#and anyone refusing to acknowledge this is both an idiot and refusing to use their goddamn eyeballs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goobtopia · 1 year ago

Text

crime and punishment [farleigh start]

!! 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

based on this request

summary: after a dinner party at saltburn you confront your long time friend, farleigh, about his odd behavior surrounding felix’s new friend from oxford.

warnings: 18+, SMUT, f!reader, (kinda) p*rn without plot, kissing, praise kink, mentions of p in v sex, thigh riding, nipple play, dom!farleigh, wealthy reader, mention of bullying, swearing, farleigh is both mean and whiny you’ve been warned

[requests are open]

☆ masterlist ☆

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or keep giving me the silent treatment?” You crossed your arms in the entryway of Farleigh’s room. He refused to look up from his Dostoevsky summer reading or give you any kind of acknowledgment.

You sighed, finally entering the room so you could sit at the edge of his bed making sure to shut the door behind you. With you facing him and your legs tucked under your body, he obviously couldn’t focus on the passage enough to continue reading so he sighed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This was classic Farleigh, so upset or so angry that he’d just shut it down instead. It was something of a compliment you guessed, when Farleigh didn’t care to hurt anyone with his words informed by his loathing his insults were quick and harsh. I once watched him send Gavey crying in the quad after spilling coffee on his lecture notes and heard he was in and out of the school counseler’s office after that.

“If this is about earlier…” You trailed off, unknowingly hitting the nail on the head for Farleigh and you jumped when his hard cover book made a deafening crack as it closed. “No, why would I be upset about earlier? It’s not like everyone has been up Oliver’s ass all semester, so much so that you take his side and make me look like a jackass in front of everybody.” He was calm, spoke in a sickly sweet voice as the book was discarded near his pillows.

You never pulled punches with Farleigh, he knew this, which is why he shouldn’t have been so surprised when you defended your actions, “Farleigh you made yourself look like an ass, like when everyone stopped laughing because it was literally painful to watch.” He ran a hand over his khaki colored corduroy pants, his fingers adorned with expensive silver rings, as he rested his ear against his shoulder. A sign he was licking his wounds after you walked out to check on Oliver leaving him alone to sing the rest of his shitty song.

“You get so… prideful around him, like you’re trying to prove something. I’ve never seen you like this.” The way Farleigh kept attacking Oliver was far from his usual pettiness, no Farleigh was always quick but even the butt of his jokes would find themselves laughing about it eventually. Here it was like he was taking everything just a step too far, you didn’t understand how Oliver got under his skin so badly.

Sure, he didn’t come from your world but it wasn’t like he was being a nuisance, there was no reason in your mind to embarrass him by picking a song for him that Farleigh was sure Oliver didn’t know. “Well, he’s a fucking creep. He’s sneaking around with Venetia and he’s cozying up to you lately, he had you using his lap as a couch coushin in there.” He looked disgusted by the thought.

You hadn’t thought anything of it honestly, if Venetia was settled in her brother’s lap in a platonic fashion you figured it was all in the spirit of the night. The closeness and camaraderie we found amongst yourselves in these nights, that was like tradition to you. “Farleigh…” You trailed in a tone reeking of disappointment in one of your best friends, “What? You don’t think so?” He quipped.

Your silence spoke for itself and he scoffed, “Well then you’re a fucking idiot.” Your voice, while not loud, cut through the air like a knife, “Hey. You do not speak to me like that.” You pointed your finger, straightening your back out. Next thing you know he’s pinning you down by your thighs, using this new leverage to lean into your face.

“What are you gonna do about it? Run and tell poor little orphan Ollie?” He nodded, silently coaxing an answer from you. “You’re being mean Farleigh.” You whisper, showing weakness for a moment not even thinking about the fact your friend doesn’t ever touch you like this. Somehow, it’s the least of your worries.

With a heaving chest he looks down at your lips, focusing in on them as they draw into a tight line with the silence. “I wouldn’t be so mean if you hadn’t been,” His tongue runs over his bottom lip. “…misbehaving.” You lost the ability to breathe for a moment, suddenly forced to face the lines that were most definitely being crossed. This was uncharted territory for the both of you.

One hand came up to your face, pressing his thumb lightly into the center of your chin making sure to slowly bring it up and gauge your reaction. His knuckle hooked over your bottom lip until the pad of his thumb grazed the wetness of your tongue. You closed your mouth around it instantly, earning a groan from the tall boy towering over you.

Swiftly he removed himself, pocketing his hands under your thighs and throwing your weight on top of his so you were open for him across the thick muscle of his leg. “You gonna be good for me?” You nodded, bracing yourself on his shoulders. “Yes, I am.” You said without hesitation, some new fire ignited you craved to fuel.

You were pulled by the nape of your neck to meet his lips in a fervent kiss pressing your whole body against his. Lips slid against each other as they danced in harmony, tongues exploring one another as you began grinding your hips against him hoping to relieve some of the pressure building in your core.

His free hand locked onto your hip to stall any movement as he pulled away from you, “Take it easy babe, just let me touch you.” You could’ve melted right there, his hand traveled up your nightgown and grazed over the seam on the side of your panties. “Oh really?” He sounded almost proud in his surprise at your lack of pants.

He explored further, reaching up to your right breast and grazing his nail against your nipple. Your hips stuttered involuntarily, amusement written on his face as he watched your face screw in pleasure. “F-fuck” Your voice cracked, feeling that stimulation go straight to your core.

“You gonna let me have a taste?” He pouted, twisting the nipple in between his fingers leaving you breathless and desperate for more. “Yes, fuck, please just put your mouth on me.” You whined, and Farleigh didn’t need to be asked twice. Your gown was ripped from your body leaving you in just a little pair of panties and nothing aside from your stark nakedness.

Of course, he had to take a moment to admire your body, so soft and beautiful, like unwrapping a gift he’s always yearned for. “Farleigh, please.” Your voice sounded pathetic almost, but you were worried if either one of you paused for too long you’d come to your senses and stop. And empty fear seeing as it would probably take an act of god to seperate the two of you at this moment.

“Shut up, I wanna see what you’ve been hiding from me all these years.” His hands explored practically every inch of you, his eyes grazing against your stomach, your breasts, you thighs. He couldn’t stop imagining what your hips might look like settled on top of his own, stuffed to the brim with his cock.

He couldn’t wait anymore, he unbuckled his silver and black belt, letting it hit the floor somewhere before jimmying them halfway off all with you in his lap. Now your sex was making indirect contact with a small sliver of his skin between his boxers and pants. “I’m gonna spend some time with these,” He began to explain, giving each breast a squeeze. “But you’re gonna get off on my thigh before I do anything else. Understand?” You nodded with confidence, hiding your dissapointment in him. All you wanted was for him to be inside you, tending to that most sensitive part of you and he was making you do it yourself.

But you could give him a show, make him so insatiable he’d have no choice but to turn you over and fuck you after seeing the way you grind into that muscle. “Yes, I understand. I’ll be good for you.” You cooed in your most sultry voice. It must’ve been an effective plan because his head dipped to tend to you almost instantly.

With lips and teeth scratching against the sensitive skin of your nipple, you felt like you were going crazy. You didn’t need to be reminded of you task because your hips did all the work for you at the feeling he provided. It was like your breasts had a direct line to your clit, making any friction against it double in intensity.

Your hips weren’t thrashing against him by any means but you were still racing to reach that high, something Farleigh helped along by bouncing his thigh against you. Farleigh switched breasts, leaving a free hand to guide your motions along him in frustration. “God I can’t wait to fuck you.” He humbled against your chest, “Been so good for me, haven’t you? My good girl.”

You barely registered the words, not that it would’ve changed anything. If being Farleigh’s good girl meant pleasure like this you didn’t care.

You were getting closer, mumbling harder as you threw your head back in pleasure. Farleigh could barely make out any of your words besides: fuck, please, so close; he guessed he didn’t need the details. He grabbed the middle fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side so your clit was bare and began to catch onto Farleigh’s boxers, creating a new devilish form of friction against that bundle of nerves.

“I’m gonna cum.” Your voice was light and broken. It had come embarrassingly fast but with Farleigh’s tongue flicking against the second most sensitive bundle of nerves, there was no way you could’ve helped it. No doubt it was boosting Farleigh’s ego, something that was far from necessary.

He lifted his head, keeping one hand aimed at the pleasure points on your chest, “Look at me. I wanna see that look in your eyes.” You sped up, keeping eyes contact with him as your jaw felt slack and that impossibly tight knot in your core finally broke, letting pleasure avalanche over your senses. Farleigh kept on you with that look of amusement at how quickly you came undone through his own manipulation.

You sadly clenched around nothing as your legs shook a bit and you slowly rode out the high, not wanting to keep the same pace now that you were so sensitive. Farleigh pulled you into another kiss, this one deeper but more sensual than before. There was no rush now, neither of was going anywhere.

“Fuck you’re never leaving this bed.” He confessed between kisses, promising you this wasn’t just a one-off thing. “Not until I’m finished with you.”

#farleigh start #farleigh smut #farleigh x reader #farleigh saltburn #farleigh catton #oliver x farleigh #farleigh imagine #farleigh #saltburn #oliver quick #felix catton

1K notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 1 year ago

Note

What do you think of the movement to vote "uncommitted" in the primary? Personally I think it's a good idea as a protest vote, while not "allowing Trump to win" since it's, ya know, the primary. You're voting for "the Democrat you want to be the candidate for president" not who you actually want to be president. Most of the arguments I've seen against it seem to forget primaries exist...

Well, since you came to me and presumably do want my honest opinion on this topic, I'll share it with you. However, this will also be very blunt and candid, including some things which I haven't yet said in the 4+ months since the whole Israel/Hamas situation kicked off, and therefore also frustrated. This frustration should not be read as/taken as being directed at you personally, but since you're the conduit for this question, that's just something I want to highlight.

So. Why should you vote for Biden in the primary, and not "uncommitted" or whatever else?

First of all, what I desperately want to ask all these self-righteous VOTE UNCOMMITTED IN THE PRIMARY TO SEND BIDEN A MESSAGE types is: what exactly the fuck do you want this message to be, and what action do you expect Biden will take as a result? Is this actually based on an expectation of what he can/and or will actually do, or is it just a froth of misguided Online Leftist "rah rah this Bad Thing Happening Is All Biden's Fault," as we also notably went through when Roe was overturned by the Trump-stacked SCOTUS selected precisely for the purpose of overturning Roe? My god, the amount of bad "THIS IS BIDEN/THE DEMOCRATS' FAULT" posts that appeared, and are still circulating on the particularly idiotic corners of this site. Nothing could ever be Trump/the Republicans' fault in that case; it was the same old same old "DEMOCRATS DON'T CARE ENOUGH TO STOP THIS!!!" puerile fantasy. That's what we are getting now with Israel/Hamas. This isn't Hamas's fault for attacking Israel on October 7 (god forbid; the online left loves Hamas) and it isn't even the state of Israel and Netanyahu's fault for responding with full-scale genocide on Gaza. Or it is, somehow, but not so much that Biden personally couldn't magically reach in and stop it "if he really wanted to." I'm sick and fucking tired of this bullshit sixth-grade bad-faith disingenuous approach to playing Super Moral Social Justice Yahtzee and refusing to acknowledge the thousands of complex factors at play, especially when it involves blaming literally anyone other than Biden, personally (just like the Trump cultists, for whom "IT'S BIDEN'Z FAULT" is the beginning and end of their political theory, just like the Online Leftists). I'm sure this will get me called a genocide apologist by the Very Smart Moral Twitter Thinker types, but I don't think "Biden has failed to magically single-handedly solve this crisis, which stems from one of the most major and long-running issues in post-WWII and indeed pre-WWII world history, in four months" is actually a good reason to vote against him.

Likewise: withholding your vote might make more sense as a strategy if Biden was still only blindly supporting Israel and refusing to do anything to pressure them, which is demonstrably untrue. I know it's hard for some of these people to actually read the news and/or anything outside their ultra-curated Twitter feed, but it's been well-reported and well-documented that he is. If the US was directly involved in the bombing campaign on Gaza, sure, tell Biden that you will vote uncommitted to increase pressure on him to pull out. None of that is actually true, and the "information" about Biden's action in re: Gaza on both Twitter and Tumblr is basically just entirely malicious lies. So again: what message are you sending when you decide to be all precious and announce you're not voting for him? You don't want him to pressure Israel? You're willing to blow this up entirely and increase the media nonsense about BIDEN WEAK DEMOCRATS DIVIDED and give Trump an opening to exploit? You really want to announce to the Trump/Putin/Netanyahu axis of evil that their anti-Biden propaganda is working (since all three of them are working as hard as they fucking can to get Biden out of office, and as someone who opposes all three of them, I think this is a good idea to vote for Biden!) and they need to hammer harder on this wedge issue? Because that's all your oh-so-moral Uncommitted vote is doing. It's not a protest. It's not leverage. It is the withdrawing of leverage. If you want Biden in office so he can be pressured to listen to you and take action that you agree with, you will vote for him. Yes, in the primary. Yes, when it's not directly against Trump.

You want a ceasefire, you say? GREAT! WE ALL WANT A CEASEFIRE AND/OR ACTUAL PEACE AND RECOGNITION OF A PALESTINIAN STATE! That's in fact why you should be busting your fucking ass to make sure Biden gets re-elected, and to give him a strong show of support in the primary. Biden is the only candidate with a credible long-term (and like, baseline functional sane adult) plan for Gaza. Biden is the one who has been pressuring Netanyahu in every single contact to tone it down and stop acting like an insane murderous maniac and therefore torching any remains of sympathy for the attack Israel suffered in October. Biden is the one who has his entire diplomatic team working on high-level contacts with the Israeli government and the Hamas representatives via Qatar, while sufficiently threatening Iran to back down from frothing at the mouth to destroy Israel (once again, just like the rest of the antisemitic western left). Biden is the one who is pushing for this not to be World War III, and yet we get Baby's First Social Justice Activist screaming at him for being GENOCIDE JOE and blaming him personally for not, as I keep putting it, shapeshifting into Netanyahu's body and making this stop. "He should publicly call for a ceasefire!" Or, and this is just a suggestion, he should DO HIS FUCKING JOB and continue to work on serious problems that don't have instant socially media marketable catchphrases and won't come with instant gratification. Also, please tell me how you plan to get both Hamas and Israel to accept the same terms for a ceasefire, abide by it, and do exactly what Big Daddy Biden told them, because you, the dedicated anti-western anti-imperialist, think that's the best course of action?

Like. I mean. As vice president and now as president, Biden is actually one of the least foreign-intervention-happy leaders the US has ever had. He was originally against the Abbottabad raid to take out Osama bin Laden in 2011; he wound down the overseas drone assassination program (at which the Online Leftists screamed bloody murder at Obama, ignored in Trump, and then refused to give Biden any credit for ending) to almost nothing, he pulled the US out of Afghanistan, and even though he's been supporting Ukraine in its fight against Russia, he's also been extremely slow and cautious (in my opinion, too slow and cautious) at giving them all the military hardware they need, even before this latest blockade of aid in the House by Putin's favorite little bitch Mike Johnson. He has already presided over a historic shift in US policy toward Israel, in terms of conditioning the use of lethal aid, imposing reporting requirements, starting to criticize them publicly, and calling for the recognition of a Palestinian state and more humanitarian aid to get into Gaza. Yet in the Online Leftists' mind, because he is not personally out there Captain America-ing away the Israeli bombs and/or calling for Israel to be totally destroyed "from the river to the sea" as the Tumblr activists are fond of using no matter how often Jews ask them to stop, there is nothing he's actually doing! GENOCIDE JOE!!!!! Like, I thought the anti-western anti-American crowd thought all overseas American influence was evil (but all overseas Russian and/or Chinese influence is fine). When Biden actually doesn't recklessly intervene in foreign conflicts like Kennedy/Johnson/Nixon/Reagan/Bush 1/Bush 2/pretty much every American president in the latter half of the twentieth century, you'd think that would get him plaudits? NAH.

"Biden should stop selling Israel weapons without Congressional approval!" Okay, sure, he should. Which he did one time, and he also repeatedly promised to veto and/or not pass any only-Israel aid package that didn't also help Ukraine and Taiwan. He's also not beholden to the frothing antisemitic Online Leftists position that Israel should just lie down and let all of its citizens be killed and its state wiped from existence. Like. We also remember that Jewish voters exist in America, right? And that Jewish lives are something which are repeatedly and demonstrably under threat in the rest of the world, including from Hamas and the Houthis (who are genuinely terrible people and the western left's warm embrace of them as principled anti-Israel actors is all we need to know about their inherent brainrot and moral vacancy). We know that maybe going full masks-off antisemite (which Biden isn't going to do anyway, for any number of reasons) isn't the greatest plan and nothing to which you should be conditioning your vote? Likewise, please tell me how you plan to make Congress (especially the GOP-led clown car House) "do what Biden wants," since you're still beholden to that being the be-all-and-end-all of moral action? Or how you account for Congress at all, and not just think The President is An Almighty King?

Aside from all this, I am sick to my fucking back teeth of the Precious Moral Princesses (gender neutral) who have spent four years lying about everything Biden has done. We had the personally blaming him for Roe ending (he could unilaterally overturn SCOTUS if he really wanted!) We had the endless bashing about student debt, only to ignore him actually making the most major effort to forgive student debt in all the post-Reagan years. We have had a complete ignoring and/or distortion of his domestic policy accomplishments, which are some of the most momentous since FDR and LBJ. We have had an utter ignoring, revision, and downplaying of the damage Trump did in one term and how very much worse his second would be. We have had to endure "WELL YOU CAN'T ASK ME TO VOTE FOR BIDEN" at every single second for every single thing, because this is such a terrible onerous thing to ask them to lift one single fucking finger to give us some more time to come up with a better solution. And yet, as astutely pointed out by one of my anons yesterday, they utterly don't care whether the obvious outcome of this action is to help Trump get back into power. Apparently that's not a moral reach too far, but straining their delicate tender moral sensibilities to fucking do the goddamn bare minimum to help us out -- both in America and around the world -- no, no. We can't have that.

Like. These people allegedly want a ceasefire, and they want it to come about by asking literally nothing more of them then posting snide anti-Biden diatribes on social media. That's the extent of the effort they're willing to put in. They can't even trouble themselves to take the first step of voting for people who want to address this crisis in a constructive way. So yeah, I have a hard time believing this is anything deeply felt in regard to opposing genocide, and just wants what makes them look morally superior. Also: I don't care if your feelings are genuinely pure and strong and you obviously oppose what's happening in Gaza (we all do!) and want it to end. In that case, why the fuck aren't you throwing your support (yes! Even in the primary!) behind the one guy who's actually working to fix it and not just posting empty platitudes on Twitter? It likewise does not excuse you from the harmful consequences of your rhetoric and actions, if you decide that the best way to act on your deep-seated and genuine desire to stop the genocide is just to blindly bash Biden all day every day. Not voting for Biden in the primary does not excuse the fact that this election is against Trump and everything horrible that he represents, and that we are in this situation largely because the online left has learned literally fucking nothing from 2016 and is eager to do it all over again. Not voting for Biden in the primary does not give you a special Gold Star Moral Activist sticker announcing that you were too virtuous to engage in the process now, but if you're sufficiently placated, you maybe will do it in November. Miss me with that bullshit. I've spent eight years pleading with people to help us fix this mess, by -- yes! engaging with the flawed process that makes partial changes!!! -- and all I hear is that same fucking nonsense. That is a large part of why this response is so steamed.

Anyway. In short, I don't think voting "uncommitted" is a good idea, I think it only helps Trump in the short and long term, I think it protests nothing, I think it represents the same old tired anti-voting schlock that I have had more than fucking enough of, and I don't endorse it by any means. However, you will see that while I can strongly and unequivocally give you my opinion that it is a bad idea, I cannot actually reach through the screen, take control of your body, and force you to obey me one way or the other. So maybe, just maybe, Biden can't do the same with Netanyahu. Weird.

#everentropy #ask #politics for ts #vote and get off my lawn #israel hamas war

402 notes · View notes

dinosaurswant2rule · 6 months ago

Text

The trouble with Galadriel and Sauron (what the show won't admit)

Before I get hate, I fully love these two as a couple, I ship them so hard as Sauron and Galadriel and Halbrand/Galadriel (although I would have loved it if Halbrand was just a "dude" with a tragic past not the source of evil incarnate)

Anyway my rant/analysis

I've read a lot of META analysis about TROP/Galadriel / her mistakes/not spotting Sauron for what he is etc / the mistakes blah blah blah

And while it's also fascinating, my big issue with the show and to a certain extent the analysis around her is that and I'm going to say this SUPER LOUD

SAURON IS RIGHT (in a way that doesn't for Celebrimbor or any of the other character he interacts with)

Yes Sauron absolutely manipulates Galadriel and she refuses to acknowledge a whole series of things.

But, for Galadriel, everything he says to her on the raft is absolutely true in a way that's not really true for anyone else.

Galadriel IS cast out by the elves for wanting more soldiers, for hunting an enemy that they think is gone even though she is TADA right as well. Sauron is not dead (Gil Galad grhhh) They don't listen to the commander whose hunted him for decades and led them across the battle field, they just say go away crazy cat lady - we'll just ship you off to Valinor.

And it just annoys me so much, that it's never really acknowledged EVER in the second series that she actually has a point

Sauron WAS NOT DEAD

That they put her directly in the path of someone when she is angry/damaged/still mourning a brother she lost a long time ago

And when they find out she is right, they have GALL to blame her for it utterly

Elrond AND Gil Galad both lay the blame entirely on her shoulders, no one ever really openly says, sorry Gal we put you in a super awkward position where you could have been open to Sauron's manipulation, that's on us and sorry for not believing you first time around.

Elrond - twat that he is (although I love him) sorta says sorry in between make out kisses at the last possible second, but it would have been nice for him to actually acknowledge it that Auntie Galadriel actually had a point.

He also has the nerve to say that she had the darkness calling to her/ that basically she was just an idiot falling for Sauron's tricks / is possibly corrupted herself

And Gil Galad never admits it either - still vaguely regarding her a sparkly flea he can't quite swat

And that she's somehow created another problem he's got to fix

While I totally admit that it's partly her fault, I just don't think the show is written as desperately fair to Galadriel and the second series suffers a lot from it.

After building her as the angry/damaged/virtually invincible soldier in the first series, the second series determinedly knocks her down a peg or two and the men folk take over (this is not helped by the fact that she no female relationships in the series) even though t hey are partly to blame for this mess.

I guess it frustrates me that the writing /the way the cast describe it - they tend to just go with the Galadriel made a horrible mistake and look at the consequences / she really did want what Sauron offered line

Anyway, back to Sauron, HE IS RIGHT, she is dumped by the elves and he is the only one who vaguely sees her as AN EQUAL, he actually finds her determination and obsession APPEALING rather than a turn off.

And it's seen as this monstrous thing, he's saying, but it's not really because he's being absolutely true

I SEE YOU AS AN EQUAL, AS MY MATCH (romantic or otherwise)

LET'S WORK TOGETHER

BECAUSE YOU'RE AMAZING

It's hardly a shock that Galadriel found this appealing because literally no man in her immediate world has ever really acknowledged in this way before and by the end of the series, he stills wants her!

(and in my opinion even after the roundhouse kick to the face)

(this might be one of the reasons her connection is so deep with him)

Celembrimbor on other hand, Sauron plays on his vanity/his desperation/his loneliness? as well as his basic good nature, but he doesn't really ever hit the nail on the head in terms of his situation (cause frankly Brimby is living a decent life)

Sorry this always bugs me when I watch it/read it

Just had to ran this out, much love to the TROP fandom and HALADRIEL and SAURONDIEL too, you're all amazing

Elsa out x

#rings of power #the rings of power #trop #trop analysis #trop angry rant #haladriel #galadriel x halbrand #halbrand #galadriel #sauron #Galadriel really gets a raw deal in the story

101 notes · View notes

apheliaholmes · 2 months ago

Text

Moonwater

🐺 📖 🐈‍⬛ ☕️

The Bookshop

⭐︎

Regulus and Remus had the same way to deal after school exams: they bought a book. Remus called it “aftercare,” making Sirius laugh at that, while Regulus - often explaining to Barty for the thousandth time why he bought so many books - “it’s because I fucking need it or I’ll kill you, dumbass.” Well… both of them spent the few weeks before the exams helping their friends catch up on all the months of study they didn’t decide to do. That was driving Remus mad, that was driving Regulus mad, everyone was getting mad. It was just a normal day.

Peter was probably the only one enjoying the show. Neither Remus nor Regulus knew that they were doing the same thing, but Peter often let his eyes vagabond around the library and often saw Regulus screaming at his friends like Remus was doing. Well, not really screaming, because Regulus respected the silence in the library a lot - he used a silence charm around his table to feel free to insult his friends. Barty never listened, Peter looked at his own table, Sirius never listened, Evan always tried to flirt with Barty, Peter looked back at his friends, yeah… James was flirting with Sirius. The similarities made Peter smile, and he looked back at his book, studying.

The day of the exams, Remus and Regulus were tense - they were always tense, but when it was study-related, it was worse - and everyone seemed to get on their last nerves for some reason. Hogwarts always made every student take their exams on the same day, no matter if it was your first year or your last, you’d be around the whole damn school, on your single desk, doing your goddamn long paper. Remus hated this, too many people around him, and for Regulus, he wanted to slap everyone who was making too much noise with their ink and feather or by nervously tapping their foot on the ground.

When they finished - both in advance - they ended up exiting the exam room, looking at each other. Remus opened his mouth, in hopes of making small talk with the younger, but Regulus scoffed and left, rolling his eyes.

“You little shit.” Whispered Remus, watching Regulus leave the hallway.

They never really interacted with each other in the past, not a lot at least. Regulus didn’t like Remus, to be fair, Regulus didn’t like a lot of people. But for the friend of his brother, it was only because he felt like Sirius liked Remus more than him. And he had this feeling for all the friends of his brother, those fucking Marauders. And he refused to acknowledge he was wrong. He just wanted to feel like he was the only person that made Sirius happy to be alive, and not some idiot Gryffindors for whom he decided to leave home and act like he never knew any Black. Like he never was a Black. And that was driving Regulus insane.

Therapy was a long process for him. And he spent more money on books than therapy. He was calmer while reading a book, lost in the words of the writer, not in his own mind, and that, that was a blessing. Therapy was the opposite, he was obligated to acknowledge his mistakes and to confront his own mind. He hated being unable to really hate Sirius, and he knew that the only one he really hated was himself. And for some reason, reading made him feel… safe. In a world where nothing could really hurt him. So yeah… after all the anxiety, pressure, and insanity of the exams, he’d go to the bookstore.

Remus never really noticed Regulus though. He noticed him the first time he came to Hogwarts, of course, a shy boy, gaze avoiding and intimidated. His black hair didn’t fool anyone, everyone knew he was a Black. Sirius was excited to see his baby brother and hopeful he’d be sorted into Gryffindor. He had a plan in his mind that everything would be fine if only Regulus asked the Sorting Hat to be placed in his house. If only…

But the hat whispered, “You’ll be a courageous wizard in every house, Regulus, but Gryffindor suits you the best… You have the good in your heart, mhh I see… extremely courageous.”

But thank god, no one heard that, neither Dumbledore, nor McGonagall, nor Sirius. Only Regulus and the Sorting Hat.

“I want Slytherin,” whispered Regulus. The Sorting Hat sighed, disappointed, like it knew something everyone else ignored, and screamed to the Great Hall, “SLYTHERIN!”

And all hope of Sirius was gone. His smile disappeared the moment he heard the hat, and he spent his dinner trying to catch Regulus’ gaze, needing to see him. Remus didn’t really say anything, he didn’t know what to say, so he just took Sirius’ hand and comforted him. That was how Remus met Regulus for the first time, for far away.

After that, he learned about Regulus through Sirius. Sirius needed to speak about him, he needed to remember him, he had the feeling he lost his brother the day Regulus chose Slytherin. Sirius didn’t stop saying to Remus how cute Regulus was as a baby, or the calm and reserved kid he was. Remus knew a lot and paid attention to every detail. He didn’t know why, but he was interested in Regulus. Or maybe it was the way Sirius described him. You could hear the love, the pain, and sometimes the hate of Sirius toward Regulus. But you could never doubt how far in hell Sirius would go for Regulus. And he tried so, so much. But if someone doesn’t want to go out of hell, you can stay in it forever, right? So Sirius decided to wait outside of hell. In this situation, hell was inside of Grimmauld Place, and waiting outside was the Potters’.

Remus saw how much Regulus had hate in him when he and Sirius saw each other after he left for the Potters’. Gosh, this argument was terrible. And that’s the first time Remus really spoke to Regulus. Or perhaps tried.

“Could you at least hear what Sirius is trying to say?” Screamed Remus.

And Regulus, with all his hate, answered, “Go fuck yourself, Lupin. If I need advice from a moron, I’ll ask Sirius.”

The conversation didn’t go well after that. And Remus realised that, even if he knew a lot about Regulus, Regulus didn’t know a thing about him. Remus was attached to the Regulus that Sirius described to him, but he didn’t really know him. After all, he only knew him through the lens of Sirius.

So yes, Remus and Regulus never really interacted with each other, at least not in a polite and amicable way.

Remus waited outside of the exam room for his friend, still looking in the direction where Regulus had left. Was he hoping to see him again? Yes, without a doubt. But what could he say to him? Regulus refused any kind of interaction, and for some reason, these last few months, it pissed Remus off to another level. He hated to his bones seeing Regulus avoiding him, avoiding Sirius. He hated not seeing Regulus for breakfast in the Great Hall. He needed to at least see him three or four times a day and to establish eye contact. But since after Christmas, Regulus stopped looking at him, and that, that was unacceptable. Remus knew it was just a matter of time before he lost his shit and decided to confront Regulus. Which, when he thought of it - and he thought of it a lot - was ridiculous. They never knew each other. But… the dinner eye contact was their thing… Every damn evening in the Great Hall, no exceptions tolerated.

Remus sighed, looking back in the direction where Regulus had left. He just wanted to see his eyes, a small smile on his face. It was a need. Not in a drug way, more as a reassurance way. It was his way to know Regulus was okay. Sometimes, Remus was afraid he made up this little ritual in his mind, those exchanged eye contacts, those soft looks at each other.

Remus feared he’d disappear if Regulus didn’t look at him.

He spent the rest of the day - and half of his night - thinking of him, unknowing that Regulus did the same. It could’ve been funny, to see how one avoided the other but both of them wanted the same thing, but it wasn’t funny, because one of them punished himself, thinking he didn’t deserve to be understood and seen by someone, anyone.

But it wasn’t funny, because one of them punished himself, thinking he didn’t deserve to be understood and seen by someone, anyone.

That Saturday morning, Regulus didn’t look at Remus. He did his best to stay focused on his porridge, avoiding the only one he truly wanted the attention of. And that drove Remus insane. The way he bit into his apple was angry, his eyes fixed on Regulus.

“You fucking little shit,” thought Remus.

Peter noticed. He noticed everything. The little rat was small, noiseless, and very observant. He saw. He saw a lot. But he didn’t comment on anything. Instead, he poured some tea into Remus’ cup, softly rubbing his arm like Peter always did.

“You know what kind of book you want to buy?” asked the boy softly, knowing Remus needed to focus on something else or he’d call out Regulus in the middle of the Great Hall.

Remus answered vaguely, and Peter pushed the subject, wanting his attention. Remus smiled softly, did he know what Peter was doing?

Probably not the full picture, but he knew Peter was able to understand him without needing to speak. And that was what Remus loved the most about him.

After breakfast, Remus left for the bookstore without looking at Regulus, his fists tightened in tension. He wanted so badly to just… see him, and see that Regulus saw him too.

And Regulus did, but Remus didn’t see.

Later in the morning, Remus was finally in town - the Muggle one - walking in the direction of his favourite bookstore. It was an old shop, probably as old as the town itself. A plate on its front said: “We sell books since 1878.” The smell inside the bookshop was so comforting for Remus that he often sat on one of the old couches near the fireplace to read or just watch through a window what was going on outside. He liked being alone. Of course, he always loved being with his friends, but from time to time, he enjoyed seeing the time fly just by himself.

He opened the door, smiled politely at the shop owner, and started to walk between the shelves. He let his fingers vagabond over the book covers, inhaling the comforting smell of the old pages. It was the end of March, but it was still cold outside - it’s always cold in Scotland - so the fireplace made some crisp noise in the background, warming the shop, enchanting it with the warm and burning wood.

Remus loved it. He loved it so much he could forget all the pain he felt sometimes.

He drank his warm coffee he brought earlier. He knew he shouldn’t drink caffeine but… we live only once, after all. He didn’t stop walking in the bookstore, slowly, tilting his head to the side to read some book titles. “How funny some Muggle writers are,” he thought, reading some synopses.

Remus didn’t hear the ring of the door when someone entered the bookstore, well… he did, actually, but didn’t care the slightest. Maybe if he knew who it was, he would’ve been more captivated.

But he didn’t. He was focused on the book he held in his hands.

Regulus watched him from the entrance and turned around, ready to leave. But when he noticed that Remus had seen him and hadn’t paid attention to him, he turned around again. This time, he could watch Remus without his knowledge. And that… that didn’t happen a lot.

Regulus walked rapidly behind some shelves, purposefully hiding himself from Remus. For once, he could see Remus in his own little world. Lost between words and soft pages, hardcovers and thoughts. He wondered if Remus liked reading for the same reasons he did. But it wasn’t the case, and he would’ve liked to know more about it.

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw Remus frown while reading the first pages of a book. One of the scars near his lips stretched a bit, and Regulus wondered how it would feel to kiss them. For some reason, he would’ve liked to make Remus feel his lips on his scars.

Remus walked to the leather couch. He removed his coat, put his coffee on the marble table, crossed his legs, and started to read.

Regulus couldn’t help but frown when he saw the sweater he wore - it was Sirius’ one. Suddenly, he was upset. Not because his brother and Remus shared clothes, but because… no… it was because Remus and his brother shared clothes.

If only Regulus had asked, he’d have known everyone in their dorm shared Sirius’ clothes, perhaps, everyone shared their clothes.

James stole from Remus, Sirius from everyone, Peter from Remus too. There was no such thing as “personal items” in the Marauders’ dorm. But Regulus didn’t ask. He just stared.

Remus turned a page of the book, unaware of the presence of Regulus.

The soft fingers touching so delicately the paper made Regulus shiver. His eyes were fixed on Remus’ hands, on the scars they bore, and the soft bracelet he had on his right wrist, on how the sleeves fell to the middle of his forearm. He saw how soft Remus’ skin was - but sweet heaven, he would’ve liked to touch it. To feel it.

“Sorry, darling,” said the owner of the bookstore, asking Regulus to move from her path. The old lady smiled at him politely when he moved, and he smiled back.

When he looked back at Remus, their gaze finally met. Regulus was taken aback by it, thinking Remus wouldn’t notice him at all before he left the bookstore. He tried to regain his composure - he desperately tried.

“What- are you reading?” asked Regulus, unsure.

Remus couldn’t help but smile softly.

“The Crime of the Orient Express, apparently this Agatha Christie is a famous Muggle writer.” He looked at Regulus. The boy wore black pants, a grey wool sweater with a long black coat, and some black Dr. Martens - which surprised Remus. “You look good.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. Not because he was upset, but because he didn’t want to blush.

“So, crime book?” he asked, trying to react to the compliment.

“Yeah.” Remus shamelessly observed Regulus from top to bottom. It wasn’t often he saw him without the school uniform.

In a way, Regulus loved his attention. The way Remus smiled, or softly rubbed his phalanx on his lips - it was a reflex he had when he was relaxed. Regulus knew it. He had observed it so much.

“Take a book. Sit with me,” Remus asked - perhaps, commanded.

“Why should I?” he scoffed, with that little arrogant face Regulus had the secret of.

“Because we both want to spend time together. Stop with this attitude and get your ass here,” Remus said, admitting - and reassuring - Regulus that he wanted him near.

“I’ll find one then.”

And that’s what Regulus did. He walked around the bookstore, looking for a book, glancing at Remus - who did the same - before finally sitting next to him. At first, he tried to keep a reasonable distance between them, but Remus sent him a glance, undertoning: “Are you fucking serious?” Regulus rolled his eyes and got closer to Remus.

“Stop avoiding my eyes in the Great Hall.” The voice of Remus was low, his eyes fixed on the book.

Regulus tried not to smile, finding it amusing.

“I expect an answer.”

This time, Remus looked away from his book, his gaze finding Regulus.

“I won’t.”

The shoulders of Remus relaxed, and he nodded. He couldn’t help but smile softly.

“What book are you reading, Reg?”

“The Crime of the Orient Express. Apparently, this Agatha Christie is a famous Muggle writer,” he said, looking at Remus.

They smiled softly at one another.

Regulus had always wanted to read the same book as Remus did.

And finally, they did. It wasn’t the kind of book he expected, but he didn’t care - they shared it together. That was what mattered.

They spent the rest of the morning here. Reading in silence, with the company of each other. And neither of them could have hoped for a better way to be together.

Regulus grabbed Remus’ coffee and drank a sip. Perfectly aware of the way Remus looked at him, at the way his lips softly touched the goblet - the same spot where Remus had drunk earlier. Remus smiled. And so did Regulus.

Remus softly grabbed Regulus’ hand, intertwining their fingers.

None of them commented on the action, but Regulus squeezed Remus’ hand. And Remus did it back.

—☆—

hi, after all the support i had from my first microfic about moonwater, i decided to write another one — hope you like it? please keep in mind that english is not my first language and i’m dyslexic. i use grammarly for corrections and i hope it’s fluid enough for you to read. i really tried my best. so, that said: i’m in love with remus and regulus. i identify too much with both of them, and i see their relationship as a mutual understanding of one another, without the need to talk. they share a lot of interests — books mostly, studying, and probably other stuff i’ll write about lol. i like to think their relationship is platonic but… maybe i’ll write something less platonic one day. i hope you liked how i described them. i try to stick to “reality” but also include some stuff the whole fandom agrees on (that regulus is a little bitch). i didn’t want to write a perfect and sweet remus, because i think his character is more complicated than that — but keep in mind that’s just me and the way i write. there’s nothing wrong if you write a perfect and sweet remus. write what you want :) anyway, i would like to thank everyone for the support i received, because i didn’t expect this at all lol. i was so damn nervous to post my first work here. take care, give me advice if you want to, just stay kind <3 aphelia

47 notes · View notes

starsexplodeatnight · 1 year ago

Text

Ghost x Pre-school teacher!Reader

A request from @maxicorn !!! My first request! And its a good one!!!

It was dark in the back of the plane. But he knew where he was, the fuselage of the plane jerking subtly with their descent.

Simon was home.

Didn't feel like it yet. His mind was still smothered in an oppressive slog of adrenaline that refused to yield and let him relax.

He used to not care. He never had anyone to come home too. Now that he does? He notices. Or really, he cares enough to acknowledge things he's ignored because they worry you.

As much as he hates to worry you, its nice. Nice to have someone who cares.

The door creaks open, blinding them with the light from outside. England was fucking sunny, go figure.

Battered but not bloody, Ghost makes his way down the plane and his feet hit tarmac. It felt good...

The sight that met him was even better.

There you stood, beaming at him. Hair whipping around from the wind kicked up from the plane landing. And all of your students were lined up in front of you.

They all had paper plate masks on their faces, all of them crafted to look like skulls. Mimicking him. Oh god, that fucking hurt his heart.

You had yours propped on top your head so he could see your face.

"Lieutenant!!!" "Ghost!" "Mr Ghost!" All of them cheer, bouncing on place. They all obediently stayed put, they'd promised best behavior if they got to see him land.

How did you manage it? He stood dumbfounded, staring like an idiot.

Laswell, she stood next to you with a miniscule smile... She tips her head towards you and raised her brows minutely. Approval of his choice.

Ghost lumbers over, dropping his duffle and looks down at the tiny humans. They all held out gifts, masks still in place. Macaroni necklaces, pictures of what vaguely resembled him and hand crafted... Stuff... They children all showed their idol.

Simon laughs, a small sound before lurching forward. He snatched your paper plate mask off your head, held it up to sheild your faces as he simultaneously pulls up his mask up. Exposing the lower half of his scruffy face.

The shocked look on your face was worth those 4 fucking rotten months away... So were the disgusted gagging of the little ones.

They crowd him, tugging at his gear, begging for stories as you stare at him star struck. That was the first time he's kissed you in public! Infront of what you believe to be his boss!! You could be wrong but, still!!!

Your face heats up immediately, Ghost chuckles. "Come on." He grunts, grabbing his duffle in one hand and the lead rope for the kids in the other. "Lets get them home."

You try and take the rope from him as the kids all grab on. He let go, only to envelop your hand in his so you both lead the kids off the tarmac...

It was so much fucking better than nice to have someone care...

Years later? Every single one of your students remember you and Simon ... Especially the ones who got to see him come home that day. Some even still have their paper masks, somewhere.

They'll call out to you in the street if they see you. Run up and hug the both of you... The little girls who used to play tea with Simon now tweens, run up and all squeeze him...

(They all have high standards for dating now. If they aren't treated like how Mr.Ghost treated Ms._ then they can beat it!)

They coo over your new baby, all begging to be your babysitter... All begging to be back in your lives again....

So many people care about Simon Riley… he can’t hardly believe it. Even to this day.

Thank you @maxicorn for this!!! It was fun to stew on while I was at work!!!

#call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost #x reader

395 notes · View notes

greatbananaboat · 4 months ago

Text

i wanna talk about this comment on my post abt how vi was parentified really quick.

first off, this is some actual bullshit. let me break this question down before i go into how vi is an INCREDIBLE sister and better than anyone i know.

this question is the exact kind of bs i was referring to in the post. I’m tired of people holding vi to insanely high standards and refusing to acknowledge that powder/jinx is also far from perfect. y’all give powder/jinx WAY too much slack compared to how harshly you judge vi. that’s so evident in the way this question is worded. imagine watching a scene where powder 1) ignores what vi told her to do, stay away, which vi told her SO SHE COULD STAY SAFE, 2) disregards the fact that vi was trying to keep her safe by going to the DANGEROUS SHIMMER FACTORY, where, in case you forgot, deckard (the one who brutally killed benzo and grayson, remember that?) is, 3) uses an incredibly dangerous explosive that she hasn’t ever tested or really understood in order to try and be helpful when she was specifically told to stay away, and 4) kills her entire family except vi, and then coming away with the conclusion that actually, she just made a “mistake” and vi must be in the wrong for getting angry with her!

the levels of absolute moronic incompetence that have to be overcome here is honestly painful. I’m trying to enjoy my goddamn show, not deal with idiots like you who try to shit on every aspect of it and get everything so blatantly wrong.

so why don’t we actually talk about vi for a second? because clearly you were watching the show with a blindfold on and headphones over your ears. there’s no other explanation for why you’re so off base here.

vi loses both parents at age 12. powder also loses her parents, at a younger age, no less, but she is the little sister. she still has an older figure in her life who can take care of her. vi now has to deal with the loss of her parents and take care of her baby sister at the same time. she has vander, yes, but powder is her sister. she’s still got to look out for her.

at some point during the time skip, mylo and claggor get involved. now vi has three younger siblings to take care of. again, yes vander is there, but he has the last drop and he’s the hound of the underground. he’s got a lot going on. as we clearly see, vi is the one the kids rally around. she cares for them, and from her conversation with vander, we know she’s expected to shoulder the responsibility of looking out for them. if anything happens to them, it’s on her. remember that bit.

vi looks out for powder CONSTANTLY. when mylo is complaining about powder being less capable, it’s vi who stands up for powder and calls mylo on his shit. as an older sister myself, it’s what i would do. no matter how frustrated i may be with my little siblings, i defend them with my life. vi also! brings powder along with them on their heist. this is SO important when it comes to understanding their relationship. she doesn’t HAVE to bring powder along! mylo even says he knew they shouldn’t have brought her. but even after powder ruins their heist, blowing up a building and then losing the bag on top of that, vi defends her. she wants her little sister to be included.

what happens with benzo and grayson is TERRIFYING. they’ve never seen anything like this. this was a murder of someone they are close to AND an enforcer. deckard kills indiscriminately and brutally. remember how i said that thing about how vi is responsible for her siblings? yeah. that’s why she tells powder to stay away. she doesn’t want powder to get hurt. say whatever you want abt this, she KNOWS what powder is capable of, and she’s scared for her little sister. she brings mylo and claggor because they’re older, they have experience.

and then the incident happens. vi watches her whole family die. the kids she was expected to protect? dead. mylo pinned against a wall, pole skewered through his chest, claggor crushed under rubble. vander dead in an alleyway, veins pumping purple with shimmer. for the second time, vi has lost nearly everyone she loves. shes sixteen years old.

she doesn’t even get five minutes to grieve before she sees powder. what the hell is she meant to think? she told powder to stay away, stay safe. next thing she knows, her whole family is dead and POWDER is the reason for it. she lashes out. i’ll be 100% honest? i’d be so much worse. powder got hit ONCE and called a jinx by vi when vi has just experienced one of the worst tragedies of her life. i’d say shes pretty lucky tbh.

but the more important thing is, after vi walks away, the MOMENT shes even marginally calmed down shes turning back for powder. it’s marcus who drugs her, marcus who drags her away, covering her mouth before she can scream powder’s name when she sees silco. she spends seven years in prison, passing each day with only the thought of getting back to powder.

i am sick and fucking tired of you imbeciles trying to claim vi wasn’t a good big sister. she deserves a goddamn break. want a quick rundown of powder vs vi in that moment, since i know your literacy is kind of shit? i’ll give you one, maybe you can understand a bit easier once it’s all laid out.

vi: has cared for powder their whole lives, spent 3/4ths of her entire childhood being parentified and the other quarter in PRISON, hits powder when she realizes powder is the reason her family is dead, walks away but tries to go back.

powder: doesn’t listen to vi when she tells her to stay away, uses unfamiliar magic in order to try and help, kills their whole family.

but yeah, powder just made an eensy weensy little oopsie and vi is such a horrible big sister for pummeling her face in! oh the tragedy of it all. get off my posts with your moronic bullshit. did we even watch the same show?

#sorry i got rlly angry abt this #i swear I’m not usually like this #arcane #arcane league of legends #vi arcane #arcane spoilers #vi was an amazing sister #vi defender #for fucking life.#don’t piss me off

38 notes · View notes

softxsuki · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, congratulations on your milestone!!! I am not sure if there are any spots left, but if there are, can you please do the trope enemies to lovers with a tokyo revengers character? Have a nice day and congratulations again!!!

1.5k Follower Event Trope #1 Tokyo Revengers

Trope 1: Enemies to Lovers

This event is now CLOSED. You can check out the masterlist for this event here.

Warnings: Slight mention of violence and being killed (baji says it once, no one actually dies)

Note: Thank you so much! I had this one sitting in my google docs for while because I didn't like it, but I reread it today and I think it grew on me after letting it sit there for a while lol. Enjoy :D

“Why are you here again?” Baji spits, not impressed at all.

You were another person Mikey had dragged in, finding you interesting and deeming you both friends, not that you minded. You hadn’t joined Toman, but Mikey always invited you over to their base, and you quickly became fond of many of them, including a certain black-haired man that couldn’t find it in him to accept you.

“Still suspicious of me? Seriously Kei, ever thought about loosening up?” You question, walking past him.

The nickname makes Baji’s heart flutter slighty, much to him mentally refusing to acknowledge it. “Oi, I told you about calling me that name. Stop acting like we’re so close to each other! I don’t want you here,” he grits, hating how unfazed you were by his ‘hatred’ for you.

“Yeah yeah, I know you like it,” you tease, disappearing down the stairs to head back home for the day.

Since the first time Mikey introduced you to everyone, Baji had his suspicions about you. How could everyone just openly accept you to hang around them and listen in on their meetings? What if you were working for a rival gang, showing up to get intel for them? Why was he the only one suspicious of you? And why did you have such an affect on him? Your carefree attitude, your disregard for being surrounded by dangerous men. He felt so conflicted.

The longer you hung around, the more he let his walls fall, yet he kept that stubborn, rudeness whenever you were with him. He refused to show that he had somewhat trusted you, let alone that he may or may not have a thing for you–though he’d never admit that to anyone, he could barely admit it to himself.

One day though, you had managed to gain all his trust. You had found a sneaky rat from a rival gang sneaking around Toman’s grounds, just looking for trouble. Could you fight? No. Were you still going to call him out and try and get him to leave? Yes.

You approach the man and begin to threaten him, talking big for someone who couldn’t defend themselves. Baji was watching the whole thing go down from afar. A tinge of suspicion grew as he watched you approach the man who was clearly up to no good and didn’t belong with Toman, but that all vanished as soon as he saw you try and make him leave.

“That idiot,” he grunts to himself, tying his hair up as he makes his way over to you, arriving just in time as the guy goes to throw a punch your way.

Baji quickly pushes you out of the way, and easily beats the guy up, mentally making a note of the gang attire he wore so he could inform Mikey of the situation later.

“Are you insane? It’s like you were just asking to get killed! You should have just shouted for one of us to help, we’d be able to hear you if you screamed loud enough. What kind of idiot who knows they’re weak, tries to fight someone off alone?” Baji went on and on, telling you off, yet all you could do was smile at him.

“Stop looking at me like that with that stupid grin, it isn’t funny”

“Heh, you care about me,” you smirk, egging him on.

“Of cour- What?! NO! No, I don't. What made you ever come to that conclusion?” He screamed, his face growing red at his almost confession. Why were you so irritatingly cute?

He could deny it all he wanted, but it was obvious how he felt for you. Now knowing that he could trust you, he started hanging around you more often. And after a few more months, he became the one who’d invite you over.

“You know…you could just ask me out instead of staring at me all the time. I’d say yes.” You say from beside him, feeling his eyes on you as you sit side by side on the shrine steps.

“What?! I-” He groans, feeling stupid that he was so obvious. With a sigh, he looks away from you. “Then let’s date.”

You didn’t expect him to actually go along with it. Who knew the man who had hated you so much would be secretly admiring you and finally have the guts to ask you out.

“Sure,” you shrug, feeling your own face heat up.

It would take some time to fully warm up, but dating was the first step, a large step from where you’d been with each other before.

Posted: 1/2/2024

138 notes · View notes

neonscandal · 1 year ago

Note

What are your bakudeku fav moments? And what are your fav personal headcanons about them?

Okie, so I may have done a few head canons like this (and forgot to link the last five in the SatoSugu ask just like this... also the alternating colors was admittedly gratuitous but I'm not changing it now. Just know that I have regrets.). Maybe even drafted some moments like this but let's light this BBQ anyway. 💥

Horikoshi truly doesn't get enough credit for how perfect this panel and subsequent animation was. It's actually hysterical? Earnest Deku and Little Shit Kacchan. It's so them, I can't even.

HEAD CANONS

The Bakugo's are the Have's and the Midoriya's are the Have Not's but Mitsuki and Inko are so close that the boys never really knew the difference. Mitsuki helps Inko out where she can which is why Deku is a staple in their house growing up (free childcare for Inko and necessary socialization for her brat, Katsuki). You should see their childhood photo albums, they are both equally as embedded in one anothers' family histories.

When the boys first came to understand their economic differences, it was because of the disparity between their All Might merch collections and Bakugo realized it long before Midoriya. Subsequently, he staved off this epiphany by making it a point to always ask for "one for Izuku" until they fell out which Mitsuki obliged generously and proudly, knowing their relationship was precious but also a good influence on her gremlin.

I say they fell out but.. they didn't. Not in the ways that mattered. Bakugo is as big a nerd as Midoriya, he just has the sense to be more lowkey about it. Even when Bakugo was being a bully, he'd begrudgingly ask Midoriya (if Midoriya didn't ask first) to any midnight releases of All Might/hero movies and merch drops. They absolutely are the kind of dorks to camp out for limited release stuff. It's a lifelong tradition. Even if things went back to normal at school the next day, they still had that in common and both knew not to bring it up otherwise to maintain the balance of their twisted relationship otherwise. It's why, even after all this time, they're still so in sync. Also, by that point, the "one for Izuku" custom is so deeply ingrained that Mitsuki does it anyway. The turnover between Bakugo to Midoriya is so begrudging and awkward. All unspoken but a deeply rooted fact of their relationship.

Bakugo absolutely got them lost in the forest once. I think he took that fear and pivoted it into a refusal to ever be scared in nature again which is why he persistently enjoys the outdoors so much. It feels like revenge every time he comes back from a hike.

They made a blood oath to never tell anyone about how Mitsuki used them as drop in models for the Bakugo child clothing line because there was at least one season where they both modeled girls' clothes (Midoriya doesn't really care but Bakugo does). It's not that Bakugo cares or takes issue with a persons' gender, orientation or expression. He knows clothes don't define a person, he's confident and masculine either way and he knows he'd be the best looking person in a dress. He does, however, take issue with the fact that the hag likes to coo and lord the pictures over him because he was incredibly and disarmingly cute (which he acknowledges as "damn right" but despises the principle of the matter wherein his mom has anything over him).

Class 1A all notice the weird tension between the fire kid and the brittle boned dude who looks like he's never slept but just... awkwardly avoid it because they're just as emotionally underdeveloped as these two idiots. I also kinda think the confrontation between the two isn't always as bad as Midoriya's narration suggests because, I would hope in a class of hero students, someone would have intervened? But everyone picked up, day one, that they're just little weirdos and let them do their own thing.

In fact, no one finds Bakugo as intimidating as Midoriya does. Literally, no one. He's loud but compliant with a self-imposed bed time. His words are violent but his hands are skilled and intentional, never reflecting the carnage he threatens. Plus, he's a big ole dork! They know he's all bark and that's why people don't react to his rampaging (based in canon if you look at the provisional license exam, culture festival, Christmas, and Deku's secret training with Tsu, Ochaco and Sero). He used to be really bothered by Class 1A's lack of reaction to his yelling. They just kinda manhandle him to put him in his place and keep it pushing (again, see also Christmas episode and culture festival arcs). But now he accepts it as they accept him and he doesn't feel the need to be so abrasive and put up as many walls.

Midoriya, of course, notices this transition. Hyper fixated on it in fact. While he's super happy that Kacchan is settling in and finding his peace, he resents (but only a teeeeny tiny little bit) Kirishima in particular thinking this change is because of their friendship which he covets. He doesn't comprehend his own impact on or inspiration for this change, however. He never gives himself enough credit.

When Midoriya went all Dark Deku, Bakugo spent exactly one day a la Bella in Twilight sitting forlorn and waiting in the dark for the idiot to return. After the first 24, he pulled his Hermione pants on and got to work on the plan of recapturing the nerd by any means necessary.

Without spoilers, Bakugo's prized possession is the All Might card they both have because AM remains to be the pinnacle for everything Bakugo hopes to accomplish. But Midoriya's prized possession and the thing he hid before everyone did room tours at Heights Alliance is a picture of him and Bakugo. No fanfare, no merch, just a picture of the two of them with a smile that goes cheek to cheek. It's what gives him strength and resolve to keep moving forward. Aoyama's totally seen it.

Midoriya knows why Bakugo goes to bed at 8:30PM. Yes, he's a sleepy little guy. But also yes, this is his private time to read his shojo romance mangas in peace. ✨ Midoriya stays abreast of his favorite stories waiting for an inevitable "!!!" text when something big happens because Bakugo can't download his... excitement? confusion? joy? with anyone else. (Technically, Kirishima is also aware of this habit, quite by accident, but Bakugo would never tell Midoriya that).

Doesn't seem like it but Bakugo totally spoils Midoriya. It's masked in the harsh way he tends to package everything but he makes it a point to always cook for him, he's really weirdly thoughtful about gifts (no special occasion required but he'll shove it in the nerd's chest), he nags to make sure Midoriya is taking care of himself, etc. When Midoriya falls asleep in random places, Bakugo is the one who covers him with a blanket, quiets the surrounding extras down and leaves him with an excruciatingly gentle thumb across his freckles.

Bakugo pays rapt attention to Midoriya's muttering. Generally, he's interested in the subject matter because he's also an overly analytical fanboy. But also, his attention will sometimes drift from appreciating Midoriya's face and fall to his lips. This is when he gets flustered and "loses his temper". Really, he's worried he got caught lacking and is pissed at himself. It'll happen again and again.

MOMENTS

Much longer series thats focused basically on their relationship so these aren't really moment moments but rather... pieces of the story.

Better in the manga, but Midoriya running into the slime villain fray was just... so momentous. Even before knowing it's impact, it was it was just so chest fluttering. Through and through, that kid has always been a hero. Quirk or not.

In retrospect, everything about the sports festival makes me want to swallow a throw pillow. From Bakugo starting to warm up to people, Bakugo being an eavesdropping little shit, Midoriya (and Aizawa) explaining Kacchan to onlookers, Bakugo unwilling to accept victory. So much of their individual personalities are laid bare but still, that unavoidable link to one another.

I hated the exam against All Might, too much tension/confrontation. But I loved when Bakugo took a hit meant for Midoriya and Midoriya subsequently powered up to sideline All Might AND recapture Bakugo's unconscious body. So on brand for them.

Midoriya still having a psychic connection with Bakugo's enigmatic ass in Kamino by sending Kirishima in for the rescue. I know that burned him up but he's so used to sacrifice.

Generally, every time Kacchan inspired the unlock of another OFA quirk because let's be so for real. Midoriya is Captain Save a Hoe when it comes to Bakugo and even simply Bakugo's honor. Like Bakugo can't defend himself.

Super Secret All Might Meeting in the gif above. It's just so comical, how different they are, but deep down they're so similar.

Dinner at the Todoroki's because that, too, was just so comical. You mean to tell me Bakugo can be considerate? He has manners? He's not always feral!?

First Shiggy Showdown, Bakugo's hero origin story revolving around his body moving to defend Midoriya just like Midoriya's revolved around him.

Bakugo risking further injury and limb to see Midoriya because that's the first thing on his mind as soon as he opened his eyes.

Super Secret All Might Training (with Tsu, Ochaco and Sero). The fact that Bakugo comes to terms with how shitty he's been but also that he cares so much about Midoriya that he can come to terms with the fact that his idol may be withholding stuff that could negatively impact his childhood friend. That reckoning when Midoriya still struggles to not put All Might on a pedestal is peak overprotective Bakugo.

Bakugo putting on his tie properly to appeal to Nezu and Endeavor about bringing Deku back in and how, just as Midoriya can speak to Bakugo's inner workings, Bakugo can speak to Midoriya's. Which is hilarious considering how they're both still pretty dense.

THE APOLOGY. No notes. Just kidding, one amendment. The apology followed by the forced bath of city rat smelling Deku, group project edition.

⚠️ Spoiler Warning through MHA Chapter 411.

The moment Bakugo takes the field against Shigaraki. He tells Best Jeanist to watch over everyone, as he knows he'll be abdicating that role, and he thinks about Midoriya. Which we now know he's been doing this whole time!?

Volume 29 manga cover.

Just as Midoriya has been a driving force for Bakugo, we see once again that Bakugo was a driving force for Midoriya with the way he absolutely loses his shit when he sees Bakugo's discarded body.

Volume 37 manga cover!

THE TELEPATHIC WAY THEY LAUNCHED BAKUGO TO ALL MIGHT'S AID. Featuring heavily: Bakugo and his Midoriya pickled mind. That success was so cathartic. But also Bakugo verbalizing what he felt he's always been hell bent on doing, looking out for Midoriya. Which again, kinda twisted but I'm interested to see how their story ends because I think we'll get some exposure to more of their background lore.

54 notes · View notes

ohallthecrushes · 11 months ago

Text

YOU’RE A STORM IN A TEACUP AND I’M STARTING TO LIKE THE CHAOS.

I can't, I can't... But i will 🥵 It's been a while since i've written a smut, so let me know what you think or what can i improve, cause damn... I've had so much fun writing for Elias and I want to write more smuuuuut, but I feel self-conscious about it. („• ֊ •„)

Without further ado!

Summary: Evelyn is a young-troubled woman who’s just escaped a highly guarded psych ward (twice, but this time causing havoc on her way out)

Now she’s running through the city, hiding from police. A not-so-accidental encounter with a man named Elias Voit will change her life forever. And she’ll change his. His seemingly selfless help is laced with danger, hidden agenda, manipulation, endless tension, and…love? Slow burning inteligent-idiots-in-love trope. But mind you, just because it’s a love story, doesn’t mean it ends well.

General warnings throughout the story: Manipulation, illegal activities, murder(s), Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, explicit content, language… The whole pack. It’s Criminal minds after all.

In this episode: Elias craves Evelyn with every fabric of his being. He isn't a gentle man, and this won't be a gentle sex. He intends to overwhelm her, to take her apart, to claim her, to break down any defiance that's left in her. He wants her surrender to be complete. And if that'll happen to be too much for her?

Oh well, he thought, she'd seen that coming.

Back at the cabin, the air between Evelyn and Elias was thick with unspoken words and unclear tension. As she moved towards her room, hoping for a moment alone to process everything, he stopped her with a firm hand on her arm. His expression was serious, his eyes focused and unwavering.

"We need to talk." he simply said, his voice calm but authoritative. "There are some rules you need to remember and follow. And this isn’t negotiable. The rules are there for a reason and they're not just a suggestion."

She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, knowing this conversation was inevitable. She nodded, biting her lower lip, waiting for him to continue. She prepared herself for being reprimanded.

"First." he began "you need to listen to me. Don't wander off without letting me know where you're going. Don’t engage with strangers unless absolutely necessary, and never reveal the location of this cabin. You can't tell anyone your real name. We are still dealing with a dangerous situation, and your disobedience could bring us serious trouble."

He paused, watching her closely to make sure she understood. "The last thing we want is to draw attention, especially from the authorities. Remember, you’re still a refugee. The police are still looking for you. If you make a mistake, it could mean being locked up in a psych ward again."

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. She nodded again, acknowledging the seriousness of the situation. Her mind drifted briefly to the past, being institutionalized again was one of her biggest fear. She knew he was right, even if his tone was harsh. But he was still much calmer than she'd expected. She'd thought he'd lash out at her, yell even, but apparently his anger lessened a little or maybe he was more self-controlled than it seemed.

Seeing her compliance, he dismissed her, watching her going back to her room.

Problem had been addressed, but he knew that there was another matter that needed his attention - the sexual tension between them... he couldn't leave it unresolved. It was causing issues, and he knew that they need to defuse it. But addressing it, talking about it wouldn't do it. He knew her well enough already to predict that she would likely deny it, ignore it or even refuse to acknowledge it. And ignoring it wouldn't make it go away. It would only complicate things further.

He could insist of course, tell her to make up her mind, to stop lying to him and herself. To stop contradict herself only because she couldn't control her own damn urges. After all they both knew that if he hadn't pulled back, she'd have let him fuck her.

But this approach wouldn't help him achieve what he wanted. He imagined her biting her lip, trying to find the words to respond, but nothing would come. The room for her would start to feel too small, the air too thick... She would retreat to her room again.

He needed to be smart. He needed to recreate their dance, but this time he'd be the one in control.

Later that day Evelyn noticed that the front door, usually locked solid, hung ajar. Disbelief crossed her face. Elias wouldn't be so careless, leaving the door unlocked. The door was open on purpose.

She walked towards them and peeked outside. The sound of rhythmic chopping drew her attention. It came from the back of the cabin. Curiosity got the better of her, and she followed the sound. The area at the back of the cabin was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. And there, in the center, stood Elias.

He was shirtless, his toned back and his muscles glistening with sweat. He was holding an axe and swinging it with ease, each hit splitting a log with a loud crack.

The image of him was captivating. He was everything she wasn't – controlled, disciplined, a stark contrast to the impulsive chaos that lived within her. She couldn't help herself and drifted closer, mesmerized by the display of his strength. She wanted to watch, just for a moment...

The rhythmic chopping stopped suddenly. He turned, his gaze landing directly on her. He smirked as he caught the blush creeping up her cheeks. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know.

His plan to bait her was unfolding perfectly.

"Enjoying the view?" he teased arching his brows, his voice casual, almost indifferent.

She stiffened, forcing a nonchalant shrug. "Just… surprised to see you chopping wood and... shirtless." The last word came out as a mumble, only deepening her blush.

He raised an eyebrow. "Does it bother you?"

He took a deliberate step closer, she could fell the heat of his body radiating towards her even across the distance.

"Please, you're not that impressive." she retorted, but her tone lacked conviction.

He knew she was trying to maintain her composure, but her act was transparent. Amateur, he thought with amusement. She was terrible at playing indifferent. He'd seen seasoned criminals maintain a poker face under torture; her attempt was as transparent as a child's lie.

"Liar." he simply stated.

She opened her mouth ready to defend her lie. But as she was preparing herself to argue with him, he turned his attention back to the task at hand, lifting another log onto the chopping block.

"Anyway." He said gesturing at the logs, not looking at her. "I could use some help stacking these logs. Unless you'd rather head back inside, unimpressed by my strength."

The sudden casual dismissal, as if he didn't care at all, left her momentarily stunned.

She watched him for a moment as he chopped another log. The sudden shift in his behavior, his nonchalant demeanor, left her feel... ignored? She was upset, not only because this was a clear manipulation but also because of the unsettling realization that she might actually wanted his attention. That she might liked the idea of his mouth back on hers, on his body pressed against her. That she might liked him.

No, no, no...she had to deflect it.

He turned to her once again, waiting for her answer. "Sooo?"

Before she could stop herself, the words spilled out of her. "Don't think for a second that I don't know what you're doing. It won't work! I'm not attracted to you in a way you think, despite of what we did. I don't like you!" Her voice was shaky, betraying the truth behind her denial. "You're a criminal, and I'm not that crazy to get involved in some… some cheap, meaningless affair with you. You have no power over me. You're not even that good-looking." The last statement was an obvious lie, as much to herself as to him.

Her voice rose to a near shout, a desperate and probably pathetic attempt to silence the traitorous whisper of her own heart.

"Back at the mansion I... what happened, what I allowed to happen was because…" she stammered, her mind a chaotic mess as she struggled to find a solid reason and articulate her confusion. "Because it was… It doesn't matter why." She shook her head. "It won't happen again, it can't happen again, so don't even think that you can just…" Her voice trailed off, her hands gesturing wildly as if trying to physically describe his manipulation.

The outburst wasn't the powerful declaration she'd wanted to achieve, but at least, she thought with a shaky breath, she'd managed to expel some steam.

He stood there, axe in hand. It was funny to look at her passionate denial. It was good. Her outburst, though clumsy and filled with transparent lies, was far more entertaining than a simple retreat. He'd hoped for a strong reaction and she had delivered. He set the axe down, wiping the sweat from his brow, and took a step closer to her.

His voice was low, measured. "You keep telling yourself that, Evelyn. But we both know that I'm having this effect on you that makes your knees go weak and your pants get soaked and you can't ignore it, no matter how hard you try." He paused, letting his words sink in. "And denying what you need that would help you finally satisfy yourself? That won't make it go away. You're just lying to yourself."

He watched as her expression shifted from frustration to astonishment. His gaze lingering on the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"As for power." he added, his tone softer but no less intense. "you underestimate the pull you have, Evelyn. You may not see it, but you've already disrupted the carefully orchestrated game I was playing." With that, he turned back to the woodpile, picking up the axe once more, leaving her to struggle with her emotions.

They both were quiet for a moment, before he broke the silence sensing her presence still behind him.

"I. Don't. Like. You." he repeated her words to himself but loudly enough for her to hear it too, mimicking her tone for emphasis, but clearly mocking her. He'd been trying to be serious about her outburst a moment ago, but her obvious lie and the way she'd delivered it, was too funny to let it slip.

He straitened up and put the axe down again, his hands on his hips as he turned to her. "You know, it's weird how desperately convincing you've tried to sound, because your body tells a different story, sunshine. Maybe you should trust your instincts more… or trust me. But that's the problem, isn't it? You're afraid of giving in, because you think you can't trust me." his tone soft but teasing. "But you know that you will give in eventually, just like in the mansion, just like after the wine session... Just like before, and it makes you angry."

She glared at him. "No. Whatever you think may happen between us, it won't." she said, but her voice sounded even less certain than before.

"Let's put that to the test, hmm?" he suggested, his tone deceptively casual. "A little trust exercise. What do you say, princess?"

She hesitated, her pride was warring with her logic. "Trust exercise? You want me to trust you?"

"I want to prove it to you that you can trust me, despite how difficult it seems to you. Because not trusting me isn't the real issue here. If you give me and yourself a chance and trust me for a moment, you'll see what I'm talking about."

She crossed her arms thinking about it. She didn't agree with him. He couldn't be trusted because of who he was and the problem laid exactly there. But if he thought that he could prove something else... that was the issue, right? A vicious circle of wanting to trust him but not being able to.

After a moment and a long sigh, she asked. "What do you have in mind?"

"Ever chopped wood before?"

She shook her head, confused. "No."

His lips curved into a smile. "Come over here." He said as he picked up the axe and handed it to her. She took it and weighted it in her hands, it was heavier than she'd thought. She wasn't sure if she could handle it even though it looked easy, but there was first time for everything, right? And hey, if she didn't like this exercise she could use the axe on him, she thought smirking.

"Don't even think about it. You'd accidentally hurt yourself before you hurt me." He warned her as if reading her mind.

She rolled her eyes. "So what this exercise is about?"

"I'll help you chop it, but you have to trust me in this." He said as he positioned himself behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His hands over hers on the axe handle, guiding her grip.

"Now, let me guide you..." He said softly.

Their bodies were pressed together in a way that was both intimate and unsettling. He basically enveloped her with his body, his scent and heat surrounded her senses and she held her breath for a moment to remain calm.

"Close your eyes." he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, his voice another thing that made her shiver.

Feeling his bare chest pressed against her back, the closeness was almost overwhelming. She hesitated for a moment, but with a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the axe.

For a moment, he reveled in the physical contact, the feel of her delicate form pressed against him and the scent of her hair shampoo filling his nose.

Pushing the thought aside, he focused on the task.

"Trust me." he murmured in a husky whisper. "You'll be fine."

He could feel her tension, the way her body trembled ever so slightly. He tightened his grip on the axe handle, guiding her hands upwards. Then, with a swift, controlled motion, he brought the axe sharply down.

The wood cracked splitting in half. He held the axe suspended for a moment before he released his hold on her, stepping back just a tiny bit.

Still holding the axe she opened her eyes, blinking against the sudden sunlight. Her gaze fell upon the perfectly split log.

"See, not so scary, was it?" he said. "Trusting me, letting go of control… it doesn't have to be something to fear. I know what I'm doing, Evelyn. I can guide us, if you let me."

Of course she understood what he was trying to say. That it was safe to trust him, that he could guide her to accomplish something together. That letting him being in control didn't have to end up badly for her… But would it really be like that?

She spun around, her back slammed into his chest as she met his gaze. His nearness was an intoxicating distraction, that made it difficult to think clearly.

"Clever allegory." she finally managed to say, her voice tight. "But it doesn't prove anything, I still refuse to believe that the real issue lies elsewhere. And that I'll ever give in to you."

He smirked aware of her body reaction and internal conflict. He was already considering another exercise, another opportunity to push her boundaries and confront her denial head-on.

"Let's see how strong your convictions are." he said. "You can put the axe down."

She did what he said propping the axe against the log. He took a few steps back, finally giving her some space.

"Close your eyes, and don't open them until I say. Let me take control." he continued searching for her gaze. "Unless, of course, you'd rather retreat back to the safety of your denial and empty lies?"

She glared at him, knowing he was baiting her, but also putting her in a position where she couldn't say no, cause her retreat would only prove him right.

"No, why would I retreat? I'm having fun." she forced a smile, clearly sarcastic.

"Excellent. Close your eyes." he instructed with a playful command. "And this time, keep them closed until I tell you otherwise. Trust is key, remember?"

Not knowing what he was up to, but not wanting to pull back on, she fluttered her eyes shut. She stood there, tense and uncertain, every nerve on edge. He didn't approach her immediately, letting the suspense build, deepening her uncertainty. He circled slowly around her, his footsteps rustling the leaves on the ground. Her head slightly tilted, following the sound. Finally, he stopped behind her, close enough for her to feel his scent. With a slow movement his fingers gently took her chin, tilting her head up, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. Her entire body went rigid, unsure of what was coming next. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

"This is your chance to prove it." he whispered with a dangerous undercurrent. "Prove that everything you said before was true. Prove that you're not attracted to me. That you'll never give in. All you have to do is… resist."

Before she could even open her mouth to protest, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. He lingered there for a moment, slightly licking the spot as his other hand wrapped around her waist. It was maddeningly gentle, he was teasing her with the possibility of more. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, every muscle in her body straining with the effort to resist the pull towards him. But when he captured her lips with his, all her resolve crumbled. She found herself responding against her better judgment.

It was a slow exploration, a testing of the waters. He wanted to see her reaction, to see if denial would triumph over the undeniable chemistry between them.

A strangled sound escaped her, half gasp, half choked protest. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to resist him, to hold onto her hatred and distrust.

The kiss deepened, and she turned to face him, her hands reaching up to rested on his shoulders. He tasted the lie on her lips, the denial she clung to so desperately. But with each passing moment, the resistance becoming weaker. A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound that aroused him.

This wasn't about trusting him, a harsh realization dawned on her. It was about trusting herself, the very part of her she'd spent so long suppressing. The real issue he'd been talking about. She struggled with trusting herself more than with trusting him.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes, usually calculating and cool, now filled with desire and hunger.

"So much for not being attracted."

He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, a silent demand to open them wider, but she closed her mouth not wanting to give him a full satisfaction of bending her will completely.

"Still a stubborn little brat, aren't we?" he smirked. It was fine, he liked to work with a little disobedience.

He leaned in again and kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue. His hand slipped down her back, pressing her body flush against his. He wanted her to feel the length of his desire, the arousal that he felt because of her. He intended to show her exactly how much he wanted her, and how futile her remaining resistance truly was.

When he finally pulled back, she was left breathless. She knew it was useless to deny him anymore. She failed this exercise, but did she really mind?

"Let's go inside."

It wasn't a question, it was a command, one she found herself powerless to resist. Her steps were unsteady, but her body followed him without hesitation, and as they crossed the threshold, she knew there was no turning back from this moment.

The cabin door slammed shut behind them. He didn't waste any time. His grip on her tightened, as he led her straight to her room. He pushed her slightly inside before his hands grabbed her shirt and pulled it up, taking it off. His lips met hers again, as he reached at her back to unclip her bra.

He wasn't interested in a slow, drawn-out foreplay. He didn't care about slow reveals, about building anticipation. He craved the feel of her bare skin against his, of himself being inside her. He'd waited long enough already.

He felt her body tensed slightly. Her hands on his chest, once pulling him closer, now pressed against him in a weak attempt to slow him down. He smirked with amusement. She was aware of the choices she was making, however fleeting that awareness might be. But her resistance was weak, easily broken by his touch.

"Scared?" he murmured in a husky voice, looking for a sign in her eyes that could indicate that she didn't want him to continue, but all he found was excitement, a firm resolution with a hint of nervousness and self-conscious.

She was a bit scared, but it wasn't that kind of scare that would make her want to flee. Quite the contrary.

"A little bit scared, but... it makes me pretty pumped." She replied honestly, but with a hint of shyness, knowing that he understood what she meant. "Just...slow down, would you?"

He tilted his head as if considering her request, before he looked down at her bare breast and her nipples harden with arousal. No, he didn't plan to slow down, he wouldn't let the fragile hesitation derail their momentum. He wrapped his arm possessively around her waist and kissed her again.

A tremor ran down her spine, she could feel her body reacted with an unexpected submission. It both terrified her and made her more aroused. The sound she made against his mouth, a soft, breathy moan, was pure lust that made him growl.

He pushed her on the bed and came on top of her, recreating the abruptly broken moment at the mansion. But this time he wouldn't stop, this time he would take what belonged to him.

He quickly removed her jeans and every last piece of barrier there was. She laid there completely exposed and panting with anticipation, watching him taking off his own clothes. His cock hung freely as he removed his boxers, hard and longing for her warm walls.

She had a brief moment to comprehend the situation, to grasp the weight of their actions. She was aware that this moment would change their dynamic, rewrite her role in his life and probably complicate their relation even more, but the consequences seemed to be a distant thing now, a minor issue she could deal with later.

He climbed back on top of her, his hands instantly on her body, exploring her curves with a possessive intensity. With one hand he grabbed her boob and his fingers twisted her nipple, making her gasp from pleasure and slightly pain. His mouth and teeth marking her neck with hunger and urgency she'd never experienced before. It was a little bit too much, too overwhelming. Her hands landed on his back trying to hold onto something. When his lips captured hers, the strangled sound she made morphed into a desperate plea, but what was she begging for exactly, she wasn't sure.

But one thing was certain, Elias wasn't a gentle man, and this wouldn't be a gentle sex.

He intended to overwhelm her, to take her apart, to break down any defiance that left in her. He wanted her surrender to be complete. And if that would happen to be too much for her?

Oh well, he thought, she'd seen that coming.

He reached down with one hand, his fingers slid up and down her already wet folds with pleasurable strength, making her moan against his lips. When he finally pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes blazed with a possessive hunger that made her whimper with plead. He studied her for a moment. Overwhelming pleasure? Yes. Craving for more? Also yes. Fear? Maybe a little bit.

Her warm and wet walls swallowed two of his fingers as he scissored them in and out, hitting the sweet spot inside her.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He asked in a low husky voice, watching her nodding her head, but not being able to answer.

He enjoyed watching her so vulnerable, so responding to him. He had a power over her and it only made his lust blistering, his cock almost painfully hard, demanding an action. He couldn't wait to finally be inside her, to claim her wholly and mark her as his. He could see that her breath also fastened and her cheeks colored with lovely pink. But he didn't let her relish this moment for much longer as he pulled his fingers out way too quickly.

"Not yet." He said, his voice low and commanded. "Spread your legs open for me."

She groaned dissatisfied, but did as he told her. He positioned himself between her legs and lowered his body. His cock pressed against her entrance as he pushed his hips forward with no warning. It was clear he wasn't waiting for permission, he was taking what he craved.

Her fingers curled on his back, scratching his skin at the sudden sensation of his cock sliding inside her with one swift motion.

"Fuck." She breathed closing her eyes.

It hurt a little, but the fullness she felt when he was all in, the pleasure it gave her, was intoxicating.

He looked down at her and started moving, relatively slow at first, savoring the feeling of her walls around his throbbing member, the delicious look on her face and the realization that she was finally his.

She opened up her eyes, his face was so close, his lips parted as he moved in and out. She pulled him even closer, feeling the weight of his body pressing her down to the bed. Their bodies closed any gaps that were between them as he leaned down and nibbled on her neck. She slid her fingers in his wavy hair and pulled back a little when his love bites got sharper, almost painful. He hissed and bit her neck in respond sucking on her skin until he left a big red mark there. It was clear that he was the one in control, the one who dictated the terms, and her subtle attempt to slow him down, only made him go rougher on her.

And weirdly, a part of her that she'd been barely aware of before, didn't mind that at all. His dominance fulfilled her hidden need to be completely at his mercy, to be completely submitted to him. It was something she didn't know she had in her. It was a revelation.

When he fastened the pace she tried to match his urgency, her hands roaming over his back, her nails digging into his skin, her lips capturing his. A guttural sound, a desperate need, he ripped from her throat as he pushed himself a little deeper inside her.

He reveled in her unrestrained passion, the way she met his every touch with a demanding fervor of her own. She wasn't just giving herself to him, she was taking him in return, demanding as much as she gave. He didn't mind, not entirely. He guided her with a firm hand, dictating the pace and the rhythm. He was in control and she had to obey.

"You're so fucking wet, jesus..." He said half in disbelief, half praising her as he slightly changed his position. Now he was pounding into her from a different angle, hitting a different spot. His hand reached down and rubbed her clit.

"Elias, I... I'm going t-to..." she moaned with her eyes closed.

He suddenly stopped and withdrew his hand to her displeasure. "No." He growled.

She tried to protest, but he silenced her with his hand. "You will come only if and when I say so. Understand?"

"Yes." she muffled, unused to this kind of dynamic in bed.

Satisfied by her respond he took her hand off her mouth and he changed his position once more. This time to go deeper.

She tried to withhold herself, but it was difficult, her pussy was throbbing, aching for release.

"Elias, please... Please, let me..."

Her begging was a symphony to his ears, a nice contrast to her usual dull defiance. He couldn't help and prolonged this little torture for a bit longer before he finally let her come. When the release came he watched her body stiffed, her back arched, her mouth open wide. She wriggled her legs and moaned his name over and over in a daze as he pounded inside her, until her orgasm subsided.

He gasped feeling shivers run down his body. It was an image that would be imprinted on his mind forever.

"You look incredible like that." He whispered with a softer voice that surprised even him, watching her smiling.

At this moment he knew she was hoping for him to slow down or even stop to let her catch a break, but he did none of that. Instead he fastened his pace pinning her down to the mattress again. She gasped in surprise.

"Wait..." She tried to stop him, but he only growled, focused on his own pleasure now, ignoring her plead. He kept pushing faster and harder, pulling one of her leg up to go even deeper. She squirmed and wriggled underneath him, his named rolled off of her lips like a whimper.

"Elias, s-slow down... I , I can't... take... it."

The sensation overwhelmed her oversensitive body. The pleasure he'd given her a second ago mixed now with roughness and pain that consumed her entirely. She was falling apart underneath him and it was too much to handle.

His reply however was far from what she excepted. Gone was the soft tone, replaced by a command.

"I don't care if you can't, you fucking will."

Her hands moved to his chest in a weak clumsy attempt to slow him down, but he quickly shifted and grabbed them, pinning them above her head.

"Stay still for me, I won't repeat myself."

She wriggled some more unable to control herself. It was too much, too fast, too rough but surprisingly not unpleasant. Her body ached with a new unexpected sensation, a pleasant tremor that boded another orgasm. She surrendered to him, her legs wrapped around his hips as she came the second time in hot waves, stronger than before.

He growled feeling her orgasm around his shaft. He was trying to push deeper, but his moves became more shaky, his pace more unsteady and soon after, he followed, releasing himself inside of her.

"Fuck!" He growled as he closed his eyes shut.

The warm spurts of his cum filled her fully as he pushed himself all the way in, his body shaking in ecstasy. After a moment he lowered himself on top of her, releasing her hands, but not pulling out. He hid his head in the crook of her neck, panting heavily.

They both stayed like that for a while, too tired, too spent and too elated to move. They were basking in the afterglow, delightfully lost in the moment. Right now, nothing else mattered. Not the rules, not the consequences, not the complicated aftermath they'd have to deal with later. The truth was, they'd taken each other, and there was no turning back now.

#elias voit #cm evolution #sicarius #fanfiction

23 notes · View notes

itstobias149 · 5 months ago

Text

The media and Steel

Here is a long little lore dump from the eyes of Motel’, kinda as if he was talking to the media. Seeing things from his perspective!

TW:Depression, Abandonment, alcoholism

“How do I feel about guys hitting on my mom? God-” He looked up at the ceiling before looking forward again.

“Look, I love my mom, alright? She’s great. She’s tough, she raised me, she puts up with you idiots, and she’s one of the only people around here with an actual brain. But for the love of God, why does every weirdo in this organization have to fall in love with her?!”

“It’s like she walks into the room, and suddenly, half the locker room turns into lovesick puppies. It’s disgusting. I’ve seen grown men—big, scary, undefeated boxers—turn into blushing schoolboys just because she handed them an ice pack. It makes me sick.”

“Bull and Soda? Please. They’re both so obvious about it. Bull’s over here puffing his chest out like a damn rooster, and Soda acts like he’s some smooth-talking ladies’ man, but every time he talks to her, he turns into a giggling mess. And don’t even get me started on Joe! That guy practically worships the ground she walks on. It’s pathetic. I get she is one of the only reasons he's some how not dead- but give it up. I can’t even go two minutes without one of them asking, ‘Oh, how’s Marie doing?’ Like, I dunno, man, fine, can we talk about literally anything else?! Or they pick on me in the ring about it-”

“You know what the worst part is? She’s oblivious. Absolutely clueless. Or she fucking acts like she is. She could have a guy on one knee, professing his undying love, and she’d just go, ‘Oh, that’s nice, dear,’ and walk away! Meanwhile, I’m sitting here watching it all happen like I’m in some kind of bad romantic comedy!”

“And don’t even think about suggesting that I should be happy for her. No. Absolutely not. She’s my mom. I refuse to acknowledge any of this. She doesn’t need some lovesick boxer hanging around, she’s fine on her own! The moment she starts actually liking someone back? That’s it. I’m leaving. I’m moving to another country. I will not be around to see that unfold.”

“So yeah. Keep your crushes to yourselves. Or better yet, get better taste, you freaks.”

“And soda and bull- OH GOD-”

“You know, it wasn’t just about Soda or Bull, alright? It wasn’t just them messing things up. It’s bigger than that—way bigger.” Motel’ clenches his fist, exhaling sharply as he talks, his voice full of frustration.

“I’ve been around enough to know when things are… off, you know? When she started with Soda, I could see it. I don’t even know if she really liked him. She was just looking for something—anything that felt real, I guess. But Soda? He was a disaster from the start. Yeah, he acted like he was some tragic figure, but every time he opened his mouth, I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. The guy’s been stuck in his own mess for years, and she… she just tried to fix it.”

“I don’t know if I could blame her for getting caught up in that. Maybe she wanted to fix him. Maybe she thought she could be the one to get him to see his worth. She’s like that. Always putting everyone else’s needs ahead of hers. She should’ve seen it sooner, but she didn’t.”

“And then came Bull. Bull. Big, tough guy, right? Could probably knock out anyone in the ring. But he… he didn’t take her seriously. You know that, right? He’d put on this tough-guy act, all ‘I’m too macho for love,’ and then turn into some emotional wreck the second he wasn’t getting what he wanted. He’d use her, make her feel sorry for him with all his ‘I’m not good enough for you’ crap. Like, really, Bull? You think I didn’t see that?”

Motel’ shakes his head, growing more agitated as he continues.

“And you wanna know the worst part? They weren’t the problem—no, not really. The problem was the damn media, and the damn WVBA. The second they sniffed out some ‘drama’ between those three, they went wild. They started digging into everything—every little thing, trying to twist it into some kind of soap opera. And you think she wasn’t affected by it? You think she didn’t feel that? Watching her name plastered across the front of magazines because of that nonsense? It tore her up. It made things worse, made her feel like she was some kind of joke. She didn’t deserve any of that.”

“But it gets worse. They ruined it. The people who are supposed to be in her corner? They used her. They knew she had issues. They knew about the drinking—yeah, I’m saying it, alright? My mom, Marie, she’s a closet alcoholic. She’s been hiding it for years, but you think the WVBA didn’t know that? They could smell the blood in the water, and they saw her vulnerability. They used it. They milked that drama, encouraged the damn fights and the trash talk between Soda, Bull, and her. They made it worse. They made her feel like the only thing that mattered was her past, her relationship history, her mistakes. She was just a story to them.”

Motel’ pauses, his hands trembling slightly as he runs them through his hair, trying to keep his cool. But the more he talks, the angrier he gets.

“So, you tell me. What the hell did she get out of all that? A couple of weeks of headlines? A few extra paychecks? What did she get? Bull left, Soda left, and she was stuck with all the crap people said about her. And the worst part? She started drinking more. Not because she wanted to—it’s because she couldn’t deal with any of it. The stress. The publicity. The pressure of trying to keep it together for everyone, including me.”

Motel’ scoffs, his voice lowering into something almost like regret.

“And then she’d just smile, like everything was fine. She’d pretend nothing was wrong. It’s all she’s ever done. Just… act like it doesn’t matter, like she’s fine. But I know. I always know.”

“So, yeah. I’m angry. I’m angry at those two, sure. But mostly? I’m angry at how it all went down. The damn media turned it into a circus, and now everyone’s gonna think she’s just some girl who got tangled up in Soda and Bull’s drama. And that’s not who she is. Not even close. She deserved so much better.”

Motel’ leans back, his expression softening just a little, like he’s wrestling with his own thoughts now, processing everything that’s been building up inside him. His hands drop to his lap, and he starts talking more quietly, but there’s still an edge to his voice—a mix of understanding and anger, a sense of helplessness.

“You know, maybe… maybe there was something real there. With one of them, I don’t know… I don’t think she ever really told me the whole story. Maybe she didn’t even want to. But I think… I think for a minute, she had something with Soda. And I’m not saying that like it was some stupid fling, either. I think there was something there that she really wanted to hold onto. Something real. But the media—the media—they ruined that. They made everything a joke, a headline, something for them to cash in on. That was the end of it, right there.”

“She never had the chance to figure it out. The second they made it this big love triangle thing, everything changed. It went from being something that was hers, something private, to this huge spectacle where every little thing she did got picked apart. That pressure was so damn heavy, she couldn’t even think straight.”

Motel’ takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he starts to pace a little, as if trying to shake off the weight of the memories.

“It didn’t just affect her, either. It messed with everything at home. One day, I’d walk in, and she’d be sitting there, laughing with Soda—just completely gone. A bottle of vodka between them, her smile just a little too wide. And the next, she’d be back with Bull, all serious, like the whole damn thing with Soda never happened. It was like a weird, twisted game to her—at least that’s what it looked like from the outside.”

Motel’ shakes his head, his voice dropping as he talks more about how it messed with his life.

“And it made my home life weird too. You want to know what it felt like? It felt like I had no stable ground. One minute, I’d be around with Soda, trying to hang out, trying to ignore the fact that my mom was so far gone she didn’t even know what was happening around her. Then the next minute, I’d have to deal with Bull, all tough guy act again, like nothing ever happened. And I’d sit there, just… confused. Not knowing which version of her I was gonna get. It was like I was living in two different worlds that didn’t connect. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.”

Motel’ lets out a long, shaky breath, then scoffs, running a hand through his hair as the bitterness seeps back in.

“You know what’s worse? She lost two friendships because of that mess. Two of her closest friends. Soda and Bull—those were her people. They weren’t just some guys she hung out with. They meant something to her. But the way everything went down? They couldn’t stay. They couldn’t just be there without all the drama in the way. They left—Soda with his issues, and Bull, with his… whatever the hell that was. She lost them. And now it’s just her, and me. And I gotta pick up the pieces.”

Motel’ pauses, his eyes narrowing as he digs into what he’s feeling, the realization hitting him all at once.

“And me? I lost them, too. They weren’t just her friends, they were… they were like father figures to me, y’know? Bull was the only guy who’d ever talk to me like I wasn’t just some kid. He used to tell me stories, make me feel like I could do anything. And then there was Soda. The guy wasn’t perfect—hell, far from it—but he had a way of making me laugh, making me forget about the crap at home. But after everything went down, they disappeared, like it never mattered to them.”

“So now what? I don’t have them to lean on. I don’t have anyone I can really trust. Just my mom, and she’s… she’s not who she used to be. She’s… different now. And I’m just trying to make sense of all of it, trying to find some kind of normal, and it’s like the world just keeps spinning out of control around me. The media, the drama—it just ruins everything.”

His eyes flicker with frustration, but now there’s an underlying sadness that wasn’t there before. He’s not just angry about the situation anymore; he’s grieving.

“Yeah. It’s messed up. Everything about it. And I’m still pissed about it, don’t get me wrong. But deep down? I’m just… sad. Sad about what happened to her. Sad about what they took away from us. They didn’t just ruin a love triangle. They ruined everything.”

Motel’ stops pacing and sits back down, his posture slumped, defeated for a moment. The anger is still there, but it’s tempered by a more profound sense of loss. He’s realizing more than just the surface damage of the failed relationships; he’s seeing the bigger picture—how it all spiraled out of control.

He’s stuck between hating what happened and still trying to protect what’s left of his family.

“Mothers personality? Oh you have no idea man-”

Motel’ shifts in his seat, his frustration growing again, like it’s bubbling just beneath the surface. The sadness from earlier hasn’t gone away, but now there’s a bitter edge to it, like he’s finally allowing himself to voice everything that’s been festering inside him for so long. His hands tremble slightly as he clenches them into fists, almost like he’s trying to hold onto whatever control he has left.

“She wears a mask, you know? Every damn day. Like it’s some kind of shield she can hide behind.”

His voice shakes with anger now, each word coming out more sharply than the last.

“She acts like everything’s fine, like she’s fine, like none of this… none of this has ever affected her. But I see it. I see right through it. You ever notice that? She’ll sit there, all calm, all smiley, like nothing ever happened, and she’ll try to act like she’s fine. She’ll tell me, ‘I’m fine, Motel’. Yeah? Really? Is that so? Because it’s not just the drinking—it’s like she’s living in some kind of… fake reality, where everything is okay because if she doesn’t pretend it is, then the whole damn thing might crumble.”

Motel’ slams his fist down on the table, his voice rising with every word, frustration leaking out in waves.

“And you wanna know the worst part? She’s been doing it for years. Ever since… since everything started falling apart. She keeps acting like it’s all fine, like she’s got it under control, like she’s the one who’s supposed to hold everything together. But I’m telling you, it’s killing her inside. It’s killing her, and she doesn’t know how to stop.”

He stands up, pacing again, but now it’s more like he’s trying to outrun the thoughts that have been haunting him. He stops for a moment, gripping the back of a chair, his eyes clouded with frustration.

“I can’t keep pretending like I don’t see it. She’ll get home after a long day, and she’ll pour herself a drink. And she’ll sip it, and smile, like she’s okay. But I see the way her hands shake. I see the way her eyes look. They look… tired. Like she’s been carrying the weight of the world and doesn’t know how to put it down. And when I try to ask her if she’s alright, she brushes it off, like it’s nothing. She’s fine, she says. She’s always fine.”

Motel’s voice cracks for a split second, and he quickly shakes his head, trying to push it back down. His breath comes out in short bursts, like he’s trying to control the storm inside him.

“But I know it’s not fine. I know it’s not. And you wanna know what kills me? She thinks that if she keeps pretending, if she just puts on that damn mask, everything will be okay. But it’s not, and I can’t—I can’t—keep watching her do that. It’s like she thinks if she keeps it all together, then I won’t see it. But I do. I see the cracks. I see how she’s barely holding on, but she keeps smiling, pretending everything’s perfect for me, like I can’t tell she’s lying to my face.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing again, voice getting more desperate, more raw.

“I know why she does it. I know why she puts on this damn act. She doesn’t want me to see her weakness. She doesn’t want me to see how broken she really is because… because I think she thinks I’ll start hating her for it. But it’s worse when she does this, okay? It’s worse when she pretends—because it makes me think she’s okay. It makes me think maybe she’s got it under control. But she doesn’t. She’s just… hiding. Hiding behind all this fake ‘everything’s fine’ crap, and it’s not fair.”

Motel’ slumps down into a chair, staring at the floor, his face pale, his anger starting to dissipate into a hollow ache. He’s so tired—tired of seeing her like this, tired of trying to hold it together when all he wants is for his mom to be real, to stop pretending like it doesn’t hurt.

“I just want her to be real with me, y’know? To stop putting on this damn mask, stop pretending like she’s okay when she’s not. I get it, I really do… she doesn’t want me to worry. But all she’s doing is pushing me away. And I… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Motel’ stares down at his hands, his voice quieter now, tinged with a deep sadness.

“I just want her to let me in. I want to be the one who can help her. But it’s like I don’t even know who she is anymore.”

For the first time in a long while, Motel’ feels like he’s spoken the truth, but it hasn’t brought any relief. It’s just left him feeling more empty, like there’s no way to fix what’s broken, no way to stop the endless cycle of pretending.

“My skills… well..”

Motel’ takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his eyes are still clouded with emotion. His fingers tap rhythmically on the table, like he’s trying to work through his thoughts, his words tumbling out in a quiet, almost confessional tone.

“You know… it wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to be like this with her.”

His voice cracks a little, but he doesn’t pause, just keeps going, like he’s unraveling a memory he doesn’t want to hold onto anymore but can’t help himself.

“When I was in that damn orphanage, I didn’t have anyone. Just the walls, the constant noise, and the feeling of being… forgotten. And then there she was. Marie. She came in like some kind of miracle, you know? I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even ask for it. But she looked at me, and she saw me. She didn’t see some screwed-up kid from the system. She saw me—just me. And she took me out of there, like… like I was worth something.”

Motel’ stops, his fingers now digging into the wood of the table, the tension in his posture rising.

“She didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to save me. I was just another messed-up kid, probably destined to stay in that hellhole forever. But she pulled me out. She made me feel like I actually had a shot at something. And she didn’t ask for anything in return. She just… gave. And I don’t think she’ll ever understand what that really meant to me.”

He shakes his head, the words almost too heavy to get out.

“But now? Now it’s my turn. I know she doesn’t get paid much, and she works herself to the bone to make sure I have what I need, to make sure I’m taken care of. And it kills me. It kills me every day to see her struggle. She gave me everything, and now it’s like… I can’t give her anything back.”

He leans back in his chair, his expression darkening as he lets out a frustrated sigh. His words get sharper, the anger and guilt mixing together.

“So yeah, I cheat. I cheat because I can’t stand seeing her work herself to death, getting by with nothing. I know it’s not right. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I’ll be damned if I sit back and let her keep struggling when I can do something about it. She deserves so much more than she has now. She deserves the world.”

He leans forward now, his eyes burning with intensity, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. His fists clench again, and he speaks through gritted teeth.

“She saved me, and now it’s my turn to try and save her. If that means I have to bend the rules, then so be it. I’ll cheat, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she doesn’t have to keep sacrificing everything for me. I just want her to have the damn world, y’know? She’s spent so much of her life giving everything to me, and I… I just want to give something back. Something real. Something that can finally make up for everything she’s done.”

Motel’ slouches back in his seat, his expression softer now, but still heavy with the guilt and responsibility he’s carrying. His eyes stare at the floor, distant, like he’s not sure where to go from here.

“I don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t know if she’ll ever see it. But I’m doing what I have to do. Because she deserves better than this. She deserves better than me cheating, but what else am I supposed to do when she’s the only one who ever believed in me? She made me feel like I wasn’t just another lost cause. So I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets what she deserves.”

His voice goes quieter at the end, almost like he’s telling himself more than anyone else. He knows it’s messed up, but for him, it’s the only way he knows how to balance the scales, even if it means making himself just as guilty.

Shifting gears

Motel’ leans back in his chair, the intensity in his expression starting to fade as he takes a long, slow breath. He’s been wound up for so long, but now he’s shifting gears, almost like he’s searching for a way to ground himself again, to focus on something he actually enjoys. His voice softens as he speaks again, a hint of something lighter in his tone, like he’s finding solace in talking about the things that help him escape.

“I guess, if you really want to know… there’s more to me than just this mess. Stuff that doesn’t make me feel… like this.”

He gestures vaguely, as if the weight of the conversation is still lingering, but he’s trying to let it go. Then, with a small shrug, he starts to list off things that have always been there for him when the real world got too heavy.

“For one, I’ve got my motorcycle. That’s my freedom. It’s my escape, y’know? When I’m on that thing, it’s like nothing else matters. I can just ride and forget about all the crap, just me and the road. I don’t even care if I get lost sometimes. It’s better than dealing with everything else.”

He rubs the back of his neck, a quiet laugh escaping him.

“And then there’s my anime collection. Don’t laugh, okay? It’s one of the few things that helped me make sense of everything when I didn’t know how to deal with life. I’ve got boxes of them, DVDs, Blu-rays, manga, figurines. It’s like my own little world where none of this—”

He gestures again, but this time, it’s more pointed, like he’s talking about the weight of his responsibilities and emotions.

”—none of this has to follow me. I’ve spent hours getting lost in those stories, in those characters. It was like a place where I could just… breathe. And yeah, I’m into cosplay too. It’s not just about dressing up. It’s about becoming someone else for a while. A way to forget about the real world, to step into a life where everything’s a little simpler. Maybe I’m just running from myself, I don’t know.”

Motel’ pauses, tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair, and his expression changes. There’s a soft smile there, one that’s almost nostalgic, as if he’s remembering something more personal, even sacred.

“I’ve got this weird thing with Miku too. Not in some creepy, obsessed-with-her-way. It’s not about being attracted to her or anything. It’s just… I guess she became my escape. Whenever things got too much, I’d put on her music, or play with the figures, and just zone out. Her songs, the colors, the beats… it was a world where I could drown out everything and just focus on something simple. Something I could control. Maybe it sounds dumb, but… it helped.”

Motel’ leans forward a little, his hands fidgeting as he talks about it. He’s opening up, but there’s a vulnerability in his words now, like these hobbies are the last things that keep him from completely losing himself.

“And, I don’t know, I guess that’s why I want to do something with comics. I can draw, you know. I’ve been drawing anime style for years, ever since I was a kid. It was like, another way for me to express what I couldn’t say. But, now? I’ve got these ideas, and I wanna bring them to life. I want to create my own worlds, my own stories. Maybe if I can do that, maybe I can stop feeling like I’m just a side character in my own life.”

His eyes flicker with something like hope for a moment, but it’s quickly hidden beneath the usual guardedness. Still, it’s there—a glimpse of something Motel’ wants for himself, a dream that feels a little too big to reach.

“I guess it’s not just about the escape anymore. It’s about… wanting to make something real, something I can look at and say, ‘Yeah, this is me.’ And, I mean, I play games too. Stuff like osu, DDR, Touhou—just to kill time, mostly. But… there’s something about those games that gets me in the zone. It’s just about hitting the right notes, hitting the right steps, keeping in sync. Maybe that’s all I’m looking for—a little bit of order in all the chaos.”

Motel’ exhales, his posture finally relaxing as he talks about these things that have always been there, the small pockets of peace in his otherwise chaotic life. There’s still a lot weighing on him, but for a moment, he’s just a kid with some dreams, a bike, and a collection of things that make him feel like he matters.

Motel’ pauses for a moment, the silence hanging in the air. He leans back in his chair, his eyes staring at something far away, like he’s trying to pinpoint the moment when everything shifted, when these hobbies became more than just distractions but essential lifelines. His voice lowers, as if he’s inviting someone into his mind, showing them parts of himself he doesn’t normally share.

“The bike… that thing, it’s not just metal and wheels to me. It’s my freedom. When I’m on it, it’s like I can finally breathe. Like I’m not weighed down by everything. I can just lose myself to the hum of the engine and the rush of the wind. It’s the only time I feel like the world isn’t closing in on me. When I get on the bike, I forget about the bills, the pressure, Marie’s problems, the fighting… everything. I don’t have to think, I just go. It’s my reset button, my escape.”

He gives a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“I know it sounds kinda ridiculous, but… it’s like I can leave all the bullshit behind me on the road. When I’m in my helmet, just speeding down the highway, it’s the only time I’m not worried about anyone. No one’s telling me how to live my life. I’m just a guy on a bike.”

The faintest smile crosses his face, but it quickly disappears as he shifts to the next thing, the one that’s almost as much a part of him as the bike.

“Anime… that’s where it all started for me. When I was a kid, I wasn’t exactly popular. People looked at me like I was some freak. And then I found these shows—these characters who had problems like mine but still managed to do something, to fight for something. I wasn’t just some messed-up kid anymore. I was a part of something bigger. It was like I could breathe a little easier, like maybe I wasn’t as messed up as I thought.”

His hand instinctively reaches for his sleeve, pulling it down over his wrist, almost like he’s hiding something, but the shift in his body language tells the story anyway.

“The collection? It’s massive, honestly. I’ve got manga that goes on for miles, figurines that I’ve spent hours on end hunting down, posters—hell, even DVDs. It’s all a way to hold onto that feeling, y’know? Of not being alone, of seeing these characters, these stories that mean something more than just… whatever the hell happens in the real world. For a while, it was just me and them. And it wasn’t so bad.”

His voice softens a little, and there’s a tenderness in the way he talks about it, as if the world of anime was his safe space, his haven from the uglier parts of reality.

“But then there’s the cosplay. Man… It’s like when I dress up, I’m not me anymore. I can be someone else. Someone powerful. Someone who isn’t stuck in the middle of all this mess. I get to step into their shoes, live their life, and for a little while, I can forget what’s really going on. I can forget about… everything. And maybe that’s why I do it, you know? It’s not about showing off or looking cool—well, maybe it’s a little bit about looking cool—but it’s more about the escape. Being able to be something else for a little bit, instead of just… this guy, the one who’s got too many problems and not enough ways to deal with them.”

A slight pause lingers before he moves on to the next piece of his odd collection of interests, his voice becoming quieter, almost hesitant.

“Miku… yeah, I’ve got a thing with her. But not in the way you think. I’m not obsessed with her. I’m not some… creepy fanboy or anything like that. It’s just… there’s something about her that helped me when nothing else could. Her music, her voice, it was like a lifeline. Like if I could just focus on her songs, just hear those notes, I could drown out everything else that was eating me alive. It was a way to escape the pressure, to take a mental break, to be somewhere else for just a little while.”

Motel’ fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket, as if that one confession is harder to admit than the others. He’s vulnerable here, but he lets it spill anyway, his words laced with a sense of longing—like Miku and her world gave him a break when nothing else could.

“And yeah, I know, it’s probably silly to some people, but… that stuff mattered to me. It was more than just a phase. It was how I coped. I don’t know… maybe it sounds childish, but it was like… she was the only thing that could really calm me down when everything else felt like it was falling apart.”

His voice steadies as he talks about something else that’s been on his mind for a while. His fingers trace an imaginary line along the armrest, his thoughts settling on a more concrete dream.

“But, I guess I’ve got other dreams, too. Something that’s always been with me, deep down, is drawing. I’ve always been good at it—drawing in that anime style. It’s the one thing I’ve been able to focus on for hours without feeling like I’m wasting time. I’ve got notebooks full of sketches, ideas for comics that I’ve never shown anyone. People think I’m just some messed-up kid who can’t figure it out, but they don’t know this side of me.”

His smile returns, faint but there. A little spark of pride creeps into his voice as he talks about his drawings.

“I want to create something. I want to be a comic artist. I want to build my own worlds, my own characters, ones that people can look at and say, ‘Yeah, that guy gets it.’ I don’t know if I’m good enough yet, but I can’t stop. I don’t think I’ll ever stop drawing. It’s the one thing that keeps me going when everything else is just… too much.”

Motel’ pauses again, his mind flicking back to something else he finds joy in. The light in his eyes flickers, like he’s returning to that place where his passions take over.

“And then, there’s the games. Games like osu, DDR, Touhou… they’re my little moment of zen, y’know? When I’m playing those games, it’s just about timing, precision. It’s like my brain shuts off all the noise, and I just focus on the game. I’m good at them, too—better than most people think. The rhythm, the beats, the pattern—it’s all about staying in the moment, hitting the right notes at the right time. It’s a lot like my drawing, in a way. It’s all about hitting the right spots and finding my rhythm. And when I’m in that zone? I forget about everything else.”

He shrugs as if to dismiss it, but there’s a lightness in his voice now, like he’s finally settled into a space where his hobbies aren’t just escapism—they’re a lifeline, a way to hold onto something pure, something he can control, even if everything around him feels out of his grasp.

“So yeah, maybe I’m a little… odd? But those things, they’re mine. They’ve always been mine, and when nothing else seems to make sense, at least they do. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll help me find a way to be more than just… the messed-up kid with too many problems.”

Motel’ leans back in his chair, the weight of his words lingering in the air. His face softens, the vulnerability gone for now, replaced with a quiet kind of resolve. His hobbies are more than just distractions—they’re his way of fighting back against a world that never seemed to give him much of a chance.

Big ol Miku nerd

Motel’ suddenly gets this spark in his eyes, as if he’s finally found a topic he can truly dive into without hesitation. He leans forward, his hands gesturing wildly, more animated than he’s been the entire conversation. The shift is immediate, like flipping a switch from cool detachment to pure, unfiltered nerd energy.

“Okay, okay, so, Miku’s not just some random character. She’s a freaking phenomenon, alright? Like, she’s the pioneer of virtual idols! She’s literally the reason Vocaloid took off in the first place! You think about it, she’s got this insane, supernatural appeal, y’know? Her voice isn’t even real! It’s like synthesized magic, dude!”

He almost bounces out of his seat, clearly thrilled to talk about this. He pulls out his phone and starts showing pictures of his Miku collection—posters, figurines, even some limited-edition merchandise.

“I mean, look at these! These posters? Limited edition stuff, man. The designs are sick! Each one has this unique art style that reflects different eras of Miku’s growth. Like, the one with the neon colors? That was from when she first got popular in Japan! The first time I saw her, I thought, ‘Damn, this is the future of music,’ you know?”

His voice rises with each word, getting faster as the excitement builds. His eyes are wide, almost feverish.

“And don’t even get me started on the music! Her songs are so freakin’ diverse! You got pop, you got electronic, you got rock, and you’ve got some deep experimental stuff! There’s literally no limit to what she can do. I’ve spent hours just listening to her stuff, dissecting the beats, the lyrics. Her concerts, man… the virtual reality ones? INSANE! She performs in 3D holograms—like, what?! That’s next-level tech!”

He pulls out a figurine of Miku, twirling it in his hands, his face lighting up like a kid in a candy store.

“I even cosplay as her, dude! I’ve got the whole getup—wig, outfit, the gloves, the shoes, everything. It’s perfect! I swear, when I put it all on, I feel like I’m stepping into another world. You’ve seen the outfits she’s had, right? The futuristic, sleek designs? The ones with the digital patterns? Yeah, I’ve got like, five of those replicas in my closet. And don’t get me started on the Miku-chan plushies. Every time I get a new one, I’m like, ‘Yup, my collection’s complete… for now.’”

He paces a little, his hands moving faster as he continues to nerd out about Miku, his passion impossible to contain.

“Okay, okay, but the best part about Miku—besides her voice and style—is that she’s this symbol. She’s a reflection of the future, like a digital artist’s dream, you know? She’s not a real person, but her fanbase—that’s real. I’ve met so many people who bond over her, and it’s like… we’re all part of this underground culture, and she’s our icon. Plus, she has the best songs to get hyped to! You ever listen to ‘The World Is Mine’? It’s like the anthem of I’m not here to play, I’m here to conquer—just pure power!”

He’s practically bouncing now, hands flying all over the place, as if trying to keep up with the flood of thoughts racing through his head.

“And the artwork, man—the art! Do you know how many different artists have done Miku’s designs over the years? Some of the art is so out there, it makes you think, ‘How did they even come up with this?’ I love drawing Miku, too, y’know. I mean, I’m still figuring out my style, but when I draw her, it’s like… I get to channel her energy. Every brushstroke, every line is like, this little tribute to how perfect she is in my eyes.”

Motel’ stops pacing, his hands settling as he lets out a content sigh, clearly in his element.

“It’s not even about liking her. It’s about what she represents—the freedom, the creativity, the escape. And yeah, the cosplay? That’s just me getting to live it, for a second. I get to be Miku. The ultimate idol. I swear, if they ever made a live-action Miku movie, I’d be first in line to buy tickets, and you bet I’d be there in full costume. You think I wouldn’t? Please, I’d probably camp out for days to make sure I got the best seat.”

He gives a small, self-aware chuckle, but there’s no shame in it. His passion shines through, unfiltered, as he settles back into his chair, still grinning like a dorky fanboy.

“Anyway, I just—Miku’s not a phase. She’s like… my thing, my comfort. I can’t really explain it any other way.”

He lets out another satisfied breath, as if all his pent-up enthusiasm has been released. His grin fades slightly, but there’s this quiet sense of fulfillment in his eyes now, like he’s finally been able to share something that really matters to him.

Motel’ leans back, a distant look in his eyes, and his voice softens, as if he’s recounting a moment that stands out, something personal but also kind of precious. There’s a slight grin tugging at his lips, the memory bringing him warmth even as he digs into the past.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe it… but one time, I actually got Mom to go to a Miku concert with me. It was a real one—like, the hologram, full-on virtual experience where she’s projected onto the stage. I had my glow stick wand thing, and I convinced her to wear one too. She was so reluctant at first—she was like, ‘Motel’, I’m not doing this.’ You know how she is, right? But I didn’t give up.”

He chuckles at the memory, a playful edge in his voice.

“So, I finally got her to go, and we were in the crowd, just vibing out. I handed her the wand, and at first, she looked at it like, ‘What the hell do I do with this?’ But you know what? Once the lights dimmed and the music started, something changed. She just got it. She started waving it around, and I swear, it was like I was seeing a different side of her. She was actually having fun!”

Motel’ grins widely, his hands waving around in imitation of the concert’s energy. His voice picks up again, getting a little more animated, like he’s reliving that night.

“And when Miku appeared on the screen, she was all holographic, dancing and singing like she was actually there. The crowd went wild, and Mom? She was right there with us. We were right there with Miku. I swear, it was like everything else faded away for a little while—no worries, no drama, just music and lights. For once, it felt like we were just… in the moment, y’know?”

He pauses, a small sigh escaping as he remembers the peacefulness of that night, how fleeting it felt in comparison to the chaos that always seemed to follow them.

“Mom even started singing along to a couple of songs—yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. She knew the words. It was like this secret side of her came out. She’d always been so serious, so… heavy, but there, under the lights, with the glow sticks in our hands? She was just another fan, having fun. It was like I wasn’t just some kid dragging her to some weird concert; I was sharing a piece of myself with her. Something I love. Something I cared about. And she was there with me, no questions asked.”

He smiles, but there’s something bittersweet about the way he talks about it, like he wishes that moment could have lasted longer, or that maybe, just maybe, they could have had more moments like that.

“After the concert, we walked out of there, still waving our wands. Mom looked so… I don’t know, light—like all the tension had just melted off her. She even laughed a bit on the way home. I can’t remember the last time I heard her laugh like that, honestly.”

His expression fades a little, the warmth from the memory still there but tinged with an undercurrent of longing.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a night like that again, though. You know how it goes—life hits you, and you move on. But that… that was one of those rare moments where things felt perfect. We were just Mom and Motel’, two weirdos at a Miku concert, glowing in the dark together. It was nice.”

He trails off, his voice growing quieter, as if the weight of what he’s shared has finally settled in. But despite the nostalgia, there’s a small smile on his face, as if he’s holding on to that memory a little tighter now.

HE FORGOT THIS WAS LIVE LMAO

Motel’ suddenly straightens up, his eyes widening in horror as if he just realized something crucial. His carefree expression falters, and he starts running his hands through his hair, frantically thinking it over.

“Oh. Oh, shit.”

He leans back against the chair, suddenly looking more tense and panicked than he’s ever been before. His voice drops an octave, almost a whisper, as if he’s talking to himself, trying to process what just happened.

“Did I—did I really just say all that? On TV? About Mom, and the whole Miku thing? Oh my god.”

He rubs his face with his hands, muttering to himself in disbelief, almost as if he can’t believe it came out of his mouth.

“This is it, isn’t it? I’ve ruined my whole ‘bad boy’ image. I just went full-on nerd on live TV. If any of the other boxers see this—I’m dead. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

His heart rate picks up as he imagines the backlash. He can already picture the teasing, the snickers. The looks of disbelief on guys like Bull, Soda, and Von Kaiser’s faces. He’d never live it down.

“Man, I was supposed to be the tough guy, the one with the edge, y’know? The guy who doesn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. But now I just spilled my guts about… glow sticks and Miku cosplay?!”

Motel’ sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, his mind racing. His bad-boy persona had been his armor, the thing that kept everyone at arm’s length. Now he just felt exposed—too exposed.

“This is gonna be so bad. Bull’s gonna be the first to call me out, all smug, like, ‘What, you a fan of pop idols now, Motel’? And Soda? Oh, he’s gonna have a field day with this. He’s gonna call me a ‘softie,’ a ‘dork,’ and then it’s all over from there.”

He groans, covering his face for a moment, as if trying to block out the inevitable teasing. He can already hear the mockery in his head.

“Doc’s gonna look at me like he doesn’t know who I am anymore. He’s supposed to be my mentor, but shit, he’s gonna be so disappointed. He’s been trying to shape me into this fighter, this ‘tough guy,’ and now I’m just—just this awkward, anime-obsessed mess.”

His breathing quickens, and for a split second, it’s clear just how much he cares about the image he’s built for himself, how much he’s afraid of it crumbling. His tough exterior, his cool façade—all of it had been a front, a way to protect himself from the world.

“No, no, no. I can’t let them see this. They’ll think I’m weak, or worse, they’ll think I’m a joke. The guys in the locker room? They’ll never let me live this down. Ever.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but the panic is still there, lingering in the back of his mind. His cool, bad-boy persona feels more fragile now, cracking under the weight of what he just revealed.

“What the hell was I thinking? Why did I let it slip like that? Why? Now I have to either double down and pretend like none of this ever happened, or… or just roll with it and hope they don’t tear me apart.”

He slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands in his hair again. His usual cocky confidence is nowhere to be found now. Instead, there’s just a frustrated, anxious kid who’s realizing that maybe his image—maybe everything he’s built—might not be as indestructible as he thought.

“God, if anyone else sees this… I’m gonna be a meme. A laughing stock. I was just supposed to be Motel’—the guy who doesn’t care, the guy who does whatever the hell he wants. Now? Now I’m just… Miku-loving loser.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, trying to collect himself, but the fear of being exposed for who he really is—the vulnerability, the emotions, the deep connection to his mom—has shaken him more than he expected. He can already picture the other boxers’ smirks, the teasing, the way they’ll call him soft. He wonders, just for a moment, if they’ll even respect him anymore.

ANYWAY I hope you guys liked this💕✨

#punch out #oc #soda popinski #punch out oc #aran ryan #bald bull #glass joe #hatsune miku

13 notes · View notes