her Southern Californian tendencies are neutralised slightly by Prince Harry’s grumpy Britishness. But judging by clips of the Ellen tête-à-tête already released, we can expect lashings of nauseating showbiz banter – an onslaught of “owning your truth”, “being your best self” and other yoga mat platitudes. The huge paradox with DeGeneres is that she can be sugar and spice – yet is rarely nice, unless you’re a chum. It’s over a year since Ellen’s reputation was hit by a Buzzfeed news story about a culture of bullying at the long-running Ellen DeGeneres Show. Ellen said she had no knowledge of the bullying and vowed to make the “necessary changes” to confront the toxic behind-the-scenes culture. This May, she meanwhile revealed the series would be ending at the conclusion of the current season, giving her the freedom to pursue new challenges. Whatever about off-screen toxicity, Ellen’s unpleasant streak in front of the cameras has been long familiar to viewers. In 2013, she reduced Taylor Swift to tears by confronting the singer with slide-shows of old boyfriends (along with a snap of Swift with Zac Efron, despite the fact they’d never been in a relationship). This was mortifying. For Swift, her exes, the audience – everyone apart from Ellen, who seemed to enjoy each excruciating nano-second. “Every time I come up here you make me feel so bad about myself by putting a different dude up there on the screen and it really makes me question what I stand for as a human being,” said Swift, her head in her hands. Ellen on another occasion became embroiled in a frank exchange of views with Iranian-American comedian Hasan Minhaj over the proper pronunciation of his name. Ellen mangled it and went on to insist her attempt was correct and that Minhaj’s was wrong. What would he know? “I looked in the audience... and [my mum] kind of cringed,” Minhaj later revealed during an episode of his Netflix show, Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj. “And I was like, ‘Dude, what am I doing?’ I have a show with my f__ing name on it.” Ellen’s most notorious moment was obviously and of course her 2019 sit-down with Dakota Johnson in which she tried to pick a fight over Johnson not inviting Ellen to her birthday party. Only she had. “Last time I was on the

show, last year, you gave me a bunch of s__t about not inviting you, but I didn’t even know you wanted to be invited,” said Johnson. Ellen sat there grinning. There will no doubt be lots of smiles as she banters with Markle too. The two are pals, having met in 2012 at an animal shelter in Los Angeles. The friendship was kindled when Ellen walked up to Meghan and told her “you have to take that dog”. “It's sort of like when Oprah tells you to do something,” Meghan later recalled. “I brought him home. Because Ellen told me to.” Ellen has never hesitated to go out to bat for those close to her. And, given the choice between pinning an interviewee to their collar or advocating on their behalf, she typically choses the latter. When comedian Kevin Hart, for instance, was criticised for homophobic tweets – a firestorm which saw him disinvited as 2019 Oscars host – his first port of call was Ellen’s couch. Not only did she not hold him to account for his hate-filled tweets, she essentially said he should be forgiven and given back the Oscars gig. “You’ve already expressed that it’s not being educated on the subject, not realising how dangerous those words are, not realising how many kids are killed for being gay or beaten up every day,” she said, pleading Hart’s case for him. “You have grown, you have apologised, you are apologising again right now. You’ve done it. Don’t let those people win — host the Oscars.” Hart had just been publicly forgiven by the pontiff of day-time prattle. And if it wasn’t enough to win him back the Oscars job, Hart will come away from Ellen feeling his tarnished image had received an enthusiastic sprucing up. Meghan, who has no desire to host the Oscars (does she?), won’t be going on Ellen seeking forgiveness. But whatever her aims she can expect a sympathetic ear from a host who can be unpleasantly blunt unless you are one of the handful of people on the planet to whom she has decided to be nice. It’s a tiny club – one that just happens to include Meghan Markle. The Ellen Show airs on CBS in America at 3pm Eastern Time (ET) today. In the UK, the show will broadcast on ITV2 next Thursday at 2pm

source: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/tv/0/meghan-duchess-sussex-interview-ellen-degeneres-preview-expect/?utm_content=telegraph&utm_medium=Social&utm_campaign=Echobox&utm_source=Twitter#Echobox=1637243531

#ellen degeneres #show #interview #meghan markle #british royal family

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